Page 14 of Property of Whiskey

“Who else? I’m talking about ones not making the paper.”

He sets his coffee on the hood of my Interceptor.

“You didn’t hear this from me.”

“Never do.”

“Two girls before Kaylee, at least. Maybe four.”

The joking part of me disappears as I set my own coffee beside his. “Names.”

“I don’t know.”

“Lester.”

“I swear. One worked somewhere in Hell. The other was from down near Official. Families didn’t file right away, and by the time they did, everybody had a story for why the girls might’ve left.”

“When?”

“Past six months.”

If Lester’s worst guess is right, four before Kaylee makes five young women in six months. Five recent cases being explained away one by one despite an older Pearly Gates pattern everybody in this county should already recognize.

“Were they connected?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Daddy open investigations?”

“He followed the reports.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“He did his job.”

“Then why is he keeping me out of it?”

Lester gives me a tired look. “You really have to ask?”

“Yes.”

“Because every road in this mess keeps pulling toward Hell.”

His gaze shifts north, toward roads neither of us can see from here, and I think about Daddy ordering me away from every biker in Heck’s Kitchen.

“The Kings?”

Lester shakes his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“You said every road leads toward Hell.”

“Hell is bigger than the Kings.”

“Not by much.”

He picks up his coffee. “Forget I said anything.”

“No.”