Chapter 11
Grant kicked himself for not stopping Mr. Logsdon before he’d ambushed Avery.
Avery reached across the table and touched his hand. “Hey. You can’t be a human shield for me, you know. I can defend myself. I would have, too. I just didn’t see the old man as a threat until he had me in his surprisingly strong grip.”
Grant curled his fingers around hers. “I should’ve come between him before he got that far.”
“You can’t be there for me every second,” she insisted.
“No, but I was there and did nothing to stop him.”
“It’s done. I’m fine, and Mr. Logsdon is on his way home.” She pulled her hand free and picked up the menu. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Do you want to split a burger and fries?”
Grant liked that she slipped so easily into their former eating habits of sharing a meal. “As long as it’s fully loaded, pickles and all.”
“Deal. As long as the fully loaded part comes—”
“—on the side,” he finished with a grin.
She returned his smile.
In that moment, hope blossomed inside Grant, though he held it in check.
So, she was being nice. That didn’t mean she wanted to be a part of his life again. The divorce decree had felt pretty final when he’d signed it, releasing her from their marriage.
An older waitress with brassy orange hair and white roots stopped at their table with menus. “Hi, I’m Letha. I’ll be your server. What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have water with lemon,” Avery answered.
“Coffee. Black,” Grant said. “And we’re ready to order food.”
Letha raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to look at the menu first? The special for the day is meatloaf. It’s my favorite.”
Grant glanced at Avery.
She shook her head. “I have my taste buds set for a burger and fries.”
“I understand,” Letha said. “The tastebuds want what the tastebuds want.” She turned to Grant. “And you?”
“I’ll need an extra plate and a knife to cut that burger in half.”
“Got it,” she said without writing anything down. She disappeared and came back less than two minutes later with their drinks. “That burger will be ready soon. Let me know if you need anything else while you’re waiting.”
“As a matter of fact, there is something else you could help us with,” Grant said with the smile he reserved for buttering up female informants.
Letha smiled back. “Name it.”
“Information,” he said. “I understand you’ve lived your whole life in Shadow Valley. Is that right?”
Letha shrugged. “I wouldn’t say my whole life, but I guess the year I ran away to live in the Grand Canyon with my boyfriend doesn’t really count.
I wised up and came back when he ditched me for a floozy out of Vegas.
I came back with my tail between my legs and haven’t left since.
It’s home. Been home to my family for the last hundred and fifty years.
I don’t see any reason to leave. Why do you ask? ”
“We were just curious,” Avery chimed in. “It being a small town fairly close to Waco and Dallas, would you know if any of the residents were ever active in the bootlegging industry during the prohibition?”
Letha’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “From all accounts, there weren’t many who weren’t involved.
Even my grandfather had a still set up in the woods out behind the old homestead.
” She chuckled. “I remember him taking me to see it. He no longer had the clients he had back in the twenties, but he still made hooch for himself and some of his cronies.”
“Did anyone involved in the business produce alcohol in their basement?” Grant asked.
Letha tilted her head. “I don’t recall. Gramps said he set his up far enough away from the house that if it exploded, it wouldn’t burn the house down with it.
I don’t think there were many homes with basements.
Back then, they had root cellars where they stored food from their gardens to keep it cool during the hot summers.
But basements? Not many of those around here.
” She shook her head. “There might be a few built into the sides of some of the hills.”
“No one had storm shelters?” Avery asked.
“I guess some did. Nowadays, they install those concrete boxes for people to hide in during tornadoes. I’d get a powerful case of claustrophobia in one of those.
I’d rather tangle with a tornado than be trapped inside one of those concrete caskets.
” Letha nodded toward their drinks. “Let me know if you need a refill. I’ll check on that burger.
” The woman spun and headed for the kitchen, stopping to talk to a customer along the way.
Avery sighed. “I doubt there are copies of house plans stored in the county clerk’s office that date back as far as Prohibition.”
“I doubt people reported basements during that time,” Grant said. “They’d be the first people the revenuers would’ve targeted before searching the woods.”
Avery sighed. “I’d hoped Letha would know more, having lived here all her life.”
“Maybe Melissa will have more luck looking through old newspapers.”
“That sounds painfully tedious.”
