The Bourbon Brotherhood

by F J messina

  Frieda thought for a moment. “Ze woman. She was za boss.”

  “Ohhh.”

  Sonia reached out tentatively and touched Frieda on the forearm, so tentatively she wasn’t even sure she’d made contact. “Thank you again, Mrs. Schiessl.” She turned, opened the door, stuck her umbrella out, and opened it. She turned back, gave Frieda one last smile, and took off running for her car. As she sat in the Subaru, the sound of rain pelting the roof, a thought crystallized for Sonia. No question. Missy Charles is making her move and she wanted to make certain that there’s nothing on Carl Rasmussen’s computer that could incriminate her. In fact, maybe there had been something there and Missy had removed it.

  Sonia started the car and headed for her office. As she drove, she pushed several wet strands of hair out of her face. Dang, I wish I’d figured this out before I left that computer. I’d love to get back in there and go through all the erased files. She huffed out a tiny breath and a snarky little smile crossed her lips. She knew better than most that nothing ever really gets erased from a computer.

  26

  By three thirty, Sonia was back in Magee’s parking lot. When she reached the bottom of those wooden steps, she wished she could just pop into the bakery to pick up a hot cup of coffee and an afternoon treat. It being Sunday afternoon, that was just not in the cards. She looked at the rain-slicked steps. And up we go.

  Once inside the office, Sonia put on a pot of coffee and checked some phone and email messages. Nothing of great importance. One by one, the BCI team arrived as well. Eventually, three of them were seated around the white table in the waiting room while Sonia brought out a cup of coffee for each. That accomplished, she sat down next to Brad. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s see what we’ve all been up to this lovely, rainy Sunday. But listen, let’s cut to the chase. The clock is running and it’s time we get something going here. Who wants to start? Tee?”

  Tee sat up straighter, her voice filled with obvious frustration. “Well, I met with Clay Baratin at the Elk Horn Distillery down in Bardstown and learned nothing except what a rye forward bourbon is. I got nothing special at Bald Knob Trace and Johnston Springs. Oh,” she twisted her lips while squinting one eye, “and the trip back in the rain was great.”

  Sonia tried to hide a sigh by scratching her nose. I wonder if I should remind her that no one told her this was going to be easy. “Jet?”

  Brad interrupted. “Wait. Before you hear from Jet, I’ve got something important to share.” Every head at the table turned toward him. “I met with Patricia Huntington-Jones this afternoon, Victor’s first wife. I won’t go into a lot of detail, but here’s the main thing I learned.” He let a half-moment go by. “Victor Rasmussen was a constant and reckless gambler.”

  “Whoa. Now ain’t that interestin’.” Jet’s southern belle was back momentarily.

  “Interesting and then some,” said Brad. He took a sip from the cup he was holding. “The question is: ‘How does that play into what was going on?’ I mean, did he take on some big bet and lose? Was he simply killed over a gambling debt?”

  Silence filled the room as all four of them wondered about the implications of Brad’s information. Finally, Sonia tried to get things going again. “Let’s move on. What do you have for us, Jet?”

  Jet sat up taller and put her coffee down. “Well, I spent the day with the folks at Settler’s Pride and Woodland Acres. I know they’re just vague, but I got two things I think could be important from Avery Hobart at Woodland.” She held up one finger. “First, I asked him about being related to the Benningtons and working at Woodland Acres instead of the James Bennington distillery. He told me all about the bourbon families moving around and working in all the different bourbon organizations. He used the word, ‘family.’ When I asked him specifically about someone hurting Victor Rasmussen his answer was all about family again. I think the message he was trying to send me was to stop looking in that direction, that he didn’t think someone in the bourbon brotherhood would hurt Victor, even if nobody liked him or respected him.”

  Sonia pursed her lips. “Okay. What’s the second thing?”

  Jet leaned in toward Sonia, tipping her head and squinting just a bit. “Do you remember telling us that when you asked Oscar Branch about Victor coming up with twenty-year-old bourbon, his response was, ‘That would be a tough one?’ ”

  Sonia nodded again. “Uh, huh.”

