Page 36 of Property of Whiskey

I stand. “Grilled cheese?”

“And tomato soup?”

“Yeah.”

“No crust.”

“Crust builds character.”

“I have enough character.”

She sounds like me. That should concern me. Mostly makes me proud. I start heating soup and butter bread for the skillet, already knowing I’m cutting the damn crust off. My phone buzzes again. This time I look. Unknown number. I ignore it. I know who it is. Then my phone rings again while Wren sits at the table drawing fangs on the bottle-cap frog. Different number this time. I recognize it.

I step into the hall and answer quietly.

“What?”

Legend’s voice comes through. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Twila there?”

I look toward the kitchen. “Hell no.”

“Brothers saw you talking to her this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“To stop.”

Legend goes quiet long enough that I know what’s coming.

“Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You told Twila Dix not to do something?”

“Wasn’t my best work.”

“No shit.”

I hear movement on his end, followed by a door closing. When he speaks again, his voice is lower.

“We got word from someone on the inside.”

“Inside where?”

“Pearly Gates.”

“What word?”

I move far enough down the hall that Wren can’t easily hear me, but I keep the kitchen doorway in sight. She’s making the frog attack one of the deer.

“Twila’s name came up.”