Page 13 of Bourbon Girl: part 5 of 6
The sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. "Thank you."
He headed back toward his car while I climbed the bus steps and settled into the driver's seat, watching through the windshield as Goldenrod's doors opened and my tour group emerged, their faces flushed from bourbon and conversation.
Bankruptcy. Silent investors. A family legacy crumbling beneath its polished surface.
And somewhere inside that building, Dylan worked behind the bar, unaware that his family's financial struggles were the least of the secrets threatening to surface.
November 13, Thursday
barrel house microclimatethe environmental conditions within a rickhouse that affect aging
KEITH BANYONsuggested we meet at a coffee shop in downtown Lexington, neutral territory away from the bourbon trail and prying eyes. I found him at a corner table, nursing a large black coffee and scrolling through his phone. He looked older than when I'd last seen him. I wondered if there was trouble with his job—or at home.
He stood when I approached. "Hi, Bernadette."
We settled into our chairs, and I wrapped my hands around the hot chai latte I'd ordered, more for warmth than taste. The coffee shop hummed with midday activity—students typing on laptops, business people conducting meetings, the espresso machine hissing and gurgling.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet me," I said. "I wanted to ask you about someone my mother knew."
"Sure. I'll help if I can."
I took a breath, steadying myself. "Do you remember Boyd Biggs?"
Keith's brow furrowed, thinking. "Boyd Biggs..." He stirred his coffee absently. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember Boyd. That was the guy Ginger was really into for a while. They met at some industry thing—a fundraiser, maybe. She was waitressing."
My pulse quickened. Another confirmation of the timeline, the connection.
"He seemed like a decent guy from what I remember," Keith continued. "Older than us, more established. Ginger talked about him constantly for a few weeks." He paused, hisexpression shifting to confusion. "Why is that name so familiar to me now?"
I watched him work through it, saw the moment recognition dawned.
"Wait." He set down his coffee cup. "Isn't he the guy who owns Goldenrod Distillery?"
"Yes," I said quietly. "That's him."
Keith stared at me, his mouth slightly open as pieces clicked into place. "Holy shit. Boyd Biggs. I never connected the Boyd we hung out with back then to the Boyd Biggs at Goldenrod. But then, I don't exactly run in those circles." He leaned back in his chair, processing. "The distillery owner. Jesus."
"Please don't say anything," I added quickly. "To anyone. It's complicated and I'm still trying to figure things out."
"No, of course not. I won't say a word." Keith ran his hand through his graying hair, still looking stunned. "I mean, I barely knew the guy back then. We were all just kids working various jobs in the industry. He was this sophisticated businessman who seemed way out of our league." He focused on me again. "Does he know? About you?"
"Not yet."
"Are you planning to tell him?"
I wrapped my hands tighter around my cup. "I'm still gathering information. Making sure before I approach him."
Keith nodded slowly, understanding. "That's smart. Guy like that—successful, established. This kind of news could turn his whole world upside down."
"Exactly."
We sat in silence for a moment, the coffee shop noise filling the space between us. Keith seemed to be running through memories, reassessing the past with new context.
"Did you ever see them together?" I asked.
"Once or twice. At a bar downtown where our crowd used to hang out. He seemed genuinely into her, at least at first. But like I said, we didn't travel in the same social circles. I was pouring drinks and hauling kegs. He was already on his way up the ladder."
I pulled out my phone and showed him the professional photograph of Boyd I'd used for the lab testing. "Is this him? Just to be absolutely sure?"
