by Mary Ellis
‘All great answers, but actually we don’t know. My grandfather thinks they were a family who got sick while on their way west. Originally, there were two big wooden crosses and two small, but the names had worn off by the time Grandpa discovered the graves. Whoever they were, he fenced off the area and put up headstones.’
‘That was very kind of your grandfather. May I see the graves?’
‘Your wish is my command.’ Jamie released the brake and pressed the accelerator to the floor.
Jill hung on for dear life as he barreled down one hill and up the next. Finally, in between cornfields, she spotted one lone oak tree atop a hill, surrounded by wrought-iron fencing. The outer wall of stones ranged in size from grapefruits to giant boulders. ‘How did all these rocks get here?’ she asked when the golf cart stopped next to the wall.
‘Grandpa wanted to make sure the graves never got lost in the tall grass, so he brought the boulders here. Every spring when the fields are plowed, any large rocks that turn up are moved here.’
Jill glanced over her shoulder. They were no longer in sight of the distillery or other human beings. Despite all Michael’s warnings, she and Jamie were utterly alone. She jumped out, grabbed the bouquet of flowers and headed to the gate. But after several attempts of pushing with all her might, the gate refused to budge.
‘The latch has rusted shut. Allow me.’ Jamie reached around her. With one good thump, the latch gave way and the gate creaked open. ‘If that didn’t work my reputation as a chivalrous gentleman would’ve been ruined,’ he whispered in her ear.
Jill smelled his spicy aftershave and felt his hand at the small of her back. Unnerved, she divided the flowers and placed a handful on each grave. ‘Unknown, but not forgotten.’ She read the inscription on the largest headstone. ‘Your grandpa sounds like a fine man.’
Jamie squatted to scrap dead leaves and dirt back from the children’s graves. ‘He was. I’m afraid “not forgotten” no longer seems to be the case since my grandparents died. I’ll tell the groundskeeper to put this cemetery on his maintenance schedule.’ Jamie didn’t stop until all four gravesites looked presentable. ‘If these graves had been trespassing revenuers or still-smashers, would it have made a better story?’ Jamie dusted off his palms.
‘I suppose I have an overactive imagination.’ Jill followed him out of the cemetery.
‘That’s probably what makes you a great writer.’
‘I’m not so great, but I hope to be someday, once I get a shot at investigative reporting. What do you want to be when you grow up?’
His smile showed a row of perfectly straight teeth. ‘Once I take over the reins at Founder’s Reserve, I plan to expand beyond the tried-and-true brands my dad refuses to deviate from. There’s no reason why large-scale operations can’t experiment with small-batch spirits. Most of the major breweries also make craft brews sold only on their premises or in draught kegs.’
‘In other words, not sold in bottles or cans.’ Jill carefully latched the gate behind her.
‘Correct. Bourbon aficionados would have to come to the plant to taste the new offerings. That could bring people back once a season. Some small batches will hit and some will strike out, but we’ll have the option of bottling the ones that people like.’
‘Doesn’t all bourbon have to age?’ Jill tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
‘We could age the small batches for the minimum amount – two years. Of course, I’ve got plenty of kinks to work out in my master plan. So let’s hope Dad stays at the helm for a long time. Then I’ll have plenty of enjoyable days off like today.’ Without warning, Jamie brushed her cheek with a kiss.
It happened so fast that Jill barely had time to react. ‘Hey, cut that out! And what happened to the lunch you promised? I’m starving.’ She marched back to the golf cart.
‘I am too.’ Jamie climbed up and patted the seat. ‘Come on, soon-to-be Pulitzer-winning reporter. Let’s head back. I promise no more stolen kisses until after we eat.’
Unfortunately no snappy retort came to mind, so Jill clung to the grab bar for dear life. Jamie didn’t slow down until the distillery and other outbuildings were in sight. But the formerly-red barn where he parked looked deserted. Windows were obscured with dust and wild grapevines had taken over three of the four sides of the building.
