Page 273 of Property of Whiskey

“That ain’t an answer.”

“It’s the one I’m giving.”

Anger rises fast, the old reflex that usually gets both of us yelling before either one listens.

I force my palms flat against the table instead.

“No.”

Daddy’s eyes narrow. “No?”

“You don’t get to do this again.”

“Do what?”

“Decide I can’t handle the truth because you’re scared of what I’ll do with it.”

Something crosses his face. Whiskey hasn’t moved. Not once.

I keep going. “You knew something before Kaylee disappeared. Before the girls the Kings were already tracking led them deeper into Pearly Gates. Before Sophie ever followed Montgomery money into it. Before I even put on a badge. This goes farther back than any of that, doesn’t it?”

Daddy looks down.

“Tell me.”

Nothing.

“Daddy.”

His shoulders sink, but it doesn’t look like surrender.

It looks heavier than that.

I’ve never thought of Amos Dix as old. Tonight, beneath the yellow kitchen light, I can see every year in his face.

“It was 2014.”

I stop breathing.

Sixteen. Exactly.

Whiskey shifts slightly back in his chair, giving Daddy room without going anywhere.

“You remember the old service road behind Mill Creek Baptist?” Daddy asks.

“Yes.”

“County got a call around four in the morning. Farmer heading out early saw somebody walking the shoulder.”

My fingers curl against the edge of the table. “A girl?”

Daddy nods.

“How old?”

“Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. Hard to tell.”

“What was her name?”