Page 5 of Bourbon Girl, Part 2 of 6

open fermenter a fermentation tank without a sealed top, allowing natural airflow

THE PHONE rang four times before Suzy answered, slightly breathless as if she'd been rushing to catch the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Suzy, it's Bernadette Waters. I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

"Bernadette! How nice to hear from you. How are you doing, honey?"

I settled deeper into the driver's seat of my van, parked in the shade outside the campground's main office where the cell reception was strongest. The air conditioning wheezed against the morning heat, and I could hear the distant sound of children playing in the lake.

"I'm well, thanks. I was wondering if I could ask you another question about my mother's time in Lexington."

"Of course. What is it?"

I took a breath, trying to keep my voice casual. "Do you remember a man named Keith Banyon? He would've been one of the guys who hung around the bar where you and Mom worked."

"Keith Banyon... Keith Banyon..." she repeated slowly. "I'm sorry, honey, that name doesn't ring a bell. Was he one of the regulars?"

My heart sank. "I'm not sure. He said he knew Mom, that they might have dated."

"Well, like I told you before, Ginger dated quite a few guys back then. And it's been so many years—some of those names just blur together, you know? I'm sorry I can't be more helpful."

"That's okay," I said, trying to mask my disappointment. "Thanks for trying."

"Is everything alright? You sound a little stressed."

"Everything's fine," I lied smoothly. "Just trying to piece together some family history. Thanks again."

After we hung up, I sat in the van for a few minutes, staring at my phone.

My online searches for Keith Banyon had yielded frustratingly little—a LinkedIn profile displaying the name of the liquor distributor where he worked, a company photo from some industry newsletter, and a few mentions in trade publications.

Nothing personal, nothing that would help me understand who he really was or whether he could be my father.

I was still sitting there when Poppy's freckled face appeared at my passenger window, pressed against the glass like an eager puppy.

"Whatcha doing?" she shouted

I rolled down the window. "Just making some phone calls. Want to go to the library?"

Her eyes lit up like I'd offered her a trip to Disney World. "Yes! Can we check out the new graphic novels? And maybe look at the genealogy stuff? I'm working on my family tree for a school project."

In theory, I was also working on my family tree. "Get in."

Twenty minutes later, we pushed through the heavy glass doors of the Lexington Public Library. Poppy bolted for the young adult section while I made my way to the reference desk where Eve Conner sat surrounded by towering stacks of returned books.

"Bernadette!" she said, looking up from her computer screen with a welcoming smile. "Back for more research?"

"I was hoping you could help me find some information about someone," I said, settling into the chair beside her desk. "A man named Keith Banyon. He works for Morton's Beverage Distribution."

Eve's fingers were already flying across her keyboard. "What kind of information are you looking for?"

I hesitated, then opted for a half-truth that made my cheeks burn. "He offered me a sales position, and I'd like to know more about his background before I consider it."

"Smart thinking," Eve said approvingly, her eyes focused on the screen. "Always good to research potential employers. Let me see what I can find..."

Her fingers clicked rapidly across the keys, and I watched her face as she navigated through various databases and public records. The afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, casting everything in a scholarly glow that made the research feel official, important.

"Here we go," she said after several minutes. "Keith Alan Banyon, age fifty-four. Graduated from Henry Clay High School in 1988. There's a marriage license here from twenty-seven years ago to a Kirsten Bush."

My pulse quickened. Twenty-seven years ago would put his marriage right around the time I was born. A coincidence?

"Anything else?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Current address," Eve said, writing something on a scrap of paper. "Though I'm not sure why you'd need that for a job interview."

She handed me the paper, but her expression had shifted from helpful to suspicious. Her librarian instincts were clearly picking up on something that didn't quite add up about my story.

"Just being thorough," I said quickly, folding the paper and tucking it into my purse. "Thank you so much for your help."

"Of course," Eve said slowly, her eyes studying my face with the intensity of someone who'd spent years helping people find information they weren't supposed to be looking for. "Good luck with the... job interview."

As I gathered my things and went to collect Poppy, I could feel Eve's gaze following me across the library. The address burned like a secret in my purse, and I wondered if I was brave enough to use it.