Moonshine and Malice

by J Lee Mitchell

“Andy, I’m really proud of you and what you do, but you sure can be a pain in my ass sometimes.”

  Andy laughed.

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal, Pap. You tell me who I should keep an eye on and I’ll let the rest of it drop, for now.”

  Jock was quiet for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and gave Andy a raised eyebrow.

  “You got a deal, on one condition.”

  Andy dipped his head and rolled his hand signaling his grandfather to continue.

  “I’m serious now, Andy. You can’t go off half-cocked and play the sheriff card with these boys or they’ll be angrier than a nest of hornets. The two I’d keep an eye on are Earl Dunn and Beanie Fox. Those two don’t a have enough licks of common sense between them to eat an ice cream cone.”

  “Okay. I’ll have my guys keep an eye on those two, but if you hear about anyone else planning to cause trouble you need to let me know. The Blocks have a lot riding on this weekend, and I’m not going to let a couple of rowdy rednecks ruin this for them.”

  The two-way radio on Andy's desk crackled and Mike Collins asked, “Hey, Andy, you there?”

  Andy picked up the radio and replied, “Ya, Mikey. What’s up?”

  “I’m out on Stack Farm Road about a quarter mile past the old Clayton place and we got an overturned box truck. The driver is okay, but the truck is blocking part of the right-hand lane and I could use some help. Think you can get a rig out here to move the truck and see if Billy can come help with traffic? We’re also going to need another truck out here to transfer these crates and take them out to the Red Herring Inn.”

  “I’m on it, Mikey. I’ll start with Billy and then call around for the rig. I’ll hit you back as soon as I get everything moving. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Well, so much for your quiet afternoon,” Jock said. “I was headed out to the Red Herring when I leave here. I got the flatbed if you want me to go pick up those crates.”

  “That would be great, Pap, but you make sure someone helps you lift them onto the truck. You need to keep your back strong so you can lift the trophy when you win the cooking contest this weekend.”

  “Boy, I might be old but I can still whip you even on your best day, so don’t get cute with me.” Jock laughed as he got up and made his way out the door.

  “I’m going to get the rig going then I’ll be out there to help,” Andy called after him.

  Chapter 6

  Q’Bita stuck a tray of mini banoffee pies into the walk-in and was gathering the ingredients to make a whiskey caramel sauce when she heard Jock Hansen call “Hello” through the screen door.

  “Hey, Jock.”

  “How you doing, sweetheart? Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “No, not at all. It’s always nice to have one the handsome Hansen men drop by.”

  Jock blushed.

  “I see your kitchen is up and running again. I sure am sorry about the fire.”

  “Fortunately, there wasn’t any real damage. My insurance company was able to get a cleaning crew out here last night, and a repair guy here to service the hood first thing this morning. Tess Nichols called in a favor and had the inspectors here by 9 am, so I’m back in business.”

  “I bet my grandson will be glad to hear that. I know he can’t go more than a few hours without his pie fix.”

  “His love of my pie is one of the things I love most about him.”

  “Couldn’t help noticing you got some whiskey there with your sugar and butter. What are you whipping up?”

  “Ah, this is a special treat for your grandson. I’m making my secret whiskey caramel sauce to drizzle over mini banoffee pies. Andy loves this sauce. I swear he’d eat his own fingers if I coated them in it.”

  “Huh, you don’t say. I wonder what that sauce would taste like if you swapped out the whiskey for a little of my moonshine. I got a pint or two out in the truck if you want to give it a little taste.”

  Q’Bita laughed then tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

  “Jock, you know I’m one of the judges for the Social Proof Moonshine cooking contest and that I have a highly trained palate. Once I taste your moonshine, I’d be able to recognize it again in the blind tasting round of the contest and that would give you an unfair advantage. When you win, I want it to be fair and square.”

  “No wonder my grandson likes you so much. Honesty is a very attractive quality, but you can’t blame an old bootlegger for trying.”

  “Besides, how would it look if the sheriff’s girlfriend, and his grandfather, got caught in a cheating scandal?”

