The Moonshine Shack Murder

by Diane Kelly

  I wasn’t generally in favor of Big Brother–type surveillance, but I had to admit that had there been an outdoor camera in the alleyway behind Limericks, Cormac’s murder might have been solved by now.

  In light of the fact that the boys from Mu Sigma appeared in the video, I figured maybe it was okay for me to ask about them. “What about the frat boys?”

  “Ace and I spoke with three of them,” Marlon said. “They claimed they headed back to the frat house once they left Limericks. They identified the boy with the hair gel who hit on Ashlynn as Tristan. The one who knocked over the moonshine in your shop is named Dane. Their friends said the two of them split off about halfway back. Tristan and Dane told the other boys they were going to check out a party somewhere.”

  The Ken doll and Short-’n’-Stocky hadn’t returned to the frat house with their friends. Had they truly gone to a party? Or had they returned to Limericks instead, to get back at the bartender who’d told them to get lost? “You said you spoke to their friends. I’m assuming Tristan and Dane won’t talk?”

  “Not a word,” he said. “They’ve lawyered up.”

  “Does that mean they’re guilty?”

  “No, it means they’re wealthy.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “They already had defense attorneys on retainer. They’ve both got a prior record for the same incident. They were arrested their freshman year of college for vandalism and assault.”

  “Assault?” I straightened reflexively. Vandalism was one thing. Property could be repaired or replaced. But physically hurting another human being crossed a line. If they’d been physical with someone before, they could do it again.

  “They pleaded guilty to shooting members of a rival frat with paintball guns. Ambushed them in the backyard of their frat house. The boys were sitting ducks.”

  “But people pay to play paintball. It’s a game.” Or maybe a sport.

  “Tell that to the boys they shot at point-blank range. Those poor kids were covered in round, red welts. Looked like they suffered from some type of oversized chicken pox. Tristan and Dane claimed it was merely a prank against a frat they had a friendly rivalry with, and that they didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” Marlon shrugged, seeming to acknowledge that it could be true. “The victims just wanted to move on and forget about it. Tristan and Dane worked out a plea deal with the district attorney’s office. They pleaded guilty to vandalism and the assault charge was dropped. They paid a small fine with their parents’ money and went on their merry way.”

  “The boys could be Cormac’s killers, then. If they’d been impulsive and violent before, they might have done it again.”

  “Could be. Since they won’t talk, Ace can’t rule them out.”

  I glanced out the window, eyeing the bar, willing its walls to speak to me. On seeing the leprechaun statue, I remembered what my grandfather had told me on the drive to the shop this morning. I turned to him. “Tell Marlon what you told me about Heath.”

  My grandfather frowned, but at least he spoke directly to Marlon. “I saw him come out of Limericks around five thirty one evening last week. He kicked the leprechaun over when he left.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Marlon nodded. “I’ll pass that along to Ace.” His returned his attention to me and his face tightened. “Damien Sirakov will be released today. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll hightail it out of town and never show his face around here again.” I felt my hopes rise until he added, “Problem is, that man doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

  I let out a weary sigh. “Good thing my security cameras will be installed today.”

  “Glad to hear it. You can’t be too careful.”

  Even so, while a camera could record footage of events, it couldn’t stop a killer in his tracks. But at least it would provide irrefutable evidence if Damien attacked me in my shop.

  Granddaddy grabbed his cane and circled around the counter. “What’s this feller look like? I’ll sit out front and keep an eye out for him.”

  “Damien’s white with dark hair,” I said. “He’s got a tattoo of a black bear on the side of his neck.” I pointed to my own neck to show him where to look.

  “A bear, you say?” my grandfather replied. “That ought to make him easy to spot.”

  “If you see him, press this. It’ll set off an audible alarm.” I placed the remote in my granddad’s gnarled hand.

