Angels' Share (Bourbon Springs Book 3)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “But what would we call it?” Bo asked.

  “Easy. Garnet Reserve.”

  Bo said nothing for a few seconds, turning over the name in his mind. “Love that name—but not so sure about the idea. I don’t want to dilute the brand, Walker.”

  Walker shook his head. “Not dilute it. Expand it. Garnet Reserve will immediately invoke Old Garnet. People will know where it came from, and that it’s quality stuff.”

  “I like it, but there’s another problem.”

  “What?”

  “Take a look around,” Bo said. “This rickhouse is full, and we’re putting Old Garnet in the rest of them, which are nearing capacity. Even if we did make what we’re calling Garnet Reserve, where are we going to put it? We’ll be running out of room soon.”

  “But what about that land at the southern end of the property?” Walker asked.

  “No guarantee that I can get that land, even though we just filed suit on it. And all the land across the creek is a state nature preserve, and the land across the road is part of a huge horse farm. No way we can buy either of those properties.”

  “Well, how about storing and aging off-site?” Walker suggested. “I know you’re opposed to doing that when it comes to Old Garnet, but what about a new product?”

  “No. If it’s going to be Garnet—any kind of Garnet—we age it here,” Bo insisted.

  “Then the only other way would be to offset production of Old Garnet to make room for the new product.”

  Bo shook his head. “Don’t want to do that,” he said.

  “Then we’re back to square one,” Walker lamented.

  “So it would seem. Let me talk to Hannah about this. Maybe she has some ideas.”

  But Bo knew as he said the words Hannah would think of every option that Walker had just offered up to him and which he had in turn rejected. It was Bo’s way of delaying a decision.

  He had to admit that Walker’s idea was good, but he just wasn’t sure how they could execute it at an operation the size of Old Garnet. It would be doable if he could get the land at the southern edge of the property and build the rickhouse he needed. But that was the big if, the if that was currently in litigation, the if that he couldn’t even see because it was so far away.

  “Hi, Jon,” Hannah chirped into the phone. “What’s up?”

  “Probably should tell Bo first,” Jon Buckler said.

  Dealing with the Davenport clan was a lucrative gig for a lawyer, but they could also be exceptionally exasperating. Jon had represented the family and the distillery in a variety of matters for the past several years since he joined Colyard and Borden shortly after passing the bar. He now did the bulk of the legal work for the distillery along with his fellow associate, Harriet Hensley, although they both toiled under the watchful eye of allegedly-semi-retired partner Bruce Colyard. It was only two days since Jon had met with Bo about the land litigation, but he already had more news to report.

  “Let me guess,” Hannah said into her cell phone. She traversed the wide lobby of the visitors’ center, on her way to the new tasting room that overlooked Old Crow Creek and the valley below. “I bet Lila has counterclaimed?”

  “Of course,” Jon said with a sigh. “Told him this would happen. And I bet you did, too.”

  “Of course,” Hannah mimicked, standing before the door to the tasting room searching her pockets for the key she thought she had on her person. “But where would lawyers be if their clients actually took their advice?”

  “Poorer yet saner,” Jon said. “And today I could live with that. But is Bo around?”

  “Yes, somewhere,” Hannah said. “I’ll tell him to call you.”

  “I’m going to send him a copy of the counterclaim as an email attachment. Please try to tell him before he opens the email.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.”

  Hannah ended the call, put her hands on her hips and got irked at the idea of having to traipse back to her office and turn it inside out looking for the stupid key to the tasting room. But before she did that, she called Bo’s cell phone. She got no answer but left him a voicemail to call her as soon as possible. She didn’t mention the counterclaim—as much as she wanted to rub it in his face that she’d been right. Better Bo learn about this in person rather than from a voicemail or email. If she could reach him to tell him in person.