‘Is this where we’re having lunch? What is … or rather, what was this place?’ She approached the door cautiously.
Jamie lifted a picnic hamper from under a blanket and trailed after her. ‘This building once housed our stills. Barrels once lined every wall, several rows deep. When my great-grandfather built the modern distillery you saw the first time you visited, this building was used for an occasional party or pig roast for our employees, for old time’s sake. Of course, the original footprint of our current facility had been expanded during both my grandfather’s day and my dad’s.’
‘My videographer noticed the original building had been added onto several times,’ Jill said.
Jamie’s lips pulled into a frown. ‘Such is usually the case in a multi-generational enterprise. I believe it adds to Founder’s Reserve’s charm.’
His loyalty to the family business tugged at Jill’s heartstrings. ‘I agree,’ she said, trying to make amends. ‘I hope I didn’t offend you.’
Jamie’s sparkling smile returned. ‘Not at all. You couldn’t offend me unless you burned the flag or shot my dog.’
‘No chance of either of those happening. What kind of dog do you have?’
‘I have a springer spaniel. Mabel used to be a good duck retriever when my father and I hunted years ago. Then we both became too busy at work and in the meantime, Mabel got old. Now she enjoys an evening walk before bedtime or to sit by the fire with me. I’m still mighty fond of that girl.’ Jamie unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Inexplicably, the story lifted Shelby’s standing in Jill’s mind by several rungs. Who could be annoyed with a man who loves his dog?
‘I might have recently acquired a dog myself.’ She stepped through the doorway into an 1880s saloon belonging more in Deadwood than a small town outside of Louisville. Gaslight chandeliers hung from open beams and a bar ran the length of the back wall, where one could belly-up but not sit down. The building had wide plank floorboards, round oak tables, and a spindled staircase that led to rooms in the shadowy balcony. ‘Who worked up there – ladies of ill-repute in red corsets and fishnet stockings?’
Jamie smiled. ‘That’s the look Grandpa was after for this building, but no. Upstairs were just offices where everybody had to get their own coffee. No cocktail waitresses in stilettos. Like I said, we used this room for business meetings and employee parties.’
Jill spotted the antique liquor bottles lining the shelves above the bar. Unfortunately, they were so dusty labels were unreadable. ‘Did your family ever rent this room out?’
‘Nope, but our employees could use it at no charge. Plenty of retirement parties, baby and bridal showers, and even small weddings were held here over the years.’ Jamie ran a finger through the dust on a table. ‘Sorry, Jill, I didn’t realize this place had become as neglected as the pioneer cemetery.’ He pulled a checkered tablecloth from the hamper and spread it over the table.
She sat down on one chair. ‘No one ever died from a little dust. What’s to eat?’
‘I like your attitude.’ Jamie laid out plates and napkins, along with wrapped sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a tub of macaroni salad. ‘I made the turkey sandwiches myself and bought the chips and salad at a deli. No corporate catering today, Miss Curtis.’
‘All the better.’ Jill pulled the lid from the macaroni, took a handful of chips, and reached for a sandwich.
‘Tell me about this dog you acquired,’ Jamie said after his first bite of sandwich.
‘I guess “inherited” would be the correct term, but nothing has been decided yet. My uncle Roger’s dog never bonded with Aunt Dot, but the beagle’s taken a shine to me.’ Glancing up from
her sandwich, Jill noticed Jamie’s expression had changed. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Roger and Dorothy Clark are your aunt and uncle?’
She laughed. ‘They’re not really my aunt and uncle – distant cousins would be more accurate. Mrs Clark is my grandmother’s first cousin, which makes us first cousins, twice removed. But she and Granny have been estranged since they were eighteen years old. Dot didn’t even know about me till I showed up on her doorstep.’
‘Kinfolk are like money in the bank in these parts, so finding you must have made Dorothy happy.’ Jamie scooped macaroni salad on both plates.
‘I think so, especially since Roger’s passing. I’ve been helping out around the B and B.’
