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"Center County's best. And still illegal if you stand in just the right spot inside the distillery."
"What are you talking about?" I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion as Annabelle poured moonshine and tonic water over ice in each glass. I had never had moonshine—or even really considered that people might still drink it. I swallowed hard, thinking it was pretty appropriate to be on the brink of getting tipsy in Santa’s house. It seemed just the right level of disrespectful to match my distaste for the holiday.
"The Half Cat Distillery straddles county lines. And Center County has some really outdated liquor laws, but I guess because it's such a tiny little county, nestled between St. Marys and Charles, they didn't ever get around to updating them. So while it's legal to make liquor in the part of the distillery that sits in Center County, you can't drink it there. Only on the Charles County side. You should go visit the Straddler Bar. It's a hoot."
I picked up my glass, dubiously eyeing the clear liquid inside. "Sounds like it. I've never had moonshine," I confessed.
"Goes down like butter." Annabelle touched her glass to mine and took a long swallow. "Perfect way to end the day." Annabelle smiled as she leaned back into Santa's chair, her elf hat pushing forward over the grey curls as did so. Her cheeks flushed a bit and she looked utterly content.
I was a little jealous of Annabelle's apparent satisfaction with her life, her world. Her ridiculous striped tights. I sipped the drink, forcing myself to swallow down the cough that threatened as the fire slid down my throat. "It's good," I said, the moonshine stealing my voice and leaving me with a throaty whisper.
Annabelle winked and took another sip of her own. "So how is the show coming along?"
"It's not," I said, and took a longer sip. I set down my glass. "I mean, it is, really. Tomorrow I think I'll be firming up details on the last three houses on my list, and now that the crew is here we'll start filming. First one in two days."
"Whose house?" Annabelle asked. "Can I ask?" Her blue eyes glowed with excitement—or moonshine—and her enthusiasm was obvious.
"Um, I don't know if I remember all the names. Tanner, I think. Do you know them?" I was already feeling a little buzz in my head from the moonshine. I took another sip.
"Of course, the Tanners. Lovely family. Lottie runs the little bakery cafe on the corner over on the square. Her daughter Paige is the local family doctor. She has a younger daughter too, Adeline, but Addie doesn't live here anymore. Little town wasn't big enough for her, I guess." Annabelle shook her head as if she couldn't understand how Singletree might be too small for anyone. "You'll probably have to film around the rodents over there, though."
Concern straightened my spine. "Rodents?" I pictured a run-down house, infested with mice or rats. That wouldn't work. How had this house gotten past Juliann? The rodents must be new. I needed to get over to the Tanners' first thing.
"They might be marsupials, actually. I'm not sure."
"Annabelle, what are you talking about?" I took another bracing swig of the moonshine.
"Chinchillas. Very cute, but extremely naughty. She used to keep them in a cage, but over time they got out, and now they pretty much have run of the house." Annabelle informed me of this in a very matter-of-fact way, followed by a little hiccup.
"I see." I felt my eyes widening as I finished off my drink. "I guess I don't know much about…chinchillas. Are they, like, pretty big?" I was picturing kangaroos, I knew that, but that was the only marsupial I could think of. And those got big. I’d seen a YouTube video where one was at someone's backdoor, scratching with knife-like talons at the screen and standing there with a chest muscled like a prize fighter's.
"No, silly," Annabelle laughed at my marsupial ignorance. "They're little. Like roly poly little fur balls. About yay big." She held her hands out, showing me something approximately the size of a softball.
"That's not tiny," I said.
"Maybe Lottie will dress them up for the show!" Annabelle appeared delighted by this idea, and my stomach soured as I pictured rats wearing Santa hats and carrying candy canes in long yellow teeth.
Annabelle may have sensed my need to change the subject, because she got her giggles under control and her smile faded into a more serious expression. "And how are things going with the playboy?"
Callan. I leaned back, forgetting for a moment that my stool didn't have a comfortable cushioned back like Annabelle's. I nearly fell over backwards, but righted myself just before my balance was too far off and leaned forward instead, dropping my elbows onto the table top next to my drink. "That's not going too well, actually. I don't think he's going to be willing to let the crew film his house." I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering Callan's rigid posture as the cameraman had spoken to him. "He seems really…angry." I pictured his face again. "No, wait. Not angry exactly. Hurt, maybe. He seems like he's been hurt, I guess."
"Didn't he have some kind of injury? Isn't that why he doesn't play for the Minnows anymore?" Annabelle's voice hid a shade of the dislike she'd already expressed for Singletree's newest celebrity addition.
"Yeah," I said. "And I think it was the Sharks, by the way. They play in San Diego."
Annabelle's face brightened and she sat up, her voice turning low, reverent. "Isn't that the team that has the Fuerte Fire?" Clearly, Annabelle admired Fernando Fuerte, who I knew had joined the team around the time Callan was injured. He was easy to admire. But he didn't have that same soulful gaze that Callan Whitewood did.
"Right. I think so."
"Hmmm," Annabelle said, and I figured there might have been some billboards out here too.
"His brother said something kind of interesting to me too," I said, finding that talking about Callan was actually something I wanted to do and realizing almost at the same time that my interest in him might be slightly more than professional.
"What did he say?"
I considered my words, feeling almost like maybe I was sharing something too personal to Callan. But then I remembered his anger at me and went ahead. "He said that the thing his brother needs most is a reason to get up every day. That he's lost everything and that everything he ever believed his life was about has been taken from him."
"Well, I'd be hurt too, I guess," Annabelle said, her face softening a little. "How did Callan react when you went over there?"