  As Granddaddy headed out to a rocker, I waved a hand for Marlon to follow me to the back room. I pointed to a new bucket I’d bought on my last grocery run and brought with me to the shop. “That’s a clean bucket for Charlotte. I thought it might come in handy if she gets thirsty.”

  His upper lip quirked in a grin. “You trying to give me a reason to stop by your shop?”

  Darn. I’ve been too obvious, haven’t I? “I just care about animals, that’s all. Summer’s coming soon, and Granddaddy says The Old Farmer’s Almanac is predicting an especially hot one.”

  Though Marlon still fought the grin, he let me slide. “This was very thoughtful of you. The bucket will come in handy, too. Until O’Keefe’s killer is caught, Charlotte and I will be swinging by as often as we can. I’ve asked the other patrol officers to do the same.”

  A tingly warmth spread through me. “Thank you, Marlon.”

  He filled the bucket at the sink and I followed along as he carried it out the front door, where he set it down in front of Charlotte. He patted her shoulder as she lowered her head and took a drink.

  “Look, Mommy!” cried a young girl who was coming up the street with her mother. “A horsey!” She looked up and tugged on the hem of her mother’s shirt. “Can we pet her?”

  The mother eyed Marlon as they approached. “Would it be okay if my daughter pets your horse?”

  “Sure,” Marlon replied. “Charlotte would love it.”

  Just as the child reached her, Charlotte lifted her head from the bucket, her long chin dripping. The horse turned her head toward the girl, who giggled in glee. “She’s dripping on me!”

  Marlon smiled and crouched down to put himself at the little girl’s level. “Want to sit in the saddle?”

  The girl looked up her mother. “Can I? Pleeease?”

  How could her mother not give in? “All right, honey,” she said. “Hang on real tight, though, okay?”

  The girl smiled a gap-toothed grin. “I will!”

  Marlon scooped the child up and placed her on the saddle. Her short legs came nowhere near reaching the edge of the saddle, let alone the stirrups. Keeping one hand around the girl lest she slide off, Marlon patted the metal saddle horn with the other. “Hang on to the horn. It’ll help you stay balanced.”

  While the girl wrapped her tiny hands around the saddle horn, her mother whipped out her cell phone. “Mind if I take a pic of the three of you?”

  “Not at all.” Smiling, Marlon turned his head one way, then the other. “Just make sure you get my good side.”

  As if he has a bad side.

  The woman snapped a series of photos, including one of her little girl wearing Marlon’s aviator sunglasses. I found myself feeling jealous of a four-year-old.

  When the photo shoot was over, the woman glanced my way. “Moonshine?”

  “Yep,” I said. “I’ve got blueberry, blackberry, peach, and apple pie, among others.”

  Marlon chimed in like an unpaid spokesperson. “My favorite’s the cinnamon.”

  Sensing interest, I summoned a smile and said, “Moonshine would make mother’s day out a lot more fun.”

  The woman laughed. “Now you’re talking.”

  Marlon begged off to get back on his beat. Meanwhile, the mother brought her daughter into the shop. The girl said, “Hi, kitty!” to Smoky on her way in. He gave her only a slow blink in return before returning his attention to the street. Ten minutes later, the woman le
ft the shop with three jars of moonshine to share with the moms of her playgroup on their next night off.

  Granddaddy stopped the mother and daughter outside with a lift of his cane. “Hold on right quick. Got something for ya.” He held out a small wood carving in the shape of a horse.

  The little girl took it from him. “It looks just like Charlotte!”

  Her mother prompted her. “What do you say?”

  “Thank you!” the girl said with adorable exuberance. “I love it!”

  Once the mother and daughter had gone, I stepped outside and told my grandfather that he might have another moneymaking opportunity on his hands. Or, more precisely, in his hands. “One of my weekend customers asked about the cat you whittled for me, and you saw how thrilled that little girl was. Your pieces would make great souvenirs. If you’d like to, we could sell them in the shop.”

  “Not a bad idea.” He ran his tiny tool over the chunk of wood, releasing a thin strip of curled wood, which fell to the concrete at his feet. “Social security doesn’t get a person too far. I suppose I could use the extra cash.”