‘Any idea when the funeral will be?’ he asked. ‘My family and I would like to pay our respects.’
‘No, but I’ll let you know. The police need to finish their investigation.’
Jamie set his turkey and Swiss down. ‘Investigation? I heard through the grapevine that Roger slipped on spilled liquid and cracked his skull on a metal rack.’
‘As usual, the grapevine is wrong. To my knowledge, Roger’s death was declared a homicide.’
‘Well, that’s a shame, because Sheriff Adkins just made things harder on Dorothy Clark.’
‘It’s not so much the sheriff as the big gun he brought in from the state police. Plus, the guy happens to be staying at Sweet Dreams just like Michael and me.’
‘The world really is a small place.’
Jill could feel Jamie’s eyes on her as she ate her macaroni salad. ‘You’ve suddenly stopped eating. Penny for your thoughts, Mr Shelby.’
‘I was thinking about you being a local gal, at least genetically. Who would have guessed?’
‘Certainly not me. But I must admit, this part of the world has grown on me.’ Jill focused on the green fields beyond the open doorway. ‘Better not tell my partner, or Michael will drag me back to the Windy City by my hair.’
‘Why would a videographer have such control over you?’ Jamie pulled a flask from deep inside the hamper along with two shot glasses.
‘He doesn’t have control, but Michael has always been protective of me. Not that I need it,’ she added, popping another chip in her mouth.
‘Let’s toast to Roseville’s newest citizen.’ He unscrewed the top and filled both glasses to the rim.
‘If I drink that, I’ll sleep the afternoon away instead of writing my story. But I will try a little. To your good health.’ She lifted the glass and took a sip, the liquid scorching a path down her throat.
‘And to yours, Jill.’ Jamie finished his in one swallow.
‘Speaking of local women, I heard that you once dated Uncle Roger’s niece, Michelle Clark, his real niece.’
With a shrug, Jamie took another bite of sandwich. ‘Yeah, I went out with her a few times. But it was more like hanging out than dating. I’ve known Michelle for years.’
‘Hanging out like going to the DQ for milkshakes with a bunch of friends?’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you jealous, Miss Curtis? Because if you went on a real date with me, instead of merely researching the bourbon tours, you’d discover you have no competition.’
‘How flattering.’ Feigning a drawl, Jill fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I was curious if dating was different here than in Chicago.’
‘Let me think back.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Once when Michelle came to town, she called me and we shared a pizza. Another time we went to the movies because a doctor cancelled her appointment at the last minute.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
He thought for a moment. ‘I guess the last I saw her was for a fundraiser at Black Creek. You know, one of those charity events where you pay fifty bucks to walk through the door, but all you get are tiny bites of food and even tinier sips of bourbon. Michelle had invited me, but I shelled out the Benjamin for both of us.’ Jamie winked comically. ‘I didn’t mind. I knew lots of people there, and we both ended up having a great time.’ Jamie looked inside the hamper. ‘Would you like another sandwich? I made two each.’
‘No, but lunch was delicious. Thanks.’ She wrapped her scraps in the waxed paper. ‘So all this talk about a major, long-running feud between the Shelbys and the Cook-Clarks … is it simply to boost sales at both distilleries?’
Jamie poured himself another drink and handed her a bottle of water. ‘Not really. The feud was ongoing up until my grandpa’s day. But my father and Roger Clark wanted to let it die. As you astutely assumed, we talk about it during tours to boost sales. That’s pretty much the reason Michelle invited me to her uncle’s fundraiser – to let the townies know our families buried the hatchet long ago.’
‘So there’s no possible connection between Uncle Roger’s death and retribution for the past?’ Jill asked.
‘I hope you’re pulling my leg. This is the twenty-first century, not the wild Wild West, despite my grandfather’s choice of décor. Nobody in the bourbon business kills over a few acres of riverbed … or who has the best tasting reserve in a given year. There’s plenty enough profit for all of us.’ Jamie shoved the flask and trash into the hamper and folded up the tablecloth. ‘Before your partner sends out the bloodhounds, I think I better get you back to the visitor’s center.’ His tone dripped with graciousness, but his expression had turned icy.