  Jet banged her fist gently on the plastic table and pointed right at Sonia. “Well, those were the exact same words that Avery Hobart used, ‘That would be a tough one.’”

  Tee shrugged. “So?”

  Brad leaned in immediately and turned to his left. “Wait a minute, Tee. There could be something there.” He turned back to Jet. “What are you thinking?”

  Jet shrugged. “I don’t know, but I got the feeling that these guys have gotten together and talked this through long before they called us in. It’s almost as if they came up with some planned response to questions about that bourbon.”

  Sonia brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. “Planned, or maybe inadvertent. Maybe that phrase got used a lot during their conversation and it just stuck?” She turned to Brad. “How does it strike you?”

  Brad put his coffee down and rocked back in his chair. “Look. I’ve done a lot of investigations,” he pinched his thumb and forefinger almost together, “where one little thing catches your attention. You can ignore it, write it off as insignificant, or you can track it down.” He smiled at Jet. “For some reason, I’m getting the same vibe Jet got.” He turned back to Sonia. “It may well be that the fine folks of the bourbon brotherhood are sandbagging us. And if that’s true, we need to find out right away. Day Five is coming—fast.”

  There was a moment’s silence before Tee spoke. “So, what do we do now?”

  “I’ll tell you what we do now.” Sonia’s tone had turned from frustrated to determined. “We call Mason Holiday and tell him to get his Sunday afternoon you-know-what over here to explain what the heck is going on.”

  Brad leaned forward. “Agreed. The clock is ticking and we’ve got nothing but vague notions. We’ve got to try to get our hands on something concrete.”

  Sonia smiled a Cheshire-cat grin. “Will this do?” Like Brad, she let her question hang in the air for the briefest moment. “What if I tell you that I just found out that Carl Rasmussen is dying of cancer, and that Missy Charles and some man were at his home just after he went into the hospital?”

  The expressions on the faces of the other three brought an even bigger smile to Sonia’s face. “Yup. I went over there to ask him a few more questions about Missy Charles, and his housekeeper told me all about it. In fact,” she took a dramatic pause, “she asked me if I wanted to see his computer.”

  “Seriously?” Tee’s dark brown eyes were opened wide.

  Sonia let out a deep breath. “Seriously.”

  “Yeah,” Brad nodded, “I sensed the old guy wasn’t doing well. Sorry to hear about the dying part, though.”

  Jet ran her ponytail through her fingers. “I agree, but did you get to the computer or not?”

  “I got to the computer.” Sonia teepeed her fingers. “Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything there about Missy or the business. That’s probably because Missy got there before me. I’m guessing she’s already deleted anything that would implicate her in this mess. The only thing that I really got to look over was his will, and there was nothing there that you wouldn’t expect.”

  “So,” Tee’s voice was tentative, “it’s Missy Charles that we’re after?”

  “We’re not sure,” said Sonia. “It just seems─

  CRACK! CRACK!

  “GUN!” Brad’s booming voice filled the room. “HIT THE FLOOR!”

  27

  Brad was on his feet in an instant, pushing Sonia to the floor and waving Jet and Tee out of their seats and down. “Get down! Stay down!” Squatting, he pushed Sonia along the floor and under the table, then waved his arms at
Jet and Tee. “Under here, both of you!”

  The room was silent for a long moment.

  “Anyone armed?” It was the voice of Captain Brad Dunham, U.S. Marine Corps, strong, yet quiet─totally under control.

  It took a moment, but Sonia finally responded. “Me. I am.”

  Brad looked at her curiously. “Okay.” There was an unspoken question in his tone. “Anyone else?” He saw a blank look on Tee’s face.

  Jet’s response was different. “Damn, mine’s at home, locked up for safety.” A disgusted look crossed her face. “Lot of good it does me there.”

  Brad pulled a Glock G43 from the holster at his back, a slightly thinner version of the Sig Sauer Jet had left at home, and significantly smaller than the .45 caliber Colt 1911 he carried when he felt he might be going into a dangerous situation. “All I’ve got is this little nine.” He turned his attention back to Sonia and asked a question with his eyes.

