Page 12 of Bourbon and Secrets

I know a favor or request is coming just by his body language alone.

“Your brother, Grant, used to be Fiasco PD” he says as I wait for the question. “He wouldn’t happen to have someone still onthe force who I could talk to about all the chaos happening on the Tennessee and Kentucky border, would he?”

It isn’t the kind of conversation you bring up on a whim. It’s clear Murray has an ulterior motive. A small piece of Fiasco ran along the southeastern border of Kentucky, hugging the Tennessee state line nice and tight.

“There’s been a lot of commotion along that line lately. Reports of horses missing and then their remains being found dispersed,” he says, pocketing his phone again. “Real disturbing stuff. Especially in horse country.”

And while I am protective of our small town, I steer away from things that don’t have anything to do with me or Foxx Bourbon. This is one of those things.

“I grew up in Fiasco, Murray. Everyone knows everyone. And there’s plenty of gossip that travels about who left an unhappy marriage or went missing. You might want to try Teasers for some information. You’ll get a helluva lot more out of that crew than you will the Fiasco PD. My brother, especially.” Grant wouldn’t talk to this guy, not a fucking chance.

“Fair enough,” he says, holding up his hands with a laugh.

The photographer smiles to herself, overhearing the conversation.

“There’s a speakeasy in town, Midnight Proof. They have some of the best Foxx bourbon on hand. It also happens to be my best friend’s place. Interested?” My invitation is meant for whomever wants to join me.

“I’m on deadline,” Murray declines. “But thank you for your time, Lincoln.” He shakes my hand and starts requesting specific shots from the photographer.

She nods at his directive and then starts clicking away. I watch as she smiles at the screen of her camera just before she glances back my way. And in that look, I know I read the entirething right. Beautiful, easy, eager, and, most importantly, only here for the night.

Chapter 5

Faye

“Rosie-motherfucking-Gold,”she says with a warm laugh and clap of her hands. It’s impossible not to smile at Hadley Finch. She isn’t a friend. An acquaintance at best, someone who went to the same school, lived in the same town, but that’s where the commonalities end. Everyone in Fiasco knows who she is. And everyone who’s ever watched a horse race knows her last name—Finch. Two things people in Kentucky—Fiasco, especially—took seriously: horses and bourbon. Hadley’s folded into both worlds.

“Hadley, thanks for working with me,” I say with a bright smile, moving down the back stairs of Midnight Proof. The truth is, I’ve been eager to start. A few days of getting settled and watching as my sister actively tried to either avoid me or blatantly ignore me stopped being entertaining after my first night here.

“Faye, are you joking?” She talks more loudly as we walk farther into the building. The sounds of a trumpet and saxophone croon over the melody of piano keys. “You’re going tobring me so much business. I looked you up online when Cortez pitched this favor. And damn, I might have started crushing on you right then and there.”

I chuckle at her enthusiasm. I hadn’t remembered much of Hadley, mostly what gossip fueled and the randomness of being strangers. But she seemed fun to be around and had that easy, comforting energy that was always so refreshing to find. I glance down the hall toward the crowded speakeasy. Glasses clinking and a nice hum of chatter kicks up my anticipatory nerves.

“I have a spot for you to use as a dressing room.” Waving for me to follow, she moves down the long hallway, past the restrooms and what looks like a space she uses as an office. “It’s small, but the only talent I’ve had to accommodate are my jazz band and the occasional singer.”

I look into the small space, and it’s not much smaller than my last apartment. “It’s perfect. I usually come mostly ready to go. Just a few costume additions and I’ll be set.”

“Feel free to keep your costumes here and any props.” She nods at my arms draped with two garment bags and my makeup case. As she leans against the doorway, I hang my things and shed my jacket. “Cortez has assured me that you’re simply working someone for information for him. That there is no chance of something dangerous transpiring here.” That’s a bold claim. There’s always the possibility that things could go wrong. I know to be prepared for that. But I understood why he would have said it—to ease her mind. This was a big ask. She searches for a response, but before I can give it, she adds, “This place is important to me. It’s separate from what’s normally associated with the last name. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

I give her a nod in understanding. Reaching around to the thigh strap that holds one of my knives, I make sure the slit in my skirt doesn’t ride too high for her to see it. There’s also a palm-sized stun gun in my bag and a switchblade tucked into themake-up case that she just moved to the vanity. Safety means being prepared.

“I’m helping a friend. And the only thing you or anyone else will ever see is that I’m here to entertain.” It’s not a lie, just not the entire truth. I can’t ever promise anyone that something won’t go wrong. I know that better than anyone.

“Great. The jazz band will start your set in about an hour. Come take a look once you get settled—water, drinks, whatever you might need. The bartenders know you’re part of the staff. It’s a packed house tonight. Plenty of people in town for the next few weeks; seasonal depression hits hard this time of year and people want nothing more than to escape and explore bourbon country as well as its recreational benefits.” She hesitates for a second. “I’m not anticipating too many locals on a Thursday night, but people are going to catch wind that you’re performing here.” I know what she’s getting at, but I let her say it. “People are going to talk. They’re going to come out to see you.”

“That’s the hope, isn’t it?” I say with a confident smile, easing the little bit of worry her thoughts just dredged up. “You can ignore how you hired me—forget about the request from Cortez and treat me just like another paid employee. And I will do a damn good job.” I look around the room first, taking in the size and how perfect it is for a show. I tell her, “I don’t owe anyone an explanation, Hadley. But if you’re curious whether I’ll be able to do this when Mr. Dugan from the Hardware store, Prue the Librarian, or even if a Foxx comes in here?—”

“Mr. Dugan would never be seen here.” I don’t miss how she didn’t say anything about a Foxx brother, however.

I tip my chin up just a fraction of an inch. “It’s irrelevant who sees me, because I’m more than confident in what I do, how I dance, what people will see when they watch me. I’m not the same person I was when I left Fiasco, and I have noproblem with letting people recognize that. And as far as you’re concerned, I’m purely your new entertainment.”

She smiles wide. “Well, all-fucking-right.” With a single clap, she spins away from the little room, calling out from down the hall, “Look out, Fiasco, Rosie Gold is ready to turn heads and bulge pants tonight!”

I’m back in a town that I used to love, but one that’s filled with people who still have no idea why I left, who had forced me to barely look back. I carried it everywhere I went. Everywhereexceptwhen I was Rosie Gold. I was different when I danced burlesque. Dancing had only ever been a hobby. Being thrust into adulthood meant earning a living over the tinkering of hobbies, so I planned to leave dancing behind and join the police force. Start a life. But then life turned on its axis, and there were no longer expectations of getting married or settling down to have kids. There was no pressure to choose stability over exploration. I needed to earn a paycheck, and that was it. And suddenly, the possibilities felt endless.

It’s easy to play a part and lean into Rosie—the confident fantasy of a woman who’s unapologetic about using her body to tease, entertain and get what she wants.

I lean against the bar, taking in the space, trying to figure out my path of choreography. The bartender pours me a club soda that I sip on as I map Midnight Proof. The chandeliers hanging in the center of the main space are warmly lit and bathe everything in just enough light. It’s the perfect mix of sophistication, while the velvet red drapes make it feel more like a theater than just a speakeasy. It’s exactly the kind of Gatsby-era vibe you’d expect in a speakeasy. Mix it with the leather couches and wrought-iron metal accents, it’s masculine, yet really fucking pretty. The lounge-style room means that I can easily work with the audience and have a little more fun.

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