Letha arrived with the single hamburger, divided into two portions on two separate plates. “Cook cut it for you. And each plate has the fixins on the side—just the way you asked.”
She laid the plates in front of Grant and Avery.
“While I was in the kitchen, I asked Cook if he’d heard tales of family members who’d cooked hooch back in the prohibition.
He said there were a few. He said Old Man Starner’s grandfather had a big business, selling beer and whiskey out of his shed back off Glendale Road, north of town.
He used the money he made to build a big old house on his acres out there. ”
Avery leaned closer. “Did that house have a basement?”
Letha tapped a finger to her chin. “I got to go inside one year as a kiddo. Starner’s wife was one of the hosts of a Christmas tour of homes in the county. Seems they had a door in the kitchen that led down some steps. It could’ve been a basement.”
“Do the Starners still own the home?” Grant asked.
Letha batted a hand in Grant’s direction.
“Oh, heavens no. That house was struck by lightning twenty years ago. It burned to the ground with Mrs. Starner inside. Mr. Starner was away on business in the city. It was a terrible tragedy. Old Man Starner didn’t have the heart to rebuild.
He went to live with his son in Austin and sold the place to the paper company. ”
Avery sat back in her seat, her disappointment evident.
“Did Cook know of any other bootleggers in the area?”
Letha frowned. “Yes, he did. The man was a wealth of information. Apparently, he’s a bit of a local history buff when it comes to what families were knee-deep in hops.
He came by it honestly when he inherited his uncle’s cabin off Simmon’s Road.
It came with an entire distillery, jugs and bottles, some dating back to the twenties.
It seems his uncle learned the trade from his father and continued making beer into his eighties.
He even added taps to an old refrigerator, preferring his homemade beer cold. ” Letha laughed.
“Would Cook mind if we visited him in the kitchen?” Avery asked.
“I’m sure he’d love the company,” Letha said. “But don’t you want to eat while your burger’s hot?”
Avery smiled. “Of course.”
“Need ketchup with your fries?” Letha asked.
“Yes, please,” Grant responded as Avery assembled her burger, leaving out the tomato.
She speared the tomato with her fork and laid it on Grant’s plate, again, remembering his preferences.
It felt so natural sitting across the table from Avery. He’d pictured them spending their lives sharing meals, spending time together. Always coming back to each other after a mission took them away.
Avery took a bite of her burger, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, her gaze connecting with his. “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?”
He swallowed the bite he’d just taken and nodded. “It does.”
“It’s amazing how comforting something as simple as sharing a burger can be.”
“Like sitting in front of a fireplace in your favorite pajamas on a cold winter morning,” Grant said, recalling an image of Avery wearing her favorite plaid flannel pajamas, holding a cup of hot cocoa while sitting in front of the fireplace in their apartment.
“It was a gas fireplace,” Avery mused.
“We said one day we’d have a place with a real, wood-burning fireplace.”
She nodded and sipped her water with the slice of lemon perched on the rim of the glass. She tilted her head. “Did you find your fireplace in Montana?”
Grant smiled. “If you count the one in the shared great room of the bed and breakfast I rent by the month as my fireplace, I guess I did.”
“Did you find someone to sit with you in front of the fireplace?” she asked softly.
Grant nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
Her lips turned downward so briefly, Grant thought he’d imagined it. Her eyelids drooped over her eyes, guarding her expression. “Was she upset that you left her to help your ex?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “She was a little jealous.”
Avery looked up, her brows knitting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you problems with your new lady.”
“She did ask if she could come along, never having been to Texas.” Grant fought a grin. “Dottie was born and raised in Eagle Rock, Montana. The furthest she’s traveled was all the way to Seattle and once to Reno for a girls' weekend with her friends.”
“And she was satisfied to stay in Montana all her life?” Avery asked.
“She said in all eighty-eight years she’s lived there, she’s never wanted to live anywhere else.”
Avery’s brow dipped and then rose. “Oh, you. Is Dottie the owner of the bed and breakfast?”
“Yes, ma’am. She opened her home as a bed and breakfast after her husband died when she was only sixty-seven. She likes meeting new people and living vicariously through their adventures.”
Avery smiled. “She sounds lovely.”
“She is. Like the grandmother I never knew.”
“I’m glad you found happiness,” Avery said. “I never wanted to hurt you.”