  “Ha, now that sounds like something you’d read in one of your parents’ books.”

  “Maybe we can get them to work that into their next Bootleggers and Bad Asses book. My dad says your stories have inspired them to do a whole series.”

  “Well, then, I guess I'd better get these crates unloaded and go track Tom down, so I can give him some more inspiration.”

  “Last I knew, Daddy was out at the barn looking for a crate of books for the book signing. I’m sure he’s still out there. Why don’t you fellas stop by for some sweet tea after you get the crates unloaded? I have some pimento cheese spread in the walk-in to go with it.”

  ***

  Jock pulled up in front of the barn and could see Tom prying open a crate inside.

  “Need a hand with that?”

  “Hey, Jock. What I need is a little organization. The packing slips are messed up on half these crates. I opened one that was supposed to be our books and ended up with stemware Beecher had shipped from the Macie Dixon Line warehouse. That one there says it’s linens but it’s Social Proof Moonshine t-shirts. It’s a mess, I tell you. Too many people coming and going and no organization.”

  “Well, I hate to give you more of a mess, but I've got a flatbed full of crates from an overturned box truck, and half of them are so banged up that the labels and packing slips are missing. Where do you want me to put them?”

  “For now, let’s put them over there in the corner until I can get someone to sort through them and relabel them. “

  Jock backed the flatbed closer to the barn and supervised as three young fellas from the Social Proof Moonshine crew offloaded the crates. As they got to the last two crates, Jock stopped them. “Okay now, fellas, be careful with those last two. They’re full of precious cargo. That’s my Pappy Jock’s Heavenly Hooch for the cooking contest.”

  One of the guys looked at Jock with a big grin.

  “You must be Jock Hansen. I’m Butch Lowery from over in Bishop. My Pappy says you make the best hooch in all of West Virginia. You’re a bootlegging legend in these parts. Is it true that the book they're throwing this party for is about you?”

  Jock shook his head and chuckled.

  “You give me too much credit, son. I told old Tom here a few tales of my wilder days, and he and the wife dreamed up the rest. I do appreciate the compliment from your pappy, though. You tell Conrad I said thank you and that he should stop by the party this weekend and say howdy.”

  Butch was still grinning so wide it almost split his face in two.

  “I sure will, Mr. Hansen. He’s been looking forward to this party ever since he heard about the book. Don’t be surprised if he asks you to sign it for him.”

  Jock turned towards Tom just in time to see the palm of Tom’s hand connect with his forehead. “That’s a fantastic idea. Why didn’t I think of that? Butch, you ought to be in marketing.”

  “What the blazes are you babbling about, Tom?” Jock asked.

  “You, signing copies of the book. It’s brilliant. You’re the inspiration behind the book so it makes sense that people would want your autograph as much, or more, than they’d want Kari's and mine. I’m done here so let’s go grab some sweet tea and talk this through.”

  Ten minutes later they were kicked back in rocking chairs on the wrap-around porch of the Red Herring Inn, sipping sweet tea and munching on pimento cheese sandwiches as they dev
ised their plan.

  “Okay then, it sounds like we've got this all worked out. I’ll let Kari know when she gets back from picking up Liddy Lou at the airport,” Tom said.

  “You think she’ll be okay with this? I don’t want to upset her and have her vote to kill me off in the next book.”

  “I think you’re safe. Kari’s all for anything that moves books, and this should up our sales significantly.”

  “Well, I’m glad to do anything I can to help, Tom. Besides, it’s kind of fun being in the spotlight when there isn’t a lawman on the other end, shining it in your face.”

  They finished their sweet tea and polished off the plate of sandwiches while they discussed poker strategy and fly tying until a rumble of thunder drowned out their conversation.

  “Well, looks like there’s a storm headed this way. I suppose I best be getting down the road and get my barn closed up before it gets to raining and blowing too hard. Give my best to Kari and Liddy Lou.”

