Chapter 11 #2
“I wouldn’t say I’ve found happiness, but I did find peace.”
“And then I dragged you back into my chaos.” Avery shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Grant said. “Peace isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It helped me ground myself. But after a while, it was a little boring. I missed the excitement of working a case.” He missed the excitement of loving her.
Avery ate the last bite of her half of the burger and chased it down with a drink of water. “I’m not sure this counts as excitement.”
“Excitement might not be the right adjective. And it’s nothing like peace. But I’m glad I’m here, and I hope to help solve this case.”
Avery eyed his plate, waiting for him to finish the last of his fries before meeting his gaze. “Ready to pay the cook a visit?”
Grant nodded. “We can settle up with Letha on our way through.” He rose from the table and reached for his wallet, tossing a ten on the table.
Letha had their bill ready at the register perched on the counter.
“I told Cook you wanted to visit with him. He’s giddy like a schoolgirl that someone is interested in the history of the county’s distilleries.
” She rang up their check, took the bills Grant proffered and handed him the change.
“You know, the old boarding house on the other side of the train tracks at the edge of town might have had a basement in it.”
“Who owns it?” Avery asked.
“I’m not sure anyone does. Maybe the city?” Letha frowned. “When the train stopped coming through Shadow Valley in the fifties, the boarding house closed up. It’s been boarded up for as long as I can remember.”
“Thanks for everything, Ms. Letha,” Grant said.
“Yes, thank you,” Avery added.
“Just push through the doors and stand back a bit. He’s a busy man.” Letha grabbed a tray, set mugs on it and poured coffee into each. Then she turned and sailed away.
Avery glanced at Grant. “Shall we?”
“After you,” he said and pushed open the swinging door, holding it for her to pass through.
Once in the kitchen, with the scents of burgers filling the air, Grant stood amidst meat patties, onions and vats of boiling cooking oil.
Grant glanced around, his gaze coming back to the short, rotund man dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt somewhere between faded black and gray.
He’d draped a large white apron over his bulging gut and chest. The apron already had a variety of food products slashed across the bib and lower.
He worked tirelessly, flipping burger patties and applying slices of cheese before adding the patties.
Avery studied his every move, sneaking peeks around the kitchen, surprised Cook made it look easy, stacking the burgers with their melted cheese over a bun loaded with lettuce, onion, tomatoes and pickles.
Then, he placed each cheeseburger on separate plates, added fries and settled them on a tray in a pass-through window from the kitchen to the drawing room.
“Order up!” Cook called, finally turning to Avery and Grant, while wiping his hands on the front of the apron. “You two the folks Letha sent in asking about distilleries from the prohibition era?”
Grant nodded and held out his hand. “Grant Hayes.” He shook the man’s hand. “My colleague, Special Agent Avery Hart.”
Cook’s eyes widened. “Ah, the female FBI agent.” He took her hand. “Nice to meet ya. Stay back from that vat of oil bubbling near your elbow.”
“Yes, sir.” Avery shuffled away from the heat. “We understand you’re a bit of a local history buff.”
Cook grimaced. “I don’t know about all the history of Shadow Valley.
I just have an interest in the moonshine and bootlegging that went on in these parts over the years.
All started when I inherited my uncle’s property, along with the still his grandfather built back in the twenties.
I found it surprising how many fine, upstanding citizens were perfectly happy to spend the money their ancestors made on buying beer, whiskey and moonshine when it was outlawed. ”
“Their proverbial skeletons in the closet?” Grant offered.
“Something like that. Pretending they were better than people living paycheck to paycheck who didn’t inherit ill-gotten fortunes.
People who worked hard for their money.” Cook snorted.
“That’s just my opinion. I’m sure they’re all good God-fearing people, going to Church on Sunday to atone for their sins and the sins of their granddaddies.
Meanwhile, I sling pancakes and burgers to supplement my retirement from twenty-five years of active service to this great nation. ”
“Navy?” Grant asked.
Cook nodded. “How’d you guess?”
“The Navy has produced some of the best cooks I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Grant gave the man a nod. “Thank you for your service.”
Cook’s eyes narrowed. “And you? Did you serve?”
“Proudly,” Grant said with a nod. “Also, Navy.”
