Page 303 of Property of Whiskey

Who else?

Royal points lower on the same sheet. “C.C.”

The entry is much older.

His face loses all color.

“Cider.”

Legend looks at the initials, then the date. “Could be.”

“It’s her.”

“Could be.”

Royal grabs the page before anybody can stop him. “Age lines up.”

“Royal.”

“My sister.”

“I know.”

His entire body is wound tight enough that I can see the fight in him from across the room.

“Then don’t tell me could.”

Legend steps closer but doesn’t take the sheet from him. “Until we know, it’s could.”

For a moment, I think Royal might swing on his own brother.

Then he drags in one breath, takes another, and sets the page back down.

Twila photographs the entry. “Club tech can cross-reference dates and initials.”

Royal nods once.

The bottom desk drawer holds one folder the cleaners missed. It’s blue, faded from age, with MERCY HOUSE stamped across the front.

Twila looks at me.

I look back.

Legend takes it out and opens it on the desk.

Inside are program guidelines, discipline schedules, and transfer forms. Some names have been blacked out. Other documents use only initials.

One phrase appears again and again.

TRANSFER TO B.R. FOR CORRECTION

Twila runs one gloved finger beneath the line without touching the ink. “Blue room?”

“Maybe.”

Royal looks sick. “Correction.”

Nobody likes that word.