  “I’ve got my .38.” Sonia reached down, tugged up her white pant leg, still damp from her run in the rain, and pulled the Smith & Wesson out of its holster.

  “Okay. Stay here.” Again, his voice was without hesitation.

  “No.” Sonia’s voice was equally strong, and equally without hesitation.

  “Sonia, stay here.” There was no question it was a command.

  One she didn’t plan on following. “I’m coming with you.”

  Brad huffed. “Okay, but stay down.”

  Sonia brushed a wisp of hair out of her face and nodded. Yes, sir. Right.

  Brad crept out from below the table, Sonia following behind. They crawled along the floor toward Sonia’s office. As Sonia followed Brad across the room, her eyes were drawn to two small holes in the glass that separated her office from the waiting area. Things started to come into focus. Someone had fired two rounds into the BCI offices while the team was sitting at the table.

  Brad made it through the door into Sonia’s space and then to the outer wall, the one that looked over East Main. Sonia followed, scooting around Brad and placing her back against the wall to his right, the way she’d seen so many actors position themselves in movies and TV shows. Gingerly poking his head up, Brad scanned the rain-soaked area across the street.

  At the same time, Sonia’s eyes searched their office space, examining the damage the rounds had done. Within moments she focused on two marks in the ceiling over the waiting area. Glancing back to the holes in the glass between her office and the waiting area, Sonia made a quick calculation. The holes in the glass were near the top of the pane. She could imagine a straight line from them to the marks in the ceiling, the places where she imagined the lead projectiles were currently lodged.

  Brad was still scanning the area, hoping to see something, anything that would give him a clue as to where the shooter was. Still holding her .38 in her right hand, Sonia reached across her body with her left and squeezed Brad’s arm. He turned to her. Using her small, two-inch-barreled gun as a pointer, Sonia drew Brad’s eyes along the trajectory she was convinced the bullets had traveled. He turned to her and nodded. Then he leaned back and looked more closely at the window through which he had been peering. Without saying a word, he pointed to the two holes in that window, holes near the bottom of the pane.

  Brad slouched down and turned his back to the wall, leaning against it just as Sonia had. “Low entry through this window,” he said softly while he pointed with his empty hand, “high exit on that one, impact in the ceiling.” He turned to her and smiled.

  Sonia was way ahead of him. “The shooter was lower than us, probably on the ground.” Her voice was soft as well.

  “And,” Brad let out a breath of relief and spoke a little more loudly, “probably long gone. I’m pretty sure.”

  “Right.” Sonia began to relax as well. “He probably fired then ran.” She began to stand.

  Brad reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. “Probably. Stay low and let’s move back to the girls. Make sure they’re okay.”

  Brad swung around and crept back to the table, hunched over to keep the lowest profile possible. Sonia did the same.

  When they got back to the table, Brad asked, “Everyone okay?” His tone of voice indicated he was pretty certain about the answer.

  Sonia bent down and put her arm around Tee, her eyes locking with Jet’s. “Really. Are either of you hurt?”

  Tee answered first. “Son-of-a-bitch didn’t get us. But holy crap, I got to tell you, I almost peed my pants.”

  “Now, now, little girl.” Jet’s southern belle was back and full-throated. “Looks like we ladies are going to have to do some serious thinking about this. Lordy, if they’re gonna start shootin’ at us we’re gonna have to be a whole lot more careful . . . and a whole lot more certain to be carryin’, if you know what I mean.”

  Brad looked at Jet and rolled his eyes, but Sonia knew better. She was certain that Jet’s theatrics were meant to calm Tee and, in fact, Jet herself. She gave Tee another squeeze. “Don’t worry, honey, we’re going to be alright.”

  Jet reached into her back pocket and took out her phone. “Let me get the police over here, just in case Brad’s wrong and that guy,” she hitched, “or girl, is still out there.”

  “No, wait.” Sonia reached out and grabbed Jet’s arm. “You’d better not do that.”

  Jet’s eye’s squinted. “Why?”

