Page 32 of Property of Whiskey

“Believe whatever helps.”

She yanks her arm free.

This time I let her.

Twila steps backward, keeping her eyes on mine. “You know what I think?”

“Usually too much.”

“I think you’re scared.”

“Of you?”

“Of what I’m going to find.”

I almost laugh.

Instead, I glance toward the clubhouse.

“Go home, Deputy.”

“I’m off duty.”

“Then go do something off duty. Get your nails done or whatever ladies do.”

She makes a disgusted sound, flips me the bird, showing off her short plain nails, and heads for the Jeep. I watch her climb inside, start the engine, and flip me off again through the windshield before pulling into the road.

I stand there long enough to call myself every kind of dumbass. Telling Twila Dix not to look into old Pearly Gates is the same as pouring gasoline on a brush fire and asking it to behave.

By the time I get home, it’s after three.

My house sits outside Hell on a narrow road with more trees than neighbors. One story, old porch, detached garage. Far enough from the main road that nobody wanders up by accident, but close enough to town that I can get to the Lockup or Wren’s school without spending half my life riding.

My black Road Glide ticks hot beneath me when I kill the engine. Cicadas scream from the trees, and sunlight flickers through the leaves across the cracked driveway.

Wren’s pink bicycle is lying across the front walk. One pink shoe sits on the porch. I step inside and find chaos. Construction paper covers the kitchen table. Markers have rolled halfway across the floor. Glitter sparkles on the couch, the counter, and Glamaw.

My mother is half asleep on the couch with silver glitter smeared across one cheek. My daughter sits cross-legged beneath the kitchen table surrounded by empty glue sticks. She’s been home all of thirty minutes.

She looks up. “Don’t be mad.”

I shut the door behind me. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“House looks like a craft store blew up.”

“It’s a project.”

“What kind?”

“Ecosystem.”

I look at the poster board propped against a chair.

A blue river cuts through a green forest. Cotton balls hang in the sky. Three plastic deer are glued upside down beside a handwritten label that says PRAY.

I point at it. “That deer religious?”