Page 309 of Property of Whiskey

We still don’t have the whole operation, but several things are harder to explain away now. Crowley was physically present with Kaylee while she was being held. He knew what happened to Amos twelve years ago. Mercy House was real. The financial network Sophie already found reaches farther back than we knew. And somebody carrying material consistent with what was kept inside this house has been near my daughter.

Twila stands beside the Harley holding the bag with the gold-stitched fabric. Wind blows a strand of blonde hair across her cheek.

I look at the bag. “She came from here.”

“The fabric did.”

“Same thing.”

“No. Evidence matters.”

“Deputy.”

“Criminal.”

I step closer. “He knew about that photograph.”

Her humor disappears. “Yeah.”

“Knew your daddy got threatened.”

“Yeah.”

“So Amos wasn’t scared of some ghost story.”

“No.”

I look down the empty road where Crowley disappeared. Behind us, Mercy House stands with its dead windows and old white paint peeling from the siding like skin.

“What was he scared of?” Twila asks.

I think about Crowley walking into rooms full of girls who couldn’t leave. Respectable donors hiding behind charitable funds. Fake guardians. Missing reports. A barefoot girl wandering a county road in a nightgown. A photograph of sixteen-year-old Twila taken by somebody who wanted her father to know they could reach her.

Then I look at her.

“Men who think God makes good camouflage.”

Twila’s expression hardens. “Then maybe it’s time we tear the camouflage off.”

I smile. “That my deputy?”

She turns her head slowly. “Your?”

Fuck.

She caught that.

I grin. “Slip of the tongue.”

“Better be.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“Could’ve said my woman.”

She steps closer. “Would’ve punched you.”