Page 22

grain mill a machine that grinds grains to the proper size for mashing

THE WOODEN picnic table was rough beneath my fingers as I spread out my notes and opened "The History of Kentucky Bourbon" to where I'd left off.

The campground's morning quiet wrapped around me like a comfortable blanket, broken only by the distant sound of children's laughter and the rustle of leaves.

The coffee from the camp store was bracingly strong, but the caffeine was exactly what I needed after yesterday's emotional journey to Cincinnati.

I'd been reading for maybe twenty minutes when voices drifted toward me from the nearby tent sites. A woman's voice, sharp with irritation, cut through the peaceful air.

"I still don't understand why we couldn't just get a hotel room like normal people, Linda. There are bugs in that tent."

"It's an adventure, Octavia," came the gentler response. "The kids love it."

"Aunt Octavia, look what I found!" It was a girl's voice, bright with excitement.

I glanced up to see a family approaching the picnic shelter.

Two women who were clearly sisters despite their differences—one fair-haired, the other brunette.

The blonde carried herself with casual grace, while the brunette moved with the barely contained impatience of someone who'd rather be anywhere else.

Behind them trailed two children. The boy, around nine, held the leash of an aged dog. The little girl, maybe five, bounced between them like a rubber ball, her pigtails flying as she chattered nonstop. She was chubby and wore a tutu over a bathing suit. And a tiara.

"Mom, can we have pancakes for breakfast? The kind with blueberries? And can we make them over the fire like they do in the movies?" The girl spun in circles, her arms outstretched.

"Camping food isn't supposed to be fancy, Maggie," the boy, Jared, said seriously. "It's supposed to be simple. Like beans and hot dogs."

"But I want it to be fancy," Maggie protested, stopping mid-spin to face him. "I want camping to be like those pictures in the magazines, with the pretty white tents and the chandeliers hanging from the trees."

"Glamping," the brunette supplied. "And I agree. Sleeping in a pop-up tent and showering in flip-flops is for the birds."

I couldn't help but smile at their interaction. The family had claimed the picnic table next to mine, and their conversation provided a welcome distraction from the swirling thoughts about yesterday's discoveries.

"Sorry," the blonde offered. "I hope we're not disturbing you. The kids can get a little loud."

"Not at all," I assured her, closing my book.

The girl came out and curtsied. "I'm Maggie, do you like my tutu?"

"I do," I assured her.

"What's your name?"

"Bernadette."

She giggled. "That's a great name. That's my brother Jarrod, and Max. And that's my mom, Linda," she said, pointing to the blonde. "And that's my Aunt Octavia. She lives with us and she complains about everything, all the time."

"Hey," Octavia said with a frown. "I do not. And I was taking your side, Miss Priss."

Maggie ignored her, pointing to my book. "Whacha reading?"

I held it up so she could see the cover. "It's about bourbon. I'm a tour guide on the trail."

"What's bourbon?" Jared asked, settling onto the bench beside his mother.

"It's a type of whiskey," I explained. "Made right here in Kentucky. People come from all over the world to learn about how it's made."

"It goes well with vodka," Octavia offered.

Linda sent her a withering look.

"What?" Octavia asked. "I'm just saying."

Linda turned back to me. "I'll bet you meet all kinds of interesting people."

"I do. What do you do?"

"We run a private investigation agency," Linda said.

My lips parted in surprise. "Really?"

"Two Guys Detective Agency," Octavia added. "We're based in Lexington."

I squinted. "Two guys?"

"Our last name," Octavia said.

"Ah." Linda was busy unpacking food from a cooler, but Octavia's sharp eyes caught my expression immediately. She leaned forward, her interest clearly piqued.

"Know anyone who might need our services? We're always looking for cases."

My mind raced. The photographs from yesterday were still tucked safely in my purse, along with the tantalizing clues about Church Man, Motorcycle Man, and Bourbon Man.

These women might be exactly what I needed to solve the mystery that had haunted me my entire life. But I couldn't afford to hire them.

"I—" I began, then stopped, my throat suddenly dry.

"Aunt Octavia, come look at this butterfly!" Maggie's voice interrupted, high and excited. "It's orange and black and it's huge!"

The moment shattered. I stood abruptly, gathering my book and notes. "I should get going. Nice meeting you all."

As I walked away, I could feel Octavia's curious gaze following me.