Page 45 of Whiskey Kisses

I walk slowly after her. “I guess it’s your job now, right?”

“I guess.” She nods, stooping to cup a yellow rose in her palm. “Look at these. Mama and I used to help her plant bulbs like this in the fall.”

It’s obvious she misses her aunt, and suddenly I’m relieved that she has this place. It’s full of memories and flowers and all the shit she loves, and she’ll always have it no matter what happens.

“There’s a little creek back there,” she says dreamily, pointing to the very back of the garden as she stands. “There used to be an orangery, too, but it’s probably been taken over by nature.”

I squint, shading my eyes. All I see is trees, lots of dense brush, and more trees. “What’s an orangery?”

“It’s kind of like a greenhouse, but for citrus trees. This one hasn’t been used forever, but it was a big deal back in the olden days.”

My phone vibrates with a text. It’s Lucky.

Can you talk?

“Hold that thought,” I tell Evie, leaving her to reminisce. I stroll around the side of the house to give my brother a call. “What’s up, Lucky?”

“Hey, listen to this.” As always, he jumps right in like we’re mid-conversation. “You know the West Saint Julian Street warehouse? Turns out that building used to belong to the Deschamps family, and they’ve been trying to get Randall to return it to them.”

“Really?” I ask. “When was it theirs?”

“A long,longtime ago, like nearly a century ago,” explains Lucky. “Pax got into a private digital archive of the Doyle family’s business records. Looks like they were in business with the Deschamps at one point.”

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window I’m passing, and I look shocked. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Pax is still digging around, but I’ll let you know if he finds anything else.”

“Okay,” I say, thinking about the run-down warehouse. Evie pointed it out to me once, when we were walking around City Market. “I wonder why they would want it back, though? They already own a ton of real estate down here.”

“Lots of prime real estate, right?” Lucky muses. “Real historic?”

“Yeah, but the warehouse is a dump,” I reply. “I’m wondering if they’re more interested in the plot it’s on.”

“Or maybe it’s about what’sinthe warehouse. Pax did find a mention of legacy assets in those old records.”

“What are legacy assets?”

“Anything that’s passed from one generation to the next—old equipment, real estate, investments, whatever,” explains Lucky.

“Like a silent distillery?”

He chuckles. “That would be one hell of an asset.”

I circle around the house and start back toward the garden. “I’ll call Kenny, see if he can shed some light on it. Bro’s like the analog version of Pax when it comes to local lore.”

“Whatever it is about this warehouse, you just make sure you watch your back. Nothing I hear about the Deschamps is good,” Lucky says cagily. “Things could get hairy after you secure the takeover next week.”

I rough my fingers through my hair. “I know. I’ve thought about that.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you had a few more guys to help you keep an eye on things,” he adds. “And more hardware.”

“Go ahead and send a few more down. Have ‘em drive so they can come strapped,” I say, finding Evie deep in the garden. She really looks like a flower child now, barefoot, her brilliant red hair glowing in the dappled sunlight. Her rings and bracelets glint as she brushes her nose against a flower, a small, peaceful smile curving her lips. It’s like she belongs here.

I callKenny the minute we get back to the rental. The info Lucky shared might not mean much, but I won’t know for sure until I ask.

The phone rings a few times before Kenny picks up. “Kenneth LaMonte.”

“Hey, Kenny. Tristan Kelly,” I say, stepping out onto the back deck. “You got a minute?”

---