Page 38 of Property of Whiskey

“I know.”

“You said grilled cheese.”

“I know.”

“You always have to go.”

Her fingers pick at a dried streak of glue on the tabletop instead of looking at me.

I call Glamaw and reach for my keys before the phone finishes ringing.

Thank fuck she lives close.

I look at the keys in my hand. Then set them on the table.

“Fifteen minutes.”

Wren glances up. “For what?”

“To eat.”

Her eyes search mine. “You promise?”

“Yeah. Glamaw drives slow.”

I make the grilled cheese. Cut off the crust. Pour the soup. Then I sit with my daughter while my phone vibrates against the counter again and again. I leave it there.

Wren eats half her sandwich and spends several minutes explaining why wolves are misunderstood before the screen finally lights up with a message from Legend.

GIRL SEEN OUT AT OLD PEARLY GATES. MATCHES KAYLEE.

My attention locks on the words.

A second message follows.

NO WORD ON THE DEPUTY.

I look at Wren, then at the keys sitting beside my elbow.

Kaylee being seen alive near the old Pearly Gates complex is the first solid chance we’ve had in a long damn time to catch a current trail before it goes cold.

And somewhere between breakfast and now, Pearly Gates learned Twila Dix is asking questions.

Chapter Five

Whiskey

Glamaw makes it back before I finish rinsing Wren’s soup bowl. She comes through my front door without knocking because apparently giving birth to me forty years ago means locks are merely decorative.

“You owe me,” she announces.

“I always owe you.”

“That ain’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

She drops her purse on the counter and looks toward the kitchen table, where Wren is still admiring the ecosystem project like she personally created Kentucky.