Page 46 of Whiskey Kisses

“I got a few,” he quips. “I have an appointment soon, though, so make it snappy.”

“Lucky told me that Randall Doyle’s old warehouse on West Saint Julian Street used to belong to the Deschamps family, and that they’ve been trying to get it back from him for a while. Do you know anything about that?”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line. “The Deschamps and Doyles had some kind of business arrangement in the early 1900s, both before and after Prohibition. When that fell apart, there was a dispute over assets, including some land.”

“Interesting.” I pace back and forth on the deck, processing the new information. “Do you know why the Deschamps are so eager to get it back now? Seems like this has been dragging on for such a long time.”

“There might be something important in that building,” Kenny says. Exactly what Lucky said.Legacy assets. “But I’m guessing they just want it so they can fix it up and rent it out. Make some of their money back from Randall that way.”

“A buddy of mine told me the Doyle warehouse was a point of contention amongst the businesses around City Market because Randall wasn’t keeping it up to standard,” Kenny goes on. “When the Deschamps got wind of that, they doubled down on their efforts to reclaim it. Randall finally agreed to sign it back over to the Deschamps—I’m assuming as a partial repayment of his debt to them—but he’s been putting it off for years.”

“Sounds like reneging on deals is his M.O.,” I say, letting out a low whistle. “How is he not dead in a ditch somewhere?”

“Well, the Deschamps can’t prove it’s theirs, so they have no legal standing,” he says. “Just like your daddy can’t technically prove that Randall owes him even though we all know he does.”

“Yeah, but I get the impression they don’t always go the legal route.”And neither do we. I lean on the railing, looking out into the darkening yard. “Randall’s not just playing with fire. He’s playing with explosives.”

14.Evie

Tristan’s eyes flash when I come into the kitchen, dressed to go out. “You look nice,” he says, a subtle tilt to his lips. The way he’s looking at me makes my heart skip a beat.

I always dress up for my birthday. Tonight, I wanted something sexy and feminine. I’m wearing a flouncy little skirt with a soft floral pattern and a cream, off-the-shoulder top with long sleeves.

“Where are you guys headed, again?” he asks, his gaze snagging on the hem of my very short skirt like he can’t help himself.

“We’re going bar hopping,” I say, riffling through my purse. “Tell Timmy to keep up.”

“Don’t worry about Timmy,” he says, trading a cryptic look with Malachi.

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that mean? Is Timmy free from babysitting duty tonight or something?” The doorbell rings before I get a response. “Hold on,” I call, going to answer it. I’m met with the biggest, brightest bunch of balloons I’ve ever seen.

“Happy birthday!” Opal cries, barely able to get inside.

Snickering, I tug the balloons through the door and give her a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Ope. Come in while I get my shoes on.”

“Ooh, girl,” she says, nodding as she checks me out. “You look fine as hell!”

“Hey,Opal,” Tristan says, watching the spectacle from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Oh, hey,” she says. “Eddie says you’re practically working at Phoenix Rising these days, giving out all that free instruction.”

He chuckles, nodding as our eyes meet. “Comes with the territory.”

Slipping into a pair of ballet flats, I grab my purse. “Ready?” I ask Opal. I’m antsy to get going, partly because I’m eager to commence celebrating, but also because there’s been a slightly awkward vibe between Tristan and me all day. This is exactly why I wasn’t going to mention my birthday to him. He’s already done enough to help me out, in ways most people never would, and the last thing I want is for him to feel obligated to do something for my birthday like we’re a real couple.

Opal nods. “Uber’s waiting outside.”

“You’re taking an Uber?” Tristan asks, frowning. “I would’ve taken you.”

“No, no.” I rush to the door, dragging Opal along behind me. “See you later! Don’t wait up.”

He says something as I shut the door, but I keep moving, anxious to get going.

Opal gives me a funny look as we buckle up in the back seat. “Why’re you acting so jumpy? Did you y’all fight or something?”

“No, of course not.” I force a small laugh. “I just ...”

“Just what?” Opal insists, poking my thigh once we’ve started moving.

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