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late at night? That was the question she’d refused to let herself spend too much time thinking about the past months.
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    Ava asked her to stay the night but she refused. Something about her house kept her grounded.
    Spotty met them at the end of the road, barking a welcome. Her black lab mix had one large white spot on his right eye and another on his back. When she was five she decided she wanted a baby brother, so Ronnie showed up one day with a pup. He said it was the best he could do. It was the only thing he ever gave her.
    The dog met her as she exited the car, licking her hand and sniffing at the leftovers Molly had packed up. The night was warm and the moon was full. Emmie waved bye to Al. She locked up, got ready for bed, and settled in, waiting for sleep to claim her. But it didn’t. She closed her eyes and her mind played a picture show with vivid color—a perfect vision of the day Ronnie died.
    “Emma,” Ronnie shouted. Her pulse quickened. Was he already up? She hated mornings when he rose early. Usually his ’shine headaches kept him in bed until after dawn.
    “Emma, you better answer when I call your name,” he called from downstairs.
    “Sorry, Ronnie. I was just on my way down.” Her bare feet thumped down the stairs, trembling hands gripping the loose handrail.
    “It’s about time, girl,” he barked.
    Ronnie looked the same as he always had, maybe a little grayer around the ears, maybe a little more wrinkled around the eyes, but basically the same. His mouth was still set in a frown; his hands were calloused from working at the lumber mill. His dishwater-blond hair was cut short to his head. She moved around him to the old coffee pot.
    “Ya ain’t even started making the breakfast yet?” he sneered and jerked her back by the neck of her hand-me-down cotton dress. “Girl,” he breathed in her ear from behind, “what’d ya think I keep ya around here for, hmm?”
    Spotty came up and nipped at his hand. The dog yipped as Ronnie’s work boot met his fur. Emmie grabbed Spotty and pushed him out the front door. When Ronnie was in this kind of mood it was better to get the dog away from him.
    “Forget about it,” he huffed as he put on his hat. “I’ll be expecting supper tonight but I’ll be home late. Gotta work outside on the farm for a bit. You can just leave my dinner on the stove.”
    Those were the last words she heard out of him. He was always working out on the farm but there was never anything to show for it. He let go of the garden six years ago after Mama died of the flu. He sold the only cow two years ago. The land was overgrown. She tossed and turned most of the night. Her brain wrestled trying to put it all together. She hung in the balance of sleep and awareness for hours, thinking it through.
    “Oh my heavens,” Emmie said aloud. Spotty turned his head listening for something outside.
    When she did not speak immediately, he plopped back down on the covers. “The jars of ’shine, the late nights, always outside but nothing to show, the woods—that’s it,” she said aloud. Part of her wanted to toss off the covers and go look right this second. She knew it was a foolish idea. Dawn was approaching. So, she closed her eyes and made a plan instead.

Chapter Four
    “W hat are ya doin’ here in the middle of the night, girl?” Walter said, rubbing his long beard.
    “I told you. I’m here to help. I’ve put it together. I know what Ronnie was doing out here. I’m not some kind of fool,” Emmie said, looking around the dark cave that was hidden in the hills near the back of her property line.
    This had been her third night out here roaming around the woods. She was about to give up when it hit her that she hadn’t checked the only spot on their property that included a creek—the cave.
    As she got closer she could feel it in her gut. She just knew she was right. Emmie did not know exactly what she was looking for out here: some old barrels, a still, or a