"This is fantastic," Tracy said, echoing my thoughts. "Clinton, you outdid yourself."
Clinton looked pleased. "I'm happy to treat my family."
I squirmed. "Thank you for including me," I said to Clinton and to the Oneys.
"Nonsense," Lou said. "Of course we wanted you to come."
"You're family," Poppy insisted, and I had to blink back a sudden well of moisture. Thankfully, on stage the maid character loudly protested her innocence, offering a distraction from the earnest conversation. The detective—played by an actor in an absurdly oversized Sherlock Holmes coat—interrogated the maid with exaggerated skepticism. Poppy watched with rapt attention, occasionally shouting theories that made the nearby tables laugh.
At the intermission, Clinton leaned in to speak to me privately. "There are more rumors circulating about Goldenrod."
I swallowed hard. "What kind of rumors?"
"Financial troubles, mostly. Some suppliers saying invoices aren't being paid on time. And apparently Jessica and Boyd Biggs are having personal problems." Clinton shook his head. "It's a shame. They've always seemed like such a solid family."
Heat flooded my face, creeping up my neck and settling in my cheeks. I knew exactly why Boyd and Jessica were having problems. And now their "problems" were spreading through the bourbon industry, damaging their reputation and their business.
I chose my words carefully. "Every family goes through rough patches."
"True." Clinton squinted at me. "Bernadette, do you know something?"
I picked up my glass to take a deep drink of water. When I set it down, I opened my mouth to lie but was saved by the announcement that the show was resuming. To my relief Clinton turned his attention back to the performers, and so did I. By focusing on the mystery unfolding on the stage in front of me, I could temporarily forget about the mystery unfolding in my own life.
December 14, Sunday
hand-bottledbottles that are filled, labeled, or sealed by hand rather than by automated machinery
THE TOURoffice was quiet at day's end, the weekend rush dissipated into the stillness of a Sunday evening. Marv sat at the desk that had once been Teresa's domain, sorting through receipts and scheduling paperwork with the careful attention of someone still getting used to running the operation solo.
I stood in the doorway, my resignation letter folded in my jacket pocket, rehearsing the words I'd been preparing all day.
"Marv? Can I talk to you for a minute?"
He looked up from reading the magazine article Naomi had written about the bourbon trail, with a sidebar on Birdwhistle Bourbon Tours. I tried not to feel slighted that she'd described Jett as the "exceptionally informed driver" and referred to me simply as the "quirky tour guide."
"Sure, Bernadette. Come in. Close the door if you want."
I pulled the letter from my pocket and crossed to his desk, holding it out like a peace offering. "I'm giving my two weeks' notice."
Marv took the letter but didn't open it immediately. He studied my face instead, his expression unreadable. "You're leaving?"
"I came to Kentucky with a six-month plan. It's almost up." The words came out flatter than I intended. "I'm going back to Arizona to finish my degree. Classes start in January."
"That's wonderful. Congratulations." He set the letter on the desk, still unopened. "But it's also too bad. I was planning a big expansion—incorporating some of those ideas you pitched. The themed historical tours, the partnership with local restaurants,maybe even that bourbon and bees collaboration you mentioned with Jett."
I smiled. "You were?"
"I'd like to take advantage of whatever publicity Naomi's article will bring." Then he sighed. "Plus I realized that after Teresa left the first time, I let everything slide. Then she came back and made everything worse because I let her make all the decisions."
"Marv—"
"Now that she's gone for good, I've decided to downsize my life. That big house she wanted? I'm selling it. Going to use the proceeds to actually grow this business."
A complicated knot of emotions twisted in my chest. Pride that he'd valued my ideas enough to pursue them. Regret that I wouldn't be here to see them implemented.
"I wish you all the luck," I said sincerely. "You deserve success. The business deserves it."
"If you ever need a favor," Marv said, looking at me with unexpected intensity, "or if you need a job, you call me. I mean that. You're good people, Bernadette, and good people are hard to find."