  “What would you do with it?” My grandfather was a man of simple tastes. He’d probably spend it on socks.

  To my surprise, he said, “I’ve had my eye on a cup holder and sun canopy for my scooter. I might get me some of those blue lights that go underneath, too.”

  “Gonna pimp your ride, huh?”

  “If that means the same as souping up my wheels, then sure.”

  The conversation got me thinking about money. Curious what Ashlynn might have done with the ill-gotten gains she’d stolen from Cormac, I went back inside, logged into my computer, and searched for her on Facebook and other social media. If she had posted something about being crushed by overwhelming student loan debt, unpaid medical bills, or a similar personal financial problem, I might have been able to muster some sympathy for her. But such was not the case. Rather, she’d posted a seemingly never-ending series of selfies in her brand-new bikini!, with her brand-new Dolce & Gabbana bag!, or sitting on her brand-new chaise!, watching her brand-new big-screen TV! She’d spent a small fortune on personal maintenance as well, posting pics of herself after visiting the hair salon and getting facials and microblading for her eyebrows. She’d even posted a close-up pic of her lips after she’d bought a brand-new iridescent lipstick! I wished she’d noted the name of the makeup brand and color so I could go buy a stick for myself.

  I wondered if Cormac had ever performed a search like I had and come across these posts. Heck, her conspicuous consumption constituted a virtual admission of guilt. If he’d seen these pics, surely he’d have questioned how she could afford so many luxuries.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As the minutes ticked by, I lingered near the front door, looking up and down the street for any sign of Damien Sirakov. Out front, Granddaddy kept an eye out, too, halting his whittling any time a dark-haired Caucasian man approached and resuming his work only when he’d assured himself the man had no bear tattoo on his neck.

  A few minutes after three o’clock, a guy with brown skin and short dreadlocks approached the store carrying a toolbox. I stepped out front to greet him.

  “Are you Hattie?” he asked.

  “Sure am. You must be Kiki’s friend from the theater.” I shook his hand. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me out with the security cameras.”

  “Any friend of Kiki’s is a friend of mine. Especially when that friend is offering a free case of moonshine.”

  I introduced him to my grandfather and led him inside. As he placed his toolbox on the counter, I rounded up the cameras. He opened the boxes and spent a few minutes reading over the installation instructions and specifications before getting to work. In no time, he had the cameras installed and had schooled me in their functions.

  After retrieving a cardboard box from the back room, I gestured to the shelves. “Which flavors would you like? I’ve got six different kinds.”

  “Let’s make it easy,” he said. “Give me two of each.”

  “That ought to hold you for a while, huh?”

  He snorted affably. “Clearly, you’ve never been to a cast party on closing night.”

  As I packed the case, Granddaddy came into the store, grabbed a jug of his Ole-Timey Corn Liquor, and held it out. “Take a jug of my stuff, too. It’s my thank-you for keeping my granddaughter safe.”

  “I’m happy to help,” the man said. “But I’m also happy to take that jug off your hands.”

  There was no way the guy could carry his toolbox, the earthenware jug, and the case of moonshine all at once, so I carried the box out to his car. Granddaddy followed us out. After we bade the man goodbye, I glanced up and down the street. No sign of a criminal with a badly designed bear tattoo on his neck. Good.

  Granddaddy resumed his guard position in the rocking chair outside, while I went back into the store. A fiftyish couple both wearing UTC T-shirts walked inside.

  “Hi there!” I called. “Welcome to the Moonshine Shack.”

  We engaged in idle chitchat as they sampled the flavors. They’d come to town from Shelbyville for the weekend to visit their son, who was a sophomore in college. The two had decided to stay an extra day to enjoy the city on their own while he returned to classes. UTC alumni and parents could be another big market for me. I made a mental note to promote my moonshine on parents’ weekend this autumn. What hot toddy wouldn’t be made better with a dash of my moonshine?

