Page 59 of Erased
“She is. Like the grandmother I never knew.”
“I’m glad you found happiness,” Avery said. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve found happiness, but I did find peace.”
“And then I dragged you back into my chaos.” Avery shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Grant said. “Peace isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It helped me ground myself. But after a while, it was a little boring. I missed the excitement of working a case.” He missed the excitement of loving her.
Avery ate the last bite of her half of the burger and chased it down with a drink of water. “I’m not sure this counts as excitement.”
“Excitement might not be the right adjective. And it’s nothing like peace. But I’m glad I’m here, and I hope to help solve this case.”
Avery eyed his plate, waiting for him to finish the last of his fries before meeting his gaze. “Ready to pay the cook a visit?”
Grant nodded. “We can settle up with Letha on our way through.” He rose from the table and reached for his wallet, tossing a ten on the table.
Letha had their bill ready at the register perched on the counter. “I told Cook you wanted to visit with him. He’s giddy like a schoolgirl that someone is interested in the history of the county’s distilleries.” She rang up their check, took the bills Grant proffered and handed him the change. “You know, the old boarding house on the other side of the train tracks at the edge of town might have had a basement in it.”
“Who owns it?” Avery asked.
“I’m not sure anyone does. Maybe the city?” Letha frowned. “When the train stopped coming through Shadow Valley in the fifties, the boarding house closed up. It’s been boarded up for as long as I can remember.”
“Thanks for everything, Ms. Letha,” Grant said.
“Yes, thank you,” Avery added.
“Just push through the doors and stand back a bit. He’s a busy man.” Letha grabbed a tray, set mugs on it and poured coffee into each. Then she turned and sailed away.
Avery glanced at Grant. “Shall we?”
“After you,” he said and pushed open the swinging door, holding it for her to pass through.
Once in the kitchen, with the scents of burgers filling the air, Grant stood amidst meat patties, onions and vats of boiling cooking oil. Grant glanced around, his gaze coming back to the short, rotund man dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt somewhere between faded black and gray. He’d draped a large white apron over his bulging gut and chest. The apron already had a variety of food products slashed across the bib and lower. He worked tirelessly, flipping burger patties and applying slices of cheese before adding the patties. Avery studied his every move, sneaking peeks around the kitchen, surprised Cook made it look easy, stacking the burgers with their melted cheese over a bun loaded with lettuce, onion, tomatoes and pickles. Then, he placed each cheeseburger on separate plates, added fries and settled them on a tray in a pass-through window from the kitchen to the drawing room.
“Order up!” Cook called, finally turning to Avery and Grant, while wiping his hands on the front of the apron. “You two the folks Letha sent in asking about distilleries from the prohibition era?”
Grant nodded and held out his hand. “Grant Hayes.” He shook the man’s hand. “My colleague, Special Agent Avery Hart.”
Cook’s eyes widened. “Ah, the female FBI agent.” He took her hand. “Nice to meet ya. Stay back from that vat of oil bubbling near your elbow.”
“Yes, sir.” Avery shuffled away from the heat. “We understand you’re a bit of a local history buff.”
Cook grimaced. “I don’t know about all the history of Shadow Valley. I just have an interest in the moonshine and bootlegging that went on in these parts over the years. All started when I inherited my uncle’s property, along with the still his grandfather built back in the twenties. I found it surprising how many fine, upstanding citizens were perfectly happy to spend the money their ancestors made on buying beer, whiskey and moonshine when it was outlawed.”
“Their proverbial skeletons in the closet?” Grant offered.
“Something like that. Pretending they were better than people living paycheck to paycheck who didn’t inherit ill-gotten fortunes. People who worked hard for their money.” Cook snorted. “That’s just my opinion. I’m sure they’re all good God-fearing people, going to Church on Sunday to atone for their sins and the sins of their granddaddies. Meanwhile, I sling pancakes and burgers to supplement my retirement from twenty-five years of active service to this great nation.”
“Navy?” Grant asked.
Cook nodded. “How’d you guess?”
“The Navy has produced some of the best cooks I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Grant gave the man a nod. “Thank you for your service.”
Cook’s eyes narrowed. “And you? Did you serve?”
“Proudly,” Grant said with a nod. “Also, Navy.”
