by Kris Calvert
“James Teller,” Knotts confirmed.
The waitress came back to the table, delivering breakfast and my tea. “Can I get you folks anything else?”
“We’re good,” Knotts replied.
“You okay, honey?” she said, leaning down to look me in the face. “You look like you seen a ghost or something.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. “I’m fine,” I breathed.
“Holler if you need me.”
Knotts took a deep breath, rearranging his silverware on the table in front of him. “I want to be sensitive to your…you know…issues here, Grace. But—”
“You don’t have to say it.”
I leaned back in the booth, still trying to process everything I’d just heard and seen. Was I so blind I didn’t look beyond Win’s green eyes and sweet words? I’d fallen right into bed with him. And now…now how did I…? What would I…?
Knotts washed down his breakfast with a gulp of coffee. “I’ll follow your lead—but only so far. I can’t and won’t do anything to cover up something. God knows there’s enough of that going on.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head, unwilling to answer me.
“You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?” I asked. “I’m not covering for anyone.”
“No. But if you don’t follow up on it, it’s the same damn thing. Look, your father kept digging on this case. I think you should too.”
“What do you know you’re not telling me? Where are my father’s notes on the case? What’s missing from the original Mary Holloway file, Knotts? Tell me. Tell me now.”
He shook his head. “People started dying over that damn case, Ginny. It was a different time then. Corrupt cops and agents were everywhere. It’s not like that anymore. Technology has made it easier to keep everyone on the up and up. Whatever your father found out about the case, he took to his grave with him.”
“Are you saying my father was killed? That he didn’t just have a car accident?” Between the photographs and the startling revelations Knotts was offering up about my dad, I couldn’t hold back my emotion.
“I’m saying you have to watch your back with these people. Your father’s notes aren’t in the file because someone removed them. You need to be smart about this, Grace—really smart. Use what you know and who you know to make this right. Do you understand where I’m going with this?”
Slowly I nodded my head. He was right. I knew he was right. “Give me twenty-four hours with Win?”
“Okay. What about Presley, Page and John Lee?”
“Don’t let Page and Lee go anywhere without a tail. Stick to them like glue.”
Again he nodded before taking another bite of his breakfast and a sip of coffee. “What about Cecil Winterbourne?”
“What about him? Does he even leave the property?” I shoved the photos in my bag becoming angrier by the moment.
“He hasn’t so far.”
“So you’ve had a tail on him too?”
Knotts shrugged his shoulders just enough to let me know he had.
“Is there anything else about my investigation I should know?” I asked, now feeling justified to take out Win’s indiscretions on the only man who’d been honest with me.
“No ma’am.”
“Thanks for breakfast. I’ll be in touch,” I said putting my shades back on to hide the tears that had found their way to the surface.
“Grace. Twenty-four hours.”
I gave him a single nod and walked out of the restaurant and straight to the car. Part of me wanted to drive away and not look back. Just head for the airport in Lexington, calling Powell along the way, asking to be taken off the case. Part of me wanted to drive to Winter Haven and punch Win Holloway square in the mouth. He’d never see it coming and I could coldcock him before he had a chance to think. And where did my dad fit into all of this? It was too much to process—too much to handle.
I drove out of town and toward Winter Haven, making it a couple of miles before I pulled over to the side of the road.
Beating my hands against the steering wheel I screamed as loud as I could. “You’re so stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Opening the door, I stepped out of the car and walked to the other side to throw up. Retching over and over until the three sips of tea I’d taken at the diner were on the side of the road. Crying uncontrollably, spittle hung from my mouth, and I coughed again at the idea of being played—at the idea my father lost his life trying to uncover a crime at Winter Haven.
Betrayal was an ugly beast that had stripped me once before to my barest soul. And now, here I was again.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and tried to catch my breath. I looked to my wrist for my rubber band, realizing it was on Win’s nightstand.
Sinking to the gravel, I propped myself against the dusty tire and sat—weighing my options. Wiping my tears, I reminded myself I was a trained Federal Agent and Galen Grace’s daughter—who, prior to this week, had set up the most elaborate inside informant in the past ten years at the New York City Bureau. I needed to be prepared for anything and anyone. I needed to watch my back. I needed to do my job. I needed to be the job. If someone had my father killed, I was taking them down—no matter who it was.
Standing, I dusted myself off literally and figuratively, and got behind the wheel once more. It was time to get serious. Someone was going down. I didn’t know if it would be for the murder of Mary, Robert, or my father, but I was solving this case and putting a killer away for good—even if it was Win.
19
WIN
Standing in the library, I looked from Lena to Magnus. “What do you mean you’re getting married?”
“He asked me last night,” Lena said, holding her left hand up for me to see the huge diamond on her finger.
“What?”
“Look Win,” Magnus began. “I know the timing is bad, but I’d already planned on asking her. We want to get married this summer and—”
“I need time to make wedding plans,” Lena interjected. “C’mon Win. I thought you’d be happy for me. For us.”
“What?” I asked as I began to pace the room. “Why in the hell would you think I’d give my blessing for you to marry Dad’s best friend not even a week after he was murdered? He’s not even cold in the ground yet and you two are off making plans for a damn wedding!”
