Page 82 of Bourbon Bliss
The same could have been said for her determination to find out the truth about Callie Kendall. She was convinced Callie’s story about living with a cult in a compound outside of Hollis Corner was a lie. And she was hellbent on proving it.
We’d looked at the possibilities from different angles. Was there another town with the same name? Had Callie been mistaken about where she’d been? From what we could tell, that didn’t seem to be the case. And the search for answers started to occupy more and more of that big brain of hers.
I understood. Callie Kendall’s disappearance had rocked her small community to its core. The satisfaction of the mystery ending had been tainted for June. It was an equation that didn’t add up, and she couldn’t let it go.
Which was why I found myself driving five hours out of Bootleg Springs on a Sunday, so June could see Hollis Corner for herself.
Following my GPS, I turned off the main highway and headed east. We drove for miles through nothing. Some farmland. Open fields. Empty space. An occasional homestead.
“I have to be honest, June Bug,” I said after yet another mile passed without seeing any sign of human habitation. “Callie’s cult might have been way out here. It’s isolated enough for a group that wanted to stay secret.”
“We’ll see.”
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“I want to see if there’s really a compound where Callie could have been living for the last twelve years. She said they moved, but the buildings must still be there.”
“And that’s going to tell you what?”
She shrugged. “I’ll know when we investigate.”
We got to Hollis Corner and drove around. It didn’t take long. There were houses, some in better repair than others. A bank, and a general store. A few other shops and a handful of restaurants.
June pointed out the window, a satisfied smile on her face. “There.”
On a corner, next to a dilapidated bowling alley, was a bar. Not just any bar. A biker bar.
Dozens of motorcycles were parked out front in rows. Glancing around, I saw bikes parked at other businesses, too. Some cars as well, but this was definitely biker territory. No question.
“Looks like you were right about the Free Renegades,” I said.
“Of course I was.”
“Where to now?”
“Let’s circle around outside town to see what we find.”
“Will do,” I said.
About ten minutes outside town we came upon a turn. June and I shared a look—I think we both had a feeling—and I followed the side road. It led past what looked like an abandoned farmstead to a gated gravel driveway. Up ahead, we could see a tall fence and the hints of a rooftop behind it.
“Do you think this is it?” I asked.
June narrowed her eyes. “Maybe. We need to take a closer look.”
We got out and I helped her climb over the rusty gate. It was secured by a chain and padlock that looked newer than the gate itself. But that didn’t tell us much of anything.
A fence surrounded the perimeter of the property. The gravel drive ended at a double-wide gate, but it was locked up with a padlock and chain, just like the gate at the entrance. June walked around, taking pictures with her phone.
“It’s impossible to tell if anyone has been here recently,” she said. “Those might be tire tracks, but there’s been too much precipitation. Are you tall enough to see over the fence?”
I jumped, grabbing the top edge of the fence, and pulled myself up. “Looks deserted.”
“No people?”
I lowered myself down, then brushed my hands together. “Not that I could see. Seems empty.”
She put her hands on her hips and looked up at the fence. “I need to get in.”
