Small Town Spin by Lyndee Walker Page B

prohibition.”
    “That’s fascinating. How do they keep from getting caught?”
    “They hide. Some have so many generations of kids spread all over the county, if there’s a whisper of the law coming by to check a still, it gets empty quick.”
    “Surely the police must be able to tell if it’s been used recently?” I raised an eyebrow.
    “I expect they can. Don’t do them no good if they don’t catch you in the act. Or catch you with a truckload of shine.” He paused and gave me a once-over. “You work in Richmond. I seen some other stuff you wrote about in the paper. You got friends in law enforcement. They can’t tell you this?”
    “Not like you can,” I said simply.
    “Want the local color, huh?”
    “Exactly.” I grinned. “So how do people making this stuff not get caught with big batches of it?”
    “Used to be they outran the law,” he said. “You know that’s where NASCAR came from, don’t you?”
    “Where... I’m not sure I follow.”
    “That’s always a good one for the tourists.” He nodded sagely. “Years ago, moonshiners used to soup-up their cars so they outran the cop cars. Had to have good shocks to carry big loads of shine, too. Eventually, the boys started racing their cars. And there you have the birth of NASCAR.”
    I stopped writing as he talked, leaning one elbow on the counter, totally engrossed in his story.
    “No shit?” It popped out before I could stop it.
    “God’s truth.” He winked.
    “So, where could a girl find a jar?”
    “Why you want to know?”
    I paused. I liked him, but I wasn’t telling anyone why I was asking about this yet.
    “I’m trying to get a feel for how things work out here. It’s a little different than Richmond.” Every word true.
    “I imagine it is. The Sidells, the Parsons, and the Lemows are the three families you’d want to ask about.”
    I scribbled the names. “And they still make it?”
    “Hard to say about this generation, but their daddies and granddaddies did. Only ones I can tell you for fact still do are the Parsons, because they run a still on the other side of these woods every once in a while, and I can smell it.”
    “What does it smell like?” I had a vision of driving around the island at night with my windows open, but Joey and Aaron’s stern faces flashed right behind that. Maybe I’d bring backup if I was going to hunt moonshiners.
    “Mash. Like spoiled corn,” he said. “They use commercial hog feed, mostly. It’s distinctive, that’s for sure.”
    I wrinkled my nose at the thought, adding that to my notes.
    “Thanks for your help, Elmer.” I drained my tea glass and stood up, dropping the pad and pen back into my bag.
    “Thanks for the bump in business,” he said. “Holler if there’s anything else I can do for you. Not much of anyone to listen to my stories anymore.”
    “They’re missing out,” I said. “It was nice to see you again.”
    He nodded a goodbye.
    I opened the door and almost walked into Charlie Lewis. Damn. I felt my face fall, but recovered before she noticed. I hoped.
    “I thought that was your car, Clarke,” Charlie purred, looking around the shop, cameraman in tow. “What are you up to in here?”
    “Shopping,” I said with a grin. “Isn’t it a cute little place?”
    “Darling.” She stared pointedly at my hands. “You don’t have a bag. Nothing in here caught your fancy?”
    “It’s all out of my price range, honestly. I’d rather spend my money on shoes. But you might find something, with your big TV bucks.”
    “Uh-huh.” She surveyed the store and seemed to buy my story, turning and following me back to the parking lot. Thank God.
    “Listen, I’m stuck out here covering this mess with these dead kids because your boss gave you this story. My sports anchor is pissed at me, and I’d rather spend my days doing something besides chasing your tail around the sticks.”
    “Your sports guy, too, huh?”
    “Too?” she arched one perfectly-waxed