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No. Not thinking about it.
I wasn’t about to become his woman, and I sure as heck wasn’t going down without a fight. Like I’d said before, Leiper’s Fork was my home. Not his.
“You okay, Masie?” Uncle Jimmie asked as we went over spreadsheets on the computer in his office a few days later.
“Yeah. Sorry. It’s like drinking through a firehose.” His accountant did most of the heavy lifting, but I still had to track payroll hours, pay suppliers, and add up each day’s receipts. On top of that, there was the actual banking and deposits.
“You’ll learn. And I’m not going anywhere yet. Now’s the time to be makin’ mistakes.”
I exhaled with a whoosh. “I’m more afraid of lettin’ you down than anything else. You put your whole dang life into the bar and your whiskeys. What if I drive it all into the ground?”Or I can’t get rid of this vampire, and he eats all the customers?
“The Rooster’s in a good position, Masie. We got plenty of cash reserves, the distillery on its own can support the overhead for both businesses in case we have a slump, and we’re insured up the gopher hole. It would take an act of God to sink this here ship.”
How about an act of the undead?
“Sorry.” I winced apologetically. “I’ll try to chill out.”
“You sure you want this?” he asked worriedly.
“Yes. Absolutely. Why?”
“You haven’t seemed too excited about takin’ over. I get you’re still workin’ through losing Deedee, but you’ve been lookin’ like the weight of the world is standing on your head. Maybe we should put all this on hold.”
This was a lot on top of everything else—the attack, Deedee’s death, my vampire problem, and even dealing with the whole killing-Ronnie thing—but I didn’t want to let him down. Jimmie had been there for me, Maybell, and Mamma for years and never asked nothing of me except to show up on time and do my work. “I’m really excited about it. I promise. Just tryin’ to soak everything in.”And learn how to express my emotions like a functioning adult.
“Hey, Jimmie?” said Joe, who appeared in the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“I was just in the warehouse, grabbing a few cases of beer, and noticed something.”
“What?” Jimmie asked.
“Well,” he scratched his scruffy red beard, “looks like a big animal’s been scratching up the floor.”
Jimmie frowned. “The floor’s concrete.”
“Come have a look,” Joe said.
Both Jimmie and I got up and followed Joe out past the back lot, which was pretty big since us employees used it to park and it was where the semis came in to drop off supplies or pick up loads of whiskey. The warehouse itself was just on the other side of it, and beyond that was the distillery. Most of us who worked at the Rooster never went farther than the front of the warehouse, where we stored the bar booze. Jimmie didn’t like anyone back where the whiskey magic happened. Trade secrets and all.
We entered the front of the warehouse, and Joe pointed to a spot behind two pallets of beer. “Take a look in the corner.”
Jimmie walked over, and his eyes went wide. “What the hell?”
I went over and took a peek. Something had smashed through the concrete and dug a giant hole straight down.
“I ain’t ever seen anything dig like that,” Joe said.
“What kind of animal is it?” I asked. Wasn’t no possum, that was for sure.
“Hell if I know. I’ll call Willie and have him set out a trap,” Jimmie said.
Willie was our exterminator, but he was usually dealing with mice prevention. “I hope he’s got a really big trap.”
Later that evening, I was helping out Joe at the bar during a sudden rush of customers who’d come from the art festival. Jimmie was working on some broken pipe in the warehouse. It looked like it was going to be a busy night.
“I should see if Claire can come in and help,” I told Joe. It was her night off.
