Page 88 of Property of Whiskey

“How?”

His eyes settle on mine. “She left Wren alone.”

“For how long?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. That tells me it’s bad.

“Whiskey.”

“Forty-six hours.” Specific. Not two days. Forty-six hours. He knows exactly.

My stomach drops. “What?”

I look at his face differently before I can stop myself.

“How old was she?”

“Five.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“Where was her mother?”

“Gone.”

“Drugs?”

He gives one short nod.

“And you found her?”

“Holler called. His sister wasn’t answering.”

I know Holler. “Holler’s her brother?”

“Yeah.”

The pieces move into place. His baby mama is Holler’s sister.

“I never heard.”

“Happened in Fayette County. She moved here to try to see Wren.”

“She’s clean now?”

“Claims she is.”

“You believe her?”

“No.”

“Does Wren see her?”

“No.”

“Court order?”