  He was probably in the distillery, fussing over that new mash tub. It was his baby, the thing he had longed for. It would undoubtedly increase production, but Bo still hadn’t figured out where he was going to put all that extra bourbon. Hannah knew that he’d been counting on getting what he wanted out of Lila—well, at least when it came to the land, that is—and had gone ahead against her advice and put in the new mashtub.

  At that moment, Hannah wished that the new head of security, Goose Davenport, her cousin, had already started so she could call him to unlock the tasting room door. According to Bo, Goose had told him during her absence that he couldn’t start until after the new year. This wasn’t a big problem since the job was new and it wasn’t as though the distillery needed to fill the position quickly. Nonetheless, Hannah thought about how nice it would have been simply to have the ability to call Goose and have him come to unlock the door rather than go on a search and destroy mission for the missing key.

  Hannah gave up trying to find the key on her person and began to trek back across the lobby. When she was in the center of the area, directly underneath the glass dome, Hannah saw a familiar figure entering the building.

  “Hello and welcome to Old Garnet, home of the finest straight Kentucky bourbon whiskey made from the sparkling waters of Old Crow Creek and spring-fed wells,” Hannah greeted, and walked toward Lila to intercept her.

  “How long were you a tour guide?” Lila asked as she unbuttoned her barn coat and took off her light blue knit cap, producing sharp cracklings of static electricity.

  “Years and years in high school and college,” Hannah said as Lila put a hand to her head to smooth her hair. “It was fun, but I’m done with that unless I’m needed. I heard you’ve scheduled a tour for your students in a few weeks.”

  “Yes, and they’re looking forward to it. I’ve told them there will be no samples, of course, except for bourbon balls if they have signed permission slips.”

  “So why might you be here today?”

  Lila looked beyond Hannah toward the café at the back of the visitors’ center.

  “I’m here to meet your mother. Took the day off,” Lila revealed, and glanced down at her attire as she took off a pair of gray leather gloves. “Although maybe I should’ve dressed up a bit more for this,” she said. Lila was in jeans, hiking boots and a faded blue University of Kentucky sweatshirt.

  “Mom dresses like that or in khakis all the time,” Hannah assured her. “We’re not terribly formal around here, as you already know.”

  “Please come with me, Hannah. I think you should be there to hear what I came to say.”

  Hannah agreed and the two women went into the café in search of Emma Davenport, finding her in a far corner next to the window. It was one of the best views of the creek from the café and was also close to the food line, although there was only one worker on duty since the only patrons at that time of the morning tended to be the handful of people who worked at the distillery.

  Emma rose as Lila and Hannah approached, and hugged Lila first, then her daughter. That morning Emma was dressed for work in the gift shop: a white polo shirt with the distillery name and logo embroidered over the left chest pocket, khakis, and a pair of black clogs. Emma already had a pot of coffee on the table and a few muffins. Lila accepted coffee only, saying she’d actually had a large breakfast at home, while Hannah declined anything.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, Mrs. Davenport,” Lila said.

  “I’ve told you to call me Emma,” she chided smilingly, and patted at her bobbed gray hair.

  Lila smiled. “I’ll work on that.”


  “So why did you want to meet? Not that I’m put off, mind you. I’m thrilled to see our neighbor.” said Emma.

  “I wanted to apologize to both you and Hannah,” Lila said, and looked down at her lap. “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet—” she said, and looked to Hannah for confirmation.

  “I already know, Lila,” Hannah said softly. “But Mom and Bo don’t know yet. I was trying to call him when you showed up.”

  “Well, I’d like to know what reason you could possibly have to apologize to us,” Emma said.

  “I had to file a counterclaim against the distillery,” Lila said, “and I hope you won’t be mad at me for doing it. Because I still want to be friends with the both of you.” She looked at Emma and Hannah imploringly.

  “Oh, honey,” Emma said, and asked Lila for one of her hands. “We understand, we know it’s not something you really wanted to do.”

  Hannah put her arm around Lila, who sat to her left. “You’re our friend, Lila, and always will be. We have no dispute with you.”

