Page 16 of Property of Whiskey

All the while, Kaylee Quill’s face stays in my head.

By midnight, I’m back at the sheriff’s department. The sweat from Heck’s Kitchen has dried cold beneath my uniform shirt, and the coffee in my cup tastes like burnt mud. My split lip aches every time I worry it with my tongue, and I can’t help but think of Whiskey, wiping the blood there. His rough hands on my skin, his thumb in his mouth.

The front office is dark except for the lamp over dispatch and the blue-white glow of a computer monitor somebody forgot to shut down. The air smells like old carpet, printer toner, and the pot of coffee that has probably been cooking since noon. Daddy’s office door is closed, and Lester’s unit is outside, but I don’t see him.

I finish the Piggly Wiggly incident report, log the ham as an improvised weapon without taking it into evidence, and wait until Linda, the dispatcher disappears into the break room.

Then I open the department RMS and pull Kaylee Quill’s missing-person report. Kaylee Quill’s report comes up immediately, and I read every line. Last seen leaving work at 10:42 p.m. Vehicle located behind the gas station. Phone missing. No sign of a struggle. Possible voluntary departure.

I print the rest of the report before Linda comes back, and the printer sounds deafening in the quiet office. When the page slides into the tray, I immediately see the problem.

A black block covers part of the witness information.

County reports aren’t supposed to be redacted from county deputies with my access.

The floor creaks behind me.

I spin.

Daddy stands in the hallway.

He’s changed out of his uniform and into jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, but his service weapon is still clipped to his belt. He looks tired enough that the lines beside his mouth seem deeper than they did at Heck’s Kitchen.

Then he sees the paper in my hand.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“My job.”

“That case ain’t assigned to you.”

“Then tell me why I’m hearing even more girls have been disappearing for six months. More than the ones in the paper.”

“The other cases weren’t classified that way. Voluntary departures.”

“According to who?”

“According to the evidence.”

“What evidence? I’m authorized to access every open county case.”

“Not these.”

His voice goes flatter, the sheriff replacing my father one word at a time.

I hold up Kaylee’s report. “Why is witness information redacted? Did somebody from Pearly Gates call in the sighting?”

Something flickers across his face, so slight another person might miss it.

I don’t.

“They did,” I say.

“You’re making mighty big assumptions.”

“Then correct me.”

Daddy reaches behind himself and closes the office door. The latch clicks softly, cutting us off from dispatch and leaving the room too quiet for the look on his face. Then he crosses toward me.