Lena began to cry. “Please don’t spoil this for me. A girl gets married only once in a lifetime and I don’t want you to ruin it.”
I stared into their faces, all bright and happy. And then it occurred to me. “You know you have to sign a prenuptial agreement, Magnus. Cee Cee and I wouldn’t, and couldn’t in good conscience, allow you to come into the family without one. Dad had one.”
“For God’s sake Win, do you have to talk about that right now?” Lena whined. “Besides, that’s my decision, not yours or Cee Cee’s. I wanted to pop some champagne and have a toast. This is supposed to be the fun part—the happy part.”
“Who do you think you’re kidding, Lena? We’re the Winterbournes and Holloways. There is no happy part!”
“Screw you, Win!” Lena shouted.
Magnus pumped his open hand. “Calm down. “Both of you.”
I stared at the two of them and shook my head, my body shaking with rage. “No. No. This isn’t going to happen.”
“It’s going to happen, Win,” Lena shouted through her tears. “You can’t tell me what I can or cannot do with my life.”
“Someone needs to. Look Lena, you’ve had a rough time of it. I know. I get it. The doctors, the shock treatments, the—”
“You don’t get it, Win. You don’t. When were you ever locked up? When? And you didn’t care then, so why do you care now? You don’t get it. You don’t get it!” she screamed, dropping her fisted hands to her side.
It was like watching a child throw a temper tantrum. She was wild and out of control.
“Karolena,” Magnus sai
d, stepping in front of her, taking her face in his hands. “Look at me.”
Without as much as a breath, Lena’s face changed. It was like watching a flower bloom. She went from crying and screaming back to her childlike demeanor with a pleasant grin.
I took two steps back. “What the hell just happened?”
Lena looked at me and smiled. Something in her shifted and I knew it wasn’t good. “It’s fine, Win. It’s fine. I’m happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“That’s not it, Lena,” I said turning away from her and back to Magnus. “Don’t make me fire you, Magnus. Don’t make me do it.”
“Honestly Win, you’re blowing this all out of proportion. Besides, who’s going to run the distillery? You? I’m surprised you’re not burning up fuel and money flying back to New York on the corporate jet this morning.”
“Fuck you, Magnus,” I said, pointing to him before I walked away. My head pounded with adrenaline. I needed to find Cee Cee. Only he would be able to talk sense into Lena before she had another psychotic episode, sending her back to huddling in a corner unresponsive.
Storming out of the house, I hopped in a golf cart and took out down the lane to look for him. Running my hand through my hair, I tried to calm myself, but my racing pulse told me it wasn’t happening.
Stopping at the first office building, I stuck my head inside and shouted his name. “Cee Cee? Cee Cee, are you in here?”
When there was no answer, I walked to the next house to do the same. “Cee Cee!” I shouted.
“Win?”
Piper walked out of her office and into the hallway. “Jesus God, Piper leave me the hell alone. I’m only looking for my grandfather.”
“He’s not here.”
I turned and walked out without explanation. I wanted Piper fired as soon as we could get someone else on board and I wanted Magnus on the bus right after her. I jumped into the cart and started rolling before I had my second foot inside.
Stopping at every building and rickhouse, Cee Cee was nowhere to be found, and no one had seen him all morning. It was only then that panic filled me. “Oh no.”
Turning the cart around, I raced back to the house, rushing through the back door only to find Vernon drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper.
“Vernon, did my grandfather come down for breakfast?”
Vernon shook his head. “I haven’t seen him this morning. I just figured the funeral and all was a lot for him and maybe he wasn’t up for it.”
“Cee Cee? Not up early?” I asked, now in a full-on frenzy.
Climbing the back stairs, I rushed to the master suite, banging on the door. “Cee Cee! Are you in there?”
There was no answer. I placed my hand on the brass doorknob and said a prayer. I didn’t want to find my grandfather dead in his room.
“I’m coming in,” I shouted, opening the door and turning on the overhead crystal chandelier that was the dazzling center of the main master bedroom of the estate.
The bed was made and empty and I rushed to the bathroom. He wasn’t there. I dropped my shoulders, releasing the tension and fear I’d been holding in—but only for a moment. Where could he be?
Leaving his room behind, I noticed my grandmother’s jewelry box still sitting on her dressing table and wondered if my mother’s was on her table as well. I’d not been in my parent’s room since the night she was murdered. It was only then I realized I really didn’t know that much about Winter Haven anymore. I was a guest in my own home.
I walked down the hallway, staring at the door to my parents’ room. Turning the knob, I let myself in, closing the door behind me. With a flip of the switch the room was illuminated. It wasn’t as I’d remembered it as a child, and I could only surmise Dad had redecorated after Mom died. The layout was the same and her dressing table was still in the same spot, but the whole space, now lifeless, was dark. And not just because the heavy curtains were drawn.