  “Thanks,” Lila said with a thick voice as she mustered a weak smile for her companions.

  The spell of quiet friendship was broken by someone distantly yet distinctly cursing, and the string of nasties emanated from the hall leading to the offices, echoing through the visitors’ center lobby and into the nearly-empty café. Emma frowned and Hannah smirked.

  “Sorry about this,” Hannah said, and pulled her cell phone from her pants pocket. She placed the phone on the table, stared at it, and within seconds, a number popped up on the screen. Hannah scooped up the phone and answered the call. “I’m in the café,” Hannah said, “and all three of us heard you.”

  Chapter 4

  “Did you already know?” Bo barked into his phone.

  He strode toward the café, enraged and needing answers from someone, anyone. He’d just read the counterclaim and Jon’s email and had quickly realized that Lila was claiming quite a bit more land than he expected.

  “I did, and tried to call you before you got the email,” Hannah said. “But apparently you didn’t check your messages before going back to your office. Because I’d just hate to think that you got my voicemail and blew me off.”

  “Where’s Mom? I’m going to have to tell her,” Bo said, ignoring his sister’s taunts as he entered the café from the lobby.

  “Here with me, and she already knows, Bo. And also—”

  “I can’t believe her nerve!” Bo yelled. “The audacity to counterclaim and say that all that part of the land along—”

  Bo stopped in mid-rant and nearly dropped his phone when he saw Lila sitting with his mother and sister. She had her back to him, but was casting a cold stare at him over her shoulder.

  Emma rose upon her son’s appearance in the café. “I should think, Bo, that you might want to shut that mouth of yours, at least for a little while,” Emma warned. Bo slipped his phone back into his front jeans pocket and stood several yards away from the table where the women sat. “Now,” Emma said, as if something had actually been resolved, “would you care to join us? I have coffee and muffins here at the table,” she said, and gestured.

  Emma gave her only son a look that commanded his compliance with her polite request. For as long as he could remember, Bo had known that look—the narrowed eyes with a slight smile that said you’d better do what I say or you’re in it deep. He nodded, walked around to the side of the table where his mother sat, and took a seat opposite Hannah.

  “Lila came to see us,” Emma said, stating the obvious. “She seems to think she needs to apologize to your sister and me for this lawsuit mess.”

  “Yes, about the counterclaim, really—” Lila began.

  “Nonsense,” Emma spat, interrupting her. She looked coldly at her son while Hannah looked down, apparently trying to hide her smile.

  “Well, thank you,” Lila said, looking quickly at Bo. “But I think I should leave now.”

  “You just got here, my dear,” Emma protested. “And don’t let him run you off.” Emma pointed at her son.

  “What did I do?” Bo whined, looking at his mother then to Hannah for the answer.

  “Have you ever had a tour of the distillery?” Hannah asked Lila, ignoring her brother.

  Emma looked expectantly at Lila for an answer but Bo looked incredulous.

  “Well, yes, but it was a long time ago. I was probably in high school, or maybe even middle school,” Lila admitted.

  “Then it’s high time you had another,” Emma announced, and stood. The other three followed her lead. “Unfortunately, I can’t do it today. I need to do inventory and catch up on bookkeeping in the gift shop.”

  “And I’ve got to find that blasted key to the tasting room,” Hannah griped. “I had it earlier this morning. The electricians are supposed to be here soon to fix the track lighting in there. And I’m still catching up on work after being gone.”

  “So that leaves you, Bo,” Emma said, and began to clear the coffee and muffins from the table. “Be nice to our guest.”

  “Really, I need to be going,” Lila said, trying to beg off.

  She didn’t like being caught between Emma and Hannah on the one hand and Bo on the other, especially since he was giving her inscrutable looks. She thought he would be mad; he certainly had been when he’d stormed into the café. But he had calmed, and seemed to be willing to do what his mother was telling him to do.

