The Moonshine Shack Murder
Page 26
Problem was, Cormac was not good at keeping his word and, being the deceitful devil he was, he realized he had Gage over a whiskey barrel. Though he’d initially agreed to accept a third of the profits from the scheme, when Gage had come to the bar that Friday night to pay Cormac his share, Cormac had insisted he be paid half of the profits instead. He wanted half of Gage’s bonus, as well. He’d also insisted that Gage serve as a witness in his slander complaint against Heath Delaney, even though Gage had overhead nothing. If Gage didn’t cough up the extra cash or agree to serve as a witness in the hearing, Cormac threatened to contact Backwoods and tell them what Gage had done. I suppose it’s true what they say. There’s no honor among thieves.
With Cormac blackmailing him, Gage had no choice but to pay the barkeep half of the profits he’d pocketed on the undocumented cash sales. Gage had been angry enough about Cormac reneging on their deal, but anger gave way to full-on fury when he’d left Cormac’s office, spotted a jar of my Firefly moonshine under the counter in the bar as he’d bent down to tie his shoe, and believed Cormac hadn’t stayed true to the exclusivity part of the deal. He’d tucked the jar into a large pocket on the side of his cargo pants, left the bar, and circled around to the back alley, where he lay in wait until Cormac closed the bar for the night and came out the back door alone.
Gage had brandished the jar and accused Cormac of violating the exclusivity clause and risking the whole scheme. When Cormac expressed no remorse, Gage took a swing at him. Cormac took off running and Gage ran after him, his fury igniting and growing hotter with each pounding step until he caught up with Cormac in front of my shop and cornered him in the doorway. By then, his rage was out of control. A thud-tinkle-cry-thud-thud later, and Cormac lay bleeding out on the stoop.
As Gage ran off, he saw the lights come on in front of my shop and realized someone had been in my store, most likely yours truly. When he wasn’t immediately arrested, he further realized I must not have gotten a good look at Cormac’s attacker. He thought he’d gotten away with his crime until Ace contacted him with questions. He knew she would have spoken with me, and that I would have been aware of the exclusivity arrangement he’d made with Cormac after crashing my grand opening celebration. After all, he’d reminded Cormac that he’d have to refuse the order he’d placed with me at my party.
When Gage spotted my glow-in-the-dark van at the pizza place next to Bridge Liquor Outlet after he’d made the undocumented cash sale there, he feared it was not a coincidence. He deduced that I suspected him of being Cormac’s killer. He parked his truck out of sight and lay in wait a block away to see if and when I might emerge from the pizza restaurant. When I came from around the back of the restaurant rather than exiting through its doors, he knew I’d been spying on him. His fear and fury took hold of him again, and thus Smoky and I ended up going head over heels—or should I say headlights over wheels?—down the side of the mountain. One unsuccessful chase with a road flare and lug wrench, and here we all were, mystery solved with no increase in body count. Phew!
Ace went to Bridge Liquors and examined the labels on their boxes of Backwoods Bootleggers moonshine. She confirmed that the preprinted labels addressed to Limericks had been covered by bogus stickers printed with the name and address of the liquor store.
Thanks to Gage Tilley’s admissions, as well as Miranda’s affidavit stating that the dishwasher at the bar worked perfectly, the complaint Cormac had filed against Heath Delaney with the Board of Professional Responsibility was resolved in Heath’s favor and the record of the complaint was expunged. He wouldn’t get back the lucrative client he’d lost, but at least he wouldn’t lose another to the baseless accusation.
Smoky and I were happy to be back in our cabin. Although it had been fun hanging out with Kiki and her cats, it felt nice to be home again. Smoky expressed his glee by flopping down on his back on the braided rug and wriggling to his heart’s content several times a day.
The local news channels, who’d before shown no interest in airing a story about my shop or my family’s history in the moonshine business, were now climbing over one another to interview me and my grandfather at the Moonshine Shack. I was forgiving and gracious, granting all requests. Same for the newspapers. My favorite piece was one cleverly titled “Still in Business” that not only covered my family’s history in moonshining but also Marlon’s family’s history in law enforcement and how our two families seemed forever intertwined by fate. The photographer had taken a photo of me and Marlon back to back, our arms crossed over our chests, our eyes narrowed as each of us glanced back at our purported rival. With the difference in our heights, I’d had to stand atop a case of my moonshine so that my head would reach above his shoulders. I’d framed a copy of the article and photo and hung it on the wall in the Moonshine Shack, right next to the newspaper clipping about my great-grandfather’s arrest by Sheriff Landers nearly a century ago. Granddaddy didn’t even object. With Marlon having saved me from certain death at Tilley’s hands, he decided to finally let bygones be bygones.
Thanks to the free publicity, traffic at the shop had increased more than tenfold. Not only did the customers buy jars and jugs of moonshine, but they also asked to take photos of me and Granddaddy with Smoky. There wasn’t a single picture taken in which my darn cat wasn’t giving me the stiff arm.
Now that the shop was well in the black, I’d posted an ad online looking for help. Over a hundred applicants had vied for the part-time positions. Interviews were scheduled in the upcoming days. I’d have my pick of employees.
Similarly, the liquor stores who’d earlier refused to carry my small-batch shine were inundated with customers searching for my homebrew. The stores placed orders at such a pace that the bottling company could barely keep up. It was a good problem to have.
My secondhand van was a total loss. The insurance company paid me next to nothing for it, but with sales taking off now, at least I could afford a new vehicle. I’d paid extra again to have my replacement van outfitted in custom firefly-green paint.
