announced.
“Wait!” James held her firmly by the arm. “You might not want to see what they find if they do find something. It might look …” he trailed off as he noticed the others staring at him.
Gillian appeared next to James and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you two whispering about?” she demanded.
Willy gazed at James and Lucy and then his jaw grew slack. “Do y’all know why Johnny Law is here? Is there more bad news? There talk of arson or somethin’?”
James decided that Willy deserved honesty. “There may be …
um … someone might have been inside. Caught in the fire. It’s not certain, Willy,” he said as gently as he could.
Willy shook his head emphatically. “No way, man. Nothin’ in there could have burned fast enough that …” he paused, “… Pete would have gotten out. He’s no nuclear physicist, but he’s got a survival instinct, same as the rest of us.”
“You’re probably right,” Lindy assured him, but her round eyes betrayed her fear.
“What’s that the Sheriff’s got in his hand?” Carter asked quietly, speaking for the first time.
Lucy peered through the dark as Sheriff Huckabee moved into the strong beam cast by the lights of the fire truck. “Those look like our standard plastic evidence bags. I can’t quite tell what’s inside.”
“From the long neck and the fact that they look like they’re made of glass—see how the lights are reflecting on the surface—I’d say they’re liquor bottles. One in each bag,” Bennett mumbled.
“Didn’t Pete drink Wild Turkey?” Lucy turned to James. “Remember all the empty bottles he kept in his car when we were in high school? You couldn’t pass him in the hall without breathing in whiskey.”
“Yeah.” James nodded, a queasy feeling spreading throughout his stomach.
“Well, one’s a Wild Turkey bottle but the other one isn’t. That’s Gentleman Jack, for sure,” Carter stated authoritatively.
Everyone looked at the new mail carrier with surprise. “Gentleman Jack? Do you mean Jack Daniels?” Lindy asked and Carter silently nodded. “How can you tell that from this distance?”
Carter shrugged. “Used to work at a liquor store. I could tell you what most bottles are without the labels and those two are easy ones. The labels have both turned completely black, but the shape is still obvious to me. Weird …” he trailed off.
“What’s weird?” Bennett prodded.
Carter jerked his shoulders again and glanced shyly toward the Sheriff. “It’s just that most folks don’t mix their whiskeys, you know. They stick to one brand pretty loyally.”
“Don’t look at me!” Willy threw his hands in the air with a sound that was part sob, part laugh. “I’m from a dry, Baptist household. I wouldn’t know whiskey, good or bad, from cough syrup, and neither one of those bottles is mine.” He watched as an ambulance pulled into the parking lot. “Oh Lord, please tell me that poor man didn’t drink two bottles full of that damnable liquor while he was on the job tonight.”
Lucy touched Willy’s arm as two paramedics unloaded a gurney from the back. By this time, most of the onlookers had dispersed. The fire was out and a sudden chill had appeared in the air. A few teenage boys sat in the rear of a pickup, but eventually, even they grew tired of the scene and motored noisily out of the lot and onto the street leading back to town.
Lucy squeezed Willy’s arm with a bit more pressure, trying to lead him away from the scene. “Come on Willy, let’s get you home.”
“I know you’re tryin’ to spare me pain, friend, but I gotta know.” Willy gently shook off Lucy’s arm and appealed to the others. “I’ve gotta go down.”
James understood. “Then we’re coming with you.”
As the group of seven approached what was left of the Polar Pagoda, Deputy Keith Donovan raced over to them before they could all duck under the yellow tape.
“Whoa there, folks,” he said,
“Wait!” James held her firmly by the arm. “You might not want to see what they find if they do find something. It might look …” he trailed off as he noticed the others staring at him.
Gillian appeared next to James and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you two whispering about?” she demanded.
Willy gazed at James and Lucy and then his jaw grew slack. “Do y’all know why Johnny Law is here? Is there more bad news? There talk of arson or somethin’?”
James decided that Willy deserved honesty. “There may be …
um … someone might have been inside. Caught in the fire. It’s not certain, Willy,” he said as gently as he could.
Willy shook his head emphatically. “No way, man. Nothin’ in there could have burned fast enough that …” he paused, “… Pete would have gotten out. He’s no nuclear physicist, but he’s got a survival instinct, same as the rest of us.”
“You’re probably right,” Lindy assured him, but her round eyes betrayed her fear.
“What’s that the Sheriff’s got in his hand?” Carter asked quietly, speaking for the first time.
Lucy peered through the dark as Sheriff Huckabee moved into the strong beam cast by the lights of the fire truck. “Those look like our standard plastic evidence bags. I can’t quite tell what’s inside.”
“From the long neck and the fact that they look like they’re made of glass—see how the lights are reflecting on the surface—I’d say they’re liquor bottles. One in each bag,” Bennett mumbled.
“Didn’t Pete drink Wild Turkey?” Lucy turned to James. “Remember all the empty bottles he kept in his car when we were in high school? You couldn’t pass him in the hall without breathing in whiskey.”
“Yeah.” James nodded, a queasy feeling spreading throughout his stomach.
“Well, one’s a Wild Turkey bottle but the other one isn’t. That’s Gentleman Jack, for sure,” Carter stated authoritatively.
Everyone looked at the new mail carrier with surprise. “Gentleman Jack? Do you mean Jack Daniels?” Lindy asked and Carter silently nodded. “How can you tell that from this distance?”
Carter shrugged. “Used to work at a liquor store. I could tell you what most bottles are without the labels and those two are easy ones. The labels have both turned completely black, but the shape is still obvious to me. Weird …” he trailed off.
“What’s weird?” Bennett prodded.
Carter jerked his shoulders again and glanced shyly toward the Sheriff. “It’s just that most folks don’t mix their whiskeys, you know. They stick to one brand pretty loyally.”
“Don’t look at me!” Willy threw his hands in the air with a sound that was part sob, part laugh. “I’m from a dry, Baptist household. I wouldn’t know whiskey, good or bad, from cough syrup, and neither one of those bottles is mine.” He watched as an ambulance pulled into the parking lot. “Oh Lord, please tell me that poor man didn’t drink two bottles full of that damnable liquor while he was on the job tonight.”
Lucy touched Willy’s arm as two paramedics unloaded a gurney from the back. By this time, most of the onlookers had dispersed. The fire was out and a sudden chill had appeared in the air. A few teenage boys sat in the rear of a pickup, but eventually, even they grew tired of the scene and motored noisily out of the lot and onto the street leading back to town.
Lucy squeezed Willy’s arm with a bit more pressure, trying to lead him away from the scene. “Come on Willy, let’s get you home.”
“I know you’re tryin’ to spare me pain, friend, but I gotta know.” Willy gently shook off Lucy’s arm and appealed to the others. “I’ve gotta go down.”
James understood. “Then we’re coming with you.”
As the group of seven approached what was left of the Polar Pagoda, Deputy Keith Donovan raced over to them before they could all duck under the yellow tape.
“Whoa there, folks,” he said,
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