  Part of her worried that this was a setup. Could Emma have an ulterior motive as it related to the lawsuit in getting Bo to show her around the distillery? It seemed unlikely. Emma hadn’t wanted Bo to sue in the first place, although she could have technically pooled her votes with Hannah to stop the process.

  But before Lila could make her escape, Hannah was already walking away, Emma was moving toward the café kitchen with the coffee carafe, and she was left alone with Bo, who was grinning at her.

  “I’d love to give you a tour,” he said.

  “You—you would?”

  “Absolutely.” He looked eager, like a little kid that had some kind of project he wanted to show off to a parent.

  “How long will it take?”

  “Not more than an hour, I’d say,” he promised. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go first?”

  “No, not really. Just give me the tour everyone else gets.”

  “I can do better than that,” Bo said. “Follow me.”

  Lila followed Bo down the hall where the offices were located to the end and out the door. They walked along the limestone-paved path toward the main distillery until they reached an old wooden, two-story house, painted a dull red. They ascended a short flight of stairs and Bo opened the front door for Lila.

  “We call this the Old House,” he said. “Not a terribly inventive name, but that’s what we’ve called it for decades.”

  They emerged into a small museum. “History of Old Garnet?” she asked as she looked at the displays on the walls and in glass-enclosed and locked cabinets.

  “Our own little slice of history, that’s right,” Bo nodded, and looked around. “Can a history teacher appreciate that?”

  “You bet I can,” she said, and immediately lost herself in the details of the past on display before her.

  On the walls were framed antique advertisements, old bottles of Old Garnet, and a very long timeline that took up most of one long wall. Lila had always known that Old Garnet was a very old brand; but she didn’t realize that the name of the product only dated back into the 1880s. That was when the name Old Garnet first started appearing in advertising literature. But even though the name wasn’t as old as she thought, Lila learned that people had been distilling on the spot in some form or fashion for almost two hundred years, although not continuously. This long production record made Old Garnet the second oldest operating distillery in the state. Lila also learned that Old Garnet was able to survive Prohibition because it was one of a handful of distilleries that obtained a license from the federal government
to produce “medicinal” whiskey. There were several old bottles of medicinal whiskey on display, her favorite being a brand called “Kentucky Sunshine,” with little sunbursts on the surface of the glass bottle itself.

  “These bottles are exquisite,” Lila said, smiling.

  There were several shelves lined with bottles both empty and full, ending with the bottle shape presently used by Old Garnet: a thin neck atop a globular bottom, and the label bearing a distinctive raised, red image of a sparkling, oval-cut garnet. At the top covering a wood-and-cork plug was the foil wrap, printed to look like a red grosgrain ribbon around the circumference. Not even counting the liquid contents, the bottle was a work of art in itself.

  “They are fun to look at,” Bo agreed, and moved beside Lila to examine the display.

  Lila’s attention was drawn to a fireplace against the wall on the right side of the house as one entered the building. Over the hearth was an oil painting of someone named Hiram Elijah Davenport, and she assumed this individual was one of Bo’s forebears. But before she could ask anything about Hiram, she became fascinated by the framed pictures that were perched along the mantel.

  “Are these pictures of your family?” she asked.

  Bo nodded. “Most of these only go back about forty years,” he said. “You can see that my parents and Hannah and I are in most of them.”

  Lila scrutinized every shot. There were photos of a very young Emma and Cass, the couple standing in front of Old Crow Creek with an older man Lila suspected was Bo’s grandfather, judging from resemblance. A small label on the photo said Emma, Cass, and Booker. The next photo was from Emma and Cass’ wedding, with the beaming bride looking like an angel with her large tulle bridal veil. After that shot, a string of photos of Bo and Hannah as children, from babyhood through young adulthood, littered the mantle. There were baby pictures; shots with dogs and cats; pictures of brother and sister playing together at the distillery; graduations. Perhaps the most poignant was a picture of a younger Bo standing next to his father. Written on a strip of paper attached to the bottom of the frame was Bo’s first day.