  The couple chose two jars of my shine. After ringing up their purchase, I held out their bag. “I hope to see you again this fall when you’re back in town for parents’ weekend.”

  The woman took the bag, giving me a nod in return. “You can count on it.”

  I saw them to the door before returning to the counter. The security cameras had come with a red window decal that read SECURITY CAMERA IN USE. I figured it couldn’t hurt to put the sticker on the glass of the front door. The warning could act as a deterrent to thieves.

  After gathering a rag and a bottle of glass cleaner, I picked up the decal and carried everything outside to find my grandfather asleep in the rocking chair. The sound of him sawing logs filled the air. ZZZZZZZZZ. So much for him serving as my sentry. But I wasn’t about to wake him up. He could be a big grump when his naps were interrupted. Besides, what were the odds that Damien Sirakov would actually come here? If he’d killed Cormac, he’d have to know that returning to the scene of the crime would only make him look guiltier. Surely his attorney had told him the best thing he could do was lie low and behave himself.

  Turning my back to the street, I spritzed glass cleaner on the front door and wiped the surface dry with the rag. Tucking the bottle of glass cleaner under my arm, I peeled the backing off the decal and carefully affixed it over the door handle, where it couldn’t be missed. Perfect.

  I went back inside my shop and returned the cleaning supplies to the back room. I grabbed a few jars of moonshine to replace the jars I’d packed for Kiki’s friend. I had my back to the door, replenishing the display, when I heard the sound of footsteps and the door of my shop opening behind me.

  I whipped around to find myself face-to-face with the black bear tattoo. The image looked even more comical up close, and all I could think was that I didn’t deserve to be killed by someone with such bad taste in body art. My heart rate rocketed into overdrive as I forced myself to look up into Damien Sirakov’s face. It was a wonder I didn’t drop the jar of apple pie moonshine clutched in my hands. The door swung shut behind him, sealing us in the shop alone together. This creep sure is stealthy. If not for his criminal tendencies, he could go to work for the FBI or CIA.

  Smoky stood from his spot in the window, arched his back, and hissed. Immediately thereafter, another hiss sounded, this one a furious male voice coming from Damien. “It was you, wasn’t it? Where do you get off pinning a murder rap on me?” />
  I was too frightened to speak. My vocal cords were frozen. All I could do was shake my head in a vain attempt to deflect Sirakov’s accusation. I shifted the jar of shine into my left hand and eased my right into the hip pocket of my overalls, searching for my panic button so I could sound the alarm and summon help. But my search was in vain, my pocket was empty. Argh! I’d given the remote to my grandfather earlier, and now he sat snoring away out front, oblivious to the fact that I could shortly join Cormac in the hereafter.

  Keeping my head facing Damien, I cut my eyes toward the windows, hoping I could signal someone on the sidewalk that I was in trouble. Unfortunately, the passersby were amused by my snoozing grandfather and too busy eyeing him to notice the confrontation taking place in here. One man glanced up for a brief instant, but I supposed from his perspective it probably looking like I was merely chatting with a potential customer.

  “It was either you or one of the waitresses at Limericks!” Damien barked, evidently emboldened to be louder now that we were out of earshot of anyone else.

  Finally finding my voice, I squeaked out, “What are you talking about?”

  He raised an arm and gesticulated wildly. “I got arrested on a bum credit card rap, and then the cops started asking me if I’d killed the bartender from Limericks. I figured one of the waitresses from the bar might have fingered me, but then I remembered you were there the last time I got thrown out. One of you girls must have did it.”

  Being called a “girl” was irritating, but the slight was the least of my worries at the moment. I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump of terror in my throat. I repositioned the jar of shine in my hands, holding it at the ready. Given that one of my jars had been used to kill a man, I knew it could make a good weapon in a pinch. “Cormac had already filed complaints against you with the police. Even if I had said nothing, you would’ve still been a suspect.”