Page 316 of Property of Whiskey

“For difficult girls.”

Something ugly twists beneath my ribs.

“Difficult.”

“Girls without structure. Girls who rebelled. Girls whose families could no longer control them.”

Control. Of course.

For one unwanted moment, I think about Cal telling me what kind of life I should want. Daddy deciding what danger I could handle. Whiskey dragging me into a basement because he believed knowing better gave him the right to choose for me.

“What did you do to them?”

“I did nothing to anyone.”

“Kaylee Quill remembers you.”

His face stays composed, but his eyes sharpen.

“She says you prayed over them.”

“I’ve prayed over thousands of young people.”

“She says they had to kneel.”

“Prayer traditionally includes kneeling.”

“She says you knew they couldn’t leave.”

Crowley lets the silence stretch before that pleasant smile returns. “Traumatized young women often reinterpret structure as captivity.”

I nearly throw my coffee in his face.

Instead, I take another drink.

“Did Cider reinterpret the blue room too?”

His smile changes.

Barely more than a hesitation around the eyes, but I catch it.

Deputy brain lights up.

“What blue room?” he asks.

Too smooth. Too late.

“You tell me.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Sure.”

He takes one step closer. “Your father understood something you do not.”

“What?”

“When to stop digging.”