“You weren’t one of those SEALs, were you?”
Grant’s lips quirked. “How’d you guess?”
Cook tipped his chin up. “That shadow in your eyes, the way you carry yourself. Confident, not cocky. Aware of your surroundings as if expecting trouble.”
“Perceptive as well as a talented chef.” Grant tipped his head in acknowledgement.
“Thank you for your service,” Cook said and turned to flip a row of burgers on the grill. “Now, I understand you’re working to find a serial killer who’s terrorizing the good folk of Shadow Valley. How can I help?”
“We’re interested in the folks from the past, distilling beer or whiskey using malted barley. Someone who might’ve been brewing in his basement. We hope you might know where we should look.”
Cook placed four more raw burgers on the grill.
“Brewing beer or whiskey in a basement...” He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Not many basements around here. At least, not in the newer homes. But some people made good use of their basements in the past, especially if they were hiding barrels of whiskey or crates of bottles filled with beer or moonshine. Some of them, like the old boarding house, burned to the ground. A couple of the old places outside of town have deteriorated and were abandoned as the town’s population shrank. ”
“Do any places or owner names come to mind?” Avery pressed.
“Just the folks I know of who brewed beer and whiskey—and that was only hearsay from their relatives who still live here.”
“That will give us more of a start than going door to door,” Grant said with a smile.
Cook frowned. “I assume this has something to do with the killer.”
“We can’t say much, but yes,” Avery confirmed. “Basements and old malted barley. Anywhere you can think of that we could find that combination might help.” She touched his arm. “And if you could keep this information to yourself, we’d appreciate it.”
Cook flipped the burgers. “I can only tell you the names of the families I know of who owned or operated stills during Prohibition.”
Grant pulled out his phone and opened the notes application. “We’re listening.”
“Herbert McElroy had a still in the woods behind his house until the revenuers shut him down. His daughter, Susan, loved telling stories about the day her daddy was arrested. Not sure if his house had a basement. It’s been boarded up for years after his daughter passed away.
The kids throw rocks through what’s left of the windows.
His place was on the way out on FM 31, about four miles away.
No one’s lived there for at least the last twenty years. ”
Grant made notes on his phone while Cook threw several buns onto the grill to warm.
“Pete Hornsby’s grandfather bootlegged hooch to the cities during that time.
Had an old truck Pete refurbished and uses to haul the football team through town during the Christmas parade.
” Cook grinned. “He’s kind of proud of his grandfather’s crimes and isn’t afraid to talk about it.
His grandfather had a place on Oak Trace, on the south end of the town.
It used to be out in the country until the town built out that way. Now, it’s surrounded by other homes.”
Cook tilted his head and stared into the far corner of the kitchen.
“Other names that come to mind are the Stensons, who owned a place off Cemetery Road. Roland Baumgartner off County Road 385, and Arlie Tidwell off Cedar Creek Lane. I went on a scavenger hunt looking for abandoned stills in case I could use parts on the one my uncle left me.” He shrugged and laid slices of cheese on two of the burgers.
“It’s not like I plan on selling moonshine to my neighbors.
It’s just a hobby. My wife puts up with it because it keeps me busy and out of her kitchen.
Not that I want to cook after working all day at the diner. ”
“Do you know if any of those people’s homes are abandoned, or if there was an old warehouse or commercial building they might have used to make beer or whiskey?” Avery asked. “Ones that had basements…?”
“The old Baumgartner place is still standing. I believe his grandson owns it, but doesn’t live there or rent it out.
The Tidwell place was divided into three tracts.
The old homestead is still there. The new homes were built closer to the road.
The old place is in the rear with a big hay barn behind it.
They had a treasure trove of brewing equipment in the barn they let me scavenge through.
” Cook set several plates beside the grill, laid bottom buns on them and slid hamburgers onto them.
“Anything else you can think of?” Grant asked.
Cook shook his head. “Not now. If I come up with more names or places, I’ll let the sheriff know.”
“Thanks,” Avery said and smiled at the older man. “And thanks for the best burger I’ve had in a long time.”
“I aim to please,” Cook said. “My sailors always got my best effort.”
Grant and Avery left the kitchen and walked out of the diner onto the street.
“Where to first?” Grant asked.
“The county courthouse.”