Page 284 of Property of Whiskey

I almost laugh. “What property?”

“Parcels around Pearly Gates. Couple shell nonprofits.” Daddy pauses, searching his memory. “One old residence registered as Mercy House.”

My breath catches.

Beside me, Whiskey says very quietly, “Fuck.”

Daddy looks between us. “What?”

“Mercy,” I say.

“What about it?”

“Cider remembers that name.”

Daddy’s fingers stop against his coffee cup. “And Kaylee?”

“Not directly.”

I think about Wren’s drawing. The faceless woman beside Prickle.

Mercy.

“Somebody else does.”

Whiskey gives me a warning look. Not now.

Fine.

Daddy leans forward. “Who?”

“We’re not ready to explain that.”

His eyebrows rise. “Now who’s withholding information?”

Whiskey snorts.

I glare at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Daddy studies me, then Whiskey. “You two working together now?”

I hate the way that question sounds.

Too close to couple.

Too close to true.

“We’re trying to.”

Whiskey says, “She bosses.”

I look at him. “You kidnap.”

“Formerly.”