  Sonia let out a sigh. “It’s that non-disclosure agreement we signed. I was afraid something like this might happen.” She looked at Brad, then back to Jet. “What are we going to do, tell them someone shot at us because we’re investigating a murder they don’t even know about?” She shook her head. “Agreement or not, I’m pretty sure the police would say we’ve been impeding an investigation, or at a minimum withholding pertinent information. I’m thinking that if you make that call, we might be spending the night in jail for obstruction of justice.”

  Brad gave Sonia a small “I told you so” look, one she wasn’t particularly pleased to see. After a moment, he stood up, tentatively. “Okay, I’m going outside to take a look around. See if I can find anything.”

  “Like shell casings?” Tee asked, a lift in her voice.

  Brad turned to her and smiled. “Like shell casings.”

  “And I,” said Sonia. “am going to get Mason Holiday on the phone and tell him to get his ass down here right now. It’s time we find out exactly what he’s gotten us into.”

  28

  Sonia made her phone call to Mason Holiday from her office, trying her best to indicate her frustration while not letting her emotional state get the best of her professional demeanor. As she spoke, her eyes couldn’t resist the urge to keep tracking the trajectory of the deadly projectiles that had blown through their offices, lodging in their ceiling. She was pretty certain that whoever was shooting at them wasn’t really trying to hurt them. She ran her fingers through her hair. Better in the ceiling than in one of the people I love.

  When she had finished her call, Sonia stepped back into the waiting area and over to the white, plastic table at which the team was sitting. Brad had just returned from looking around. She let out a quick huff. “He’s on his way.” Sonia took her seat next to Brad. “He said he’d be here a little before six.”

  “And when he gets here,” Jet’s southern accent was in full bloom, “he’s gonna feel like Paula Dean, herself, slathered his whole body in butter. ‘Cause I’m gonna fry his ass.”

  Sonia could tell from the look on Tee’s face that she was mildly amused by Jet’s outburst. “Whatever,” slipped out of her mouth. Meanwhile, Brad sat silently, apparently mulling over possibilities.

  Sonia put her hand on Brad’s leg as she spoke. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. With how things are progressing, I’m glad we’ve got a little more help on the way.”

  Jet gave her a look. “You mean Mason Holiday?”

  “No. I mean Detective Sergeant Johnny Adams.”

  Jet’s eyes popped open, but it was Brad’s res
ponse that got Sonia’s attention. He sat suddenly taller in his chair, his body noticeably stiffer. Aware of his reaction, Sonia continued. “Yeah, I was sitting there thinking about it this morning. There are so many Rasmussen Company business contacts we need to question that we’re never going to come close to completing the task by the end of the fifth day. I just became convinced we needed more help.”

  Brad’s voice seemed to have dropped half an octave. “So, you called Johnny Adams?”

  Sonia could feel the chill coming off his presence. She removed her hand but she didn’t allow herself to flinch. “Yes. He’s a skilled investigator and someone we can trust. I called him, and he said he would be glad to assist, especially since it was only for a few days. He said he’d be here by the end of the day or early in the morning.”

  Brad said nothing. His body spoke volumes.

  When Sonia turned to look at Jet, she could see that Jet’s antennae had clearly picked up on the tension between Sonia and Brad. The look on Tee’s face indicated she had no idea what was going on—but she was pretty sure it was darn juicy.

  Silence lingered at the table for a long moment. Finally, Brad stood, “Sonia, can we talk?”

  Sonia rose and began following him into her office. The thoughts that were flying around in her mind had her spinning. On the one hand, her mind flashed back to her very first meeting with Brad. He had been sitting behind his big desk playing mind games with her as she tried to establish herself as a professional, while at the same time asking for help in investigating a suicide she was almost certain was a murder. On the other hand, they were now walking into her domain, her space, inside the BCI offices, the place where she and Jet were in charge. She brushed that stubborn wisp of hair out of her face. Why do I feel like I’m the teacher, yet I’m the one being sent to the principal’s office?

  As soon as Sonia had entered the office, Brad turned. “You called Johnny Adams?”