  Chapter 7

  Q’Bita pulled two pans of cinnamon buns from the oven and set them on the counter. The sweet and spicy aroma of cinnamon, cardamom, and orange zest filled the kitchen and made her stomach growl. She’d stopped making cinnamon buns for a few months after Macie Dixon’s murder, but enough time had passed, and she was ready to start indulging again.

  She spread a thick layer of cream cheese frosting over the buns. The tangy, orange flavored frosting was her favorite part, and she was tempted to scarf one down while they were still hot and gooey.

  The door from the dining room swung open. Jamie stopped a few steps into the kitchen and let out a moan.

  “Oh, sweet Heaven above, they’re back. God, how I’ve missed these cinnamon buns.”

  He plopped himself down at the counter and inhaled deeply.

  “Everyone else had better get here soon or I’m going to lose it and eat both of these pans in one bite.”

  “Tell me about it. You have no idea how hard it’s been to control myself. I wanted to eat them before they were even out of the oven.”

  “I guess the frosting wasn’t so lucky.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Um, Q’B-Doll, you might want to check a mirror. You've got some frosting on the side of your face.”

  “Did someone say frosting? Thank God, I’m wasting away to nothing. Beecher had to stop and inspect every chicken, sheep, and alpaca between our cottage and here. I thought we’d never get here. He dragged me into that half-way house for chickens when I’m wearing sling backs, then had the audacity to expect me to shove my hand under a wild animal and forage for something it just shot out of its keister. Next thing you know, he’ll want me to start slopping hogs with him. If the good Lord had intended me to be a farmer, Versace would have made overalls.”

  Q’Bita stifled a giggle and Beecher rolled his eyes and handed her a basket of brown eggs.

  “In case you’re wondering, he’s only had two cups of coffee. We have a long day ahead of us, so I beg you not to give him a third cup.”

  Q’Bita took her brother’s advice and made Rene a cup of chamomile tea hoping it would unwind him a bit. While they ate, they discussed their plan of attack for the day and decided that it would be best to start with setting up the stations for the cooking contest and then move on to the stage for the pageant.

  The grounds of the Red Herring Inn were massive, and they’d hosted weddings, murder mystery themed parties, and other events there before, but nothing the size of this weekend’s event. Between the book launch, the cooking contest, and the Miss Moonshine pageant, they were expecting a few thousand visitors over the three-day period. With only one day left until the big event, they had a ton of work to do, and Q’Bita found herself worrying if they could pull it all together in time.

  “What’s on your mind, Q’Bita?” Beecher asked.

  “Just going over how much work we have to do yet. It’s overwhelming, and we could use about a dozen more people.”

  “Funny you’d bring that up. I was thinking the same thing yesterday, so I just casually mentioned to my warehouse guys that some of the Miss Moonshine Shine contestants are staying here at the Red Herring Inn and that they’ve been out every day working on their tans. I had eight volunteers in about two seconds. They’re supposed to be here in about half an hour. These guys are hard workers, so we should be able to get most of the construction work banged out today. If you’re willing to feed them and supply them with sweet tea, I bet we can even get them to come back tomorrow to help unpack crates.”

  “I don’t want to hear a word about those crates until after I’ve had several cups of coffee,” said Tom as he, Kari, and Liddy Lou entered the kitchen.

  “Nana, you’re back,” Q’Bita squealed as she dashed across the kitchen to hug Liddy Lou.

  “Grab a seat, Nana. I’ll put on another kettle of water for your tea. I can’t wait to hear all about your trip.”

  The whole room suddenly grew silent and Q’Bita noticed her nana staring at the pans of cinnamon buns. Her breath caught in her chest and she was momentarily unable to speak. All eyes were on Q’Bita, and she could feel her face starting to flush.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Y’all can relax. I was just wondering if those cinnamon buns were my recipe or Cookie Dixon’s. You people are wound way too tight.”

  Q’Bita exhaled and felt her tongue untie itself.

  “I’m sorry, Nana. I just thought that maybe…”

  “That maybe you’d welcome me back with a murder weapon? That’s very touching, Q’Bita.”