Mack Clayton placed an order for four jugs of Granddaddy’s Ole-Timey Corn Liquor and proposed that the two of us join together to offer bottled shine sauce. We’d co-brand it under the name of his restaurant and my moonshine brand—Smoky Mountains Smokehouse Firefly Shine Sauce. Because I’d done the legwork on bottled products for my moonshine, I was spearheading the effort to get the sauce into production.
The shine sauce wouldn’t be my only new product, either. I tinkered with the relative proportions of apple pie and cinnamon shine over the next few days and, with Marlon’s input, settled on relative proportions of two-thirds apple pie and one-third cinnamon for what would be my seventh Firefly moonshine flavor, candy apple.
Granddaddy’s wooden figurines flew off the shelves. Many of the shoppers who came in to buy a jar or jug of shine for themselves took home a cat, horse, squirrel, or bear for their child, grandchild, or a favorite niece or nephew. With the Chattanooga Choo-Choo Model Train Convention coming up in a couple of weeks, my grandfather had turned to whittling small steam engines and boxcars. He stockpiled them during the week for Kiki to paint while she minded the store with me on the weekends. I planned to hold some promotions in conjunction with the convention and take advantage of the large crowd to move some moonshine and spread the word about my new Firefly brand and Granddaddy’s Ole-Timey Corn Liquor.
All in all, things were really looking up for me and the Moonshine Shack. But I knew better than to take things for granted. I’d keep my nose to the proverbial grindstone.
* * *
* * *
Friday night finally arrived. Kiki had agreed to run the ’Shine Shack for me so I’d be free to enjoy my much-anticipated date with Marlon. He picked me up at my cabin at seven o’clock, and we headed back down the mountain to have dinner at Bar Celona.
Though I’d feared we might not have much to talk about now that Cormac’s murder case was res
olved, my fears proved to be unfounded. Between Marlon telling me about the interesting and oddball things he’d seen on the job, and me sharing stories of growing up with my often outrageous grandfather, we easily filled the time while we got to know each other better. Before I knew it, we’d eaten our way through half the menu and the server was laying the bill on our table.
I reached for the ticket, but Marlon stretched out his hand and took my wrist gently to stop me. “It’s on me, remember?” I said. “As a thank-you for looking out for me and my shop.”
“It’s on Ace,” he said. “She insisted.”
“She did?”
He nodded. “Your input on the financial aspects of the murder case were critical. She said it was the least she could do.” He released my hand, leaving a warm sensation behind. “She also said to give you this.” He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, retrieved a tube of Chantecaille Honeypot lipstick, and handed it to me.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to thank her for the wonderful meal and the lipstick. A reply came in immediately. A winky-face emoji followed by I hope you’re enjoying the company, too.
I replied with a thumbs-up. When I looked up, I caught Marlon eyeing me.
He placed his napkin on the table. “Let’s do this again, little filly.”
My heart performed a somersault in my chest. “I’m game.”
“Good. I’d like to take you on a trail ride. There’s a horse path with some nice scenery just outside of town and a café that serves the best cornbread you’ll ever eat. How’s that sound?”
It sounded both relaxing and romantic. “I’ll dig out my boots.”
As we left the restaurant, Marlon said, “I’m not ready for the night to be over. Why don’t we take a walk on the riverfront?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
And wonderful it was. The night was dark and starry, a light breeze keeping the temperature cool and comfortable. We stopped to sit on a bench overlooking the river, and Marlon draped his arm protectively over the bench behind me. The water moved by before us, ebbing and flowing, lapping softly at the shore. After the tumultuous days we’d endured, a quiet moment to decompress was exactly what the two of us needed.
As I thought over the preceding days, I felt proud to have played a part in solving a murder mystery. The only mystery now was, where would things go from here? Would my shop continue to thrive and my moonshine business grow, or would sales decline once the murder case was no longer in the news? Would whatever was happening with me and Marlon turn into something serious, or would it be just some casual fun?
As I pondered my future, a firefly lit up in front of me, drawing a squiggle in the air before turning off his bright behind and disappearing into the night. Maybe the little bug had a point. Sometimes it’s more fun not to know what the future holds. Sometimes it’s fun to be kept in the dark.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m over the moon about launching this moonshine series, and so grateful to all the wonderful folks who made it happen. I raise a glass to all of you!
Thanks to my agent, Helen Breitwieser, for championing this series.
Thanks to Michelle Vega for giving the series a home at Berkley. Thanks to my editor, Miranda Hill, for your perceptive suggestions and guidance through the revision process. Thanks to the rest of the Berkley team, including Brittanie Black, Natalie Sellars, Sarah Oberrender, and Megan Elmore, for all of your hard work in getting the book into readers’ hands. The cover is adorable, and Smoky is sure to steal some hearts!
Thanks, too, to you wonderful readers who chose this book. Enjoy your time with Hattie, Smoky, and the rest of the gang at the Moonshine Shack.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After spending several fun years in Nashville, Tennessee, Diane Kelly ventured over to the eastern side of the Appalachian range and now resides in the heart of North Carolina. She found herself fascinated by the region's rich past, especially the secret moonshiners who served up spirits during Prohibition and their runners who spawned the auto racing industry. She also fell in love with the beautiful Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains, and the quaint cities and towns scattered among them. With its natural splendor, storied history, and southern charm, Chattanooga is one of Diane's favorite vacation spots, and she is excited to set her Moonshine Shack series along its riverfront.
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