I wondered how many women my dad had entertained in my mother’s room. He never remarried. If he had, he would’ve been out of the bourbon business for good. His prenuptial agreement, like anyone else who married into the family, was contingent upon actually being a legal member of the family. If he’d remarried, or if he was ever caught cheating, he was out.
It was something I learned just a few days ago when my father asked me to fly home. My future bride could marry into the Winterbourne family as my father had, but the pre-nup would be steadfast—if my wife was unfaithful to me, she got nothing. If I died, she retained my interest in Winter Bourbon only to safeguard it for our children who would become the sole heirs upon their thirty-third birthday.
It was an odd date to inherit something, but Cee Cee explained it to me. It was in Marshall Winterbourne’s thirty-third year of life he formed the company. In hindsight, it wasn’t really a bad idea. The heir would be young enough to take the reins of the business, and old enough not to piss it all away. My thirty-third birthday was only a few days away—Lena’s was over five years off.
I moved into the sitting room—the chairs were the same, the upholstery different. Taking a seat, I admired the space. It was magnificent. It was the original bedroom of Marshall’s first born son, John Paul. I knew while Cee Cee was alive, Lena would take this room. “Geez,” I sighed at the thought. Lena would make this suite her home with Magnus.
The thought turned my stomach and I wanted to leave. I’d seen enough and heard enough for the day and it wasn’t even noon.
Turning out the light, I shut the door, still wondering where Cee Cee could be.
Walking down the grand staircase, I thought of my father hitting each step along the way. It seemed as if everywhere I turned at Winter Haven, I only had bad memories and horrific flashbacks. I didn’t know how Lena could stand to live here. It wasn’t a happy place. Or perhaps I just wasn’t happy here.
When I made it to the kitchen I looked to Vernon. “He wasn’t in any of the offices or houses,” I said, nodding with my head toward the distillery. “Any ideas, Vernon?”
“The chapel?”
“The chapel? Why?”
“It’s Sunday.”
I stopped and hung my hands on my hips. “He goes out there on Sunday? Is there a church service?”
Vernon shook his head. “But you know your granddaddy. He talks to God in his own way.”
“He does at that. Thank you, Vernon.”
I left, this time noticing his golf cart was gone. With a sigh of relief, I climbed aboard one more time.
Arriving at the old church, I noticed the grounds were torn to pieces. The trucks that moved over the soft earth to open and close the grave, left a mess only time and Mother Nature would heal. I found Cee Cee’s cart parked on the side of the building and walked to the door—it was locked. Knocking twice, I waited. No one answered. Rounding the building, I found him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
In his hand he held a bouquet of daisies as he stood at the foot of my grandmother Priscilla’s grave. “Everything okay?” I asked as I got closer.
“You know, I used to think life was so complicated,” he said, staring at the headstone that bore her name. “There was business and family and a social life that needed tending to. When we got more modern conveniences out here like telephones, I thought, this is going to make everything so much easier than sending telegraphs and letters through the U.S. Mail,” he said looking at me. “You know the mail only came every two weeks.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, first it was telephones—a party line at that. Then it was our own line. Then we started automating some things. The fermenting vats were always twelve feet deep and held two thousand gallons—made of pure cypress. By the seventies, we’d bought new stainless steel vats to increase production. We built more rickhouses and turned quality control from a bunch of us taste testing the different batches to high tech microbiology machines that can test for parts per million—parts per million,” he repeated. “I can remembe
r my father in the old drive through filling up jugs of bourbon for the farmers that passed by—everyone doing their best not to get caught selling or buying booze, now we give tours of the damn place.”
“Times have changed for sure,” I said, wondering where he was going with his running commentary. “What’s your point?”
He looked me in the eye. “You’re about to turn thirty-three soon, if memory serves.”
“Funny you should say. I was just thinking about that.”
“When is it, next week some time, right?”
“You’re pretty damn good for an old man.”
“I’m old. But I’m not dead and I’m sure as hell not as stupid as some think.”
“What’s all this about, Cee Cee?”
“It just seems the older I get the faster the world turns. Everyone’s always in such a big ass hurry. But, it doesn’t matter what they do around here, or what they want to try. We make Winter Bourbon exactly the same way my great-granddaddy did from the very beginning. It’s the same starter yeast for every batch, the same one from 1870. And no matter what they try to do to change things, it’s still gonna take at least six years to age the bourbon.”
“What’s your point?”
“You spend your time trying to change things in your life, but life happens no matter what. Bourbon, like life, won’t be rushed or told what to do. Everything unfolds as it should—when it should—no matter what.”
I scratched my head. “I’m still not following, Cee Cee.”
“It’s important for you to know the tradition. It’s important the legacy of Winter Haven continues. Now I’m not trying to put any undo pressure on you, but you know you can’t leave it in the hands of your sister and Magnus.”
“He asked her to marry him. Did you know that? He’s sixty-four years old, Cee Cee. It’s just wrong. He’s only doing it to weasel his way in to the family.”
“Maybe,” he sighed. “Who knows? He’s always had a good business head on his shoulders. He kept Robert on the straight and narrow after your mother died.”
I stared at my mother’s grave, my father now buried right beside her, the earth still in a heaping mound on his plot.