  Q’Bita didn’t know what to say. She quickly glanced from her mother to her father and then back to her nana, who was smiling like she’d just won the lottery.

  “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’m just having some fun with you. I missed y’all so much I couldn’t resist. They smell wonderful. I plan to eat at least two with my tea.”

  The swinging door from the dining room flew open and banged into the wall.

  “Ms. Block. I need a word with you, please.”

  Lyle Chalford didn’t wait for a reply before waltzing into the kitchen. He pushed his way past her parents to where Q’Bita stood.

  “It has come to my attention that the station setups for the culinary competition will be constructed today. I must insist that I am on hand to oversee the construction of my station as I have very specific needs when it comes to my workspace. I’ll need at least two carpenters, an electrician, a…”

  “Mr. Chalford.”

  Q’Bita’s voice rose a little higher than she’d intended, and Lyle blinked in surprise.

  “Mr. Chalford, I’m sorry to cut you off. I understand that you’re very particular; however, customizing your station isn’t allowed. All contestants will be using exactly the same setup. The only special accommodations you are allowed are the use of your own tools and ingredients.”

  “Ms. Block, you’re being unreasonable. Without a competitor of my caliber in this competition this would be nothing more than another redneck BBQ contest. If I leave it up to you people to construct my station, I’ll likely end up with a cook stove on a plywood table top supported by cinderblocks legs. I hope you won’t be offended but I’m going to take this up with the sponsor. I’m sure they will support me in this decision; after all, my mere presence lends a certain level of respectability to their contest.”

  As Lyle whirled around to leave, his titanium knife case bumped the edge of the table and made a loud clang. He rubbed at the cuff attached to his wrist then pulled the case into his chest and stomped towards the door. He was almost to the door when Rene blurted out, “I like your purse.”

  Jamie and Beecher made the awkward situation worse by laughing.

  Lyle stopped and glared at Rene.

  “This is not a purse, and while I’m sure these simpletons find you amusing, I do not. This case contains a priceless set of Iyo Kinaki knives, hand-forged by the master himself. All seven have been custom balanced and honed to perfection, and become one w
ith my hand when I use them. I keep it locked to my wrist because I’m afraid one of you hillbillies will abscond with one and use it to cut bait or whatever it is you do for fun around here.”

  Lyle turned and walked out the door without waiting for a reply. No one said a word at first, then Liddy Lou broke the silence.

  “I have no idea what that was all about, but I think I just got lumped in with you simpletons by default. Obviously, he isn’t as smart as he thinks he is, because anyone with half a lick of sense would know I’m Melungeon, not hillbilly.”

  Q’Bita stood back and smiled as her family all added their two cents to the conversation. She didn’t care what Lyle Chalford, or anyone else, thought about her family. She loved them just the way they were.

  Chapter 8

  By lunch time, the temperature had crawled into the mid-80s. Beecher and his crew scarfed down their lunch and sprawled out across the lawn on quilts enjoying a much-needed break. Q’Bita, Liddy Lou, and Evie opted for the shade of the wraparound porch. Liddy Lou was filling them in about her trip to Memphis when they heard Rolfie yowling and hissing from nearby.

  Beecher jumped up and ran towards the edge of the porch, hollering at Rolfie to stop. Q’Bita went to the banister and looked over just in time to see Rolfie take a swipe at a terrified puppy who’d been backed into a corner by the large cat. Q’Bita was afraid one of them was going to get hurt and took the only evasive action she had available. She grabbed the pitcher of sweet tea from the table and dumped it on Rolfie. The startled cat forgot about the puppy and let out a yowl of protest as he lunged up on the banister and shook the iced tea from his fur.

  Beecher reached the edge of the porch and picked up the puppy, who was shaking all over. Rolfie hissed and shook out his fur again.

  “I’m sorry, Beecher. I hated doing that to Rolfie, but I couldn’t let him hurt that puppy.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me. I would have done the same thing. Good luck explaining why Rolfie is wet and sticky to Rene, though.”