Jill took a last wistful look at the saloon from a previous era and followed him to the golf cart. She certainly hadn’t been a model of politeness, but didn’t want to add to her faux pas with a lame excuse. On the way back she considered how to apologize but thought of nothing clever by the time Jamie parked beside her borrowed car.
‘Here we are, safe and sound.’ He jumped out and walked around to her side.
‘You have now entertained me twice, Jamie.’ Shielding her eyes from the sun, she gazed up at him. ‘And I’ve repaid your hospitality with rude innuendos in an attempt to fatten up my story about Roseville distilleries. I hope you’ll accept my apology and agree to be my guest for dinner. Feel free to cast aspersions on me, my family, and every ancestor who hasn’t already disavowed knowledge of my existence.’
A slow grin spread across his face. ‘I accept, as long as you agree not to sensationalize your travel feature at Founder’s Reserve or Black Creek’s expense. It’s hard enough for bourbon to compete with vodka, which can be distilled from any type of grain, starchy fruit or vegetable, even grapes. Now they’re making vodka in every flavor from cranberry to bubblegum.’ He released a weary sigh. ‘The old masters are rolling in their graves.’
She shook her head sympathetically and unlocked her car. ‘You have my word that if I include the family feud, it will stay within the historical context, much like you describe it during the tours.’
‘Fair enough. Why not pick an evening next week and give me a call?’ Jamie opened her door, turned on his heel, and strode toward his office.
‘I will,’ she called. ‘Thanks again for lunch.’
Jamie stood and watched Jill’s car drive away.
SEVEN
Saturday afternoon
On the way back to the B&B, Jill followed her instincts instead of using GPS. Soon she would know every twist and turn in the road between Aunt Dot’s and Founder’s Reserve. Michael wouldn’t like the fact she’d made plans with Jamie for next week. Technically, she had all the research she needed, but considering her behavior, she wanted to make amends.
She found the innkeeper in the library, staring at a cold fire with an empty teacup. ‘How about some more tea, Aunt Dot?’
‘Sure, if you’re having some.’ She peered up blankly.
Jill filled both cups and took her usual seat. ‘What’s wrong?’ It was a ridiculous question since the woman had just lost her husband.
Nevertheless, Dot answered, ‘I heard from my friend, Joe Trehanny. Roger’s body has been released by the police. We can proceed with the funeral. Joe will stop by later to pick up the outfit I selected.’
&
nbsp; ‘If you wish, I can meet him at the door and give him whatever he needs.’
‘No, Joe and I have been friends for a long time. I’ll do it myself.’ Dot sipped her tea and met Jill’s eye. ‘At least we worked out the details. Visitation will be at Trehanny’s Funeral Home on Monday night. Joe said with the plant scheduled to start up again, employees wouldn’t be able to take off Tuesday for the funeral.’
‘The plant is starting up?’ Jill sputtered. ‘How is that possible without Roger?’
‘Roger’s right-hand man was his nephew, Gordon. Gordon came by shortly after you left to tell me the news. He said the employees can’t go too long without a paycheck or it will cause hardship. So he notified the foremen to get everyone back on Monday.’ A tear slipped from her lashes.
‘I’ll put a stop to this if you like,’ Jill declared, sounding way too sure of herself.
‘No, no, Gordon’s right. People in this town need to work. His employees can pay their respects Monday night. Then Tuesday’s funeral will be for family and friends. The church guild will serve lunch after the burial and the newspaper will print the obituary in tomorrow’s edition. That takes care of everything.’
‘What about flowers for the funeral home and the church?’ she asked.
‘Joe already ordered them.’
‘Why don’t I take you to the mall to buy a new dress?’
‘Roseville has a dress shop, not a mall. I plan to wear the same black dress I wear to every funeral.’
‘What can I do?’ Jill pleaded.