Luke didn't sleep. Again. He was beginning to think sleep and peace were things he had left behind somewhere overseas.
The house was quiet, but his mind wasn't. Too many pieces. Too many names.
Thomas Bell. The key. The river. His father's warning.
He sat at the kitchen table as the first gray light of morning crept through the windows. The key lay in front of him. Waiting. Almost mocking him.
A small piece of metal shouldn't have the power to change a man's life. But Luke had learned something. Small things often carried the heaviest weight.
The question was simple: What did it open?
Whiskey Jack arrived before breakfast. Luke wasn't surprised.
The old man had a habit of appearing when he was needed and disappearing when he wasn't.
"You look terrible."
Luke poured himself coffee. "Good morning to you too."
Whiskey Jack accepted the cup. "Sleep?"
"No."
"Eat?"
"No."
The old man nodded. "Sounds about right."
Luke looked at him. "You knew about Thomas Bell."
Whiskey Jack went still. Only for a moment. But Luke noticed.
"I figured you would eventually find his name."
"Who was he?" asked Luke.
Whiskey Jack sat down. "Your daddy's best friend."
"You already said that."
"Because it's true."
Luke, looking bewildered, said, "And then you stopped talking."
The old man sighed. "Thomas was a good man once."
"Once?"
Whiskey Jack stared into his coffee. "War changes people."
Luke looked away. He knew that was true. "Did my father trust him?"
"With his life." The answer came quickly. Too quickly.
Luke looked back. "What happened?"
Whiskey Jack was quiet. Then: "Thomas made a choice."
"What choice?"
"The kind a man makes when he thinks he's doing the right thing."
Luke frowned. "And he wasn't?"
Whiskey Jack looked toward the window. "That's the problem." He paused. "Sometimes the wrong people believe they're doing right."
The words stayed with Luke. Because he understood that better than he wanted to.
They returned to the hidden still before noon.
This time, Luke noticed more. The old building. The tools. The records. His father's handwriting everywhere.
Sam McCall had been careful. Organized. Almost obsessive.
"He wasn't hiding from the law?" Luke asked.
Jack looked at him. "No."
Luke stated matter-of-factly, "He was hiding from someone."
The old man didn't answer.
Luke walked to the maps again. One location was circled. A place near the river.
The words beside it were written in Sam's handwriting.
Locker 17
Luke looked at the key in his hand. His heartbeat quickened.
"Where is Locker 17?"
Whiskey Jack stared.
Then slowly removed his hat. "Now I understand."
"What?"
"Your daddy didn't leave you the key because he wanted you to find the still."
Luke looked at him. "Then why?"
The old man's face was serious. "He wanted you to find the truth."
Luke closed his hand around the key. "Where is Locker 17?"
Whiskey Jack looked toward the river. "Belle Rive train depot."
Luke felt a chill. "The same place I arrived?"
Whiskey Jack nodded. "And if I were you..."
Luke waited.
"I'd get there before whoever else is looking for it."
Because somewhere in town...someone had just realized Luke McCall was getting close.
And they were running out of time.