Quinn only nodded as the highway became Main Street, and she took the turn that would lead them around to the back entrance of the distillery. The staff lot was roped off from the general public, but when they pulled up, the parking lot attendant recognized them and waved them through.

“What’s that for?” Addison asked as Quinn shoved a beach towel into her oversize bag.

“The bourbon,” Quinn said, as if it were obvious.

“We’re not stealing it,” Addison said. “Sylvia shared it with me willingly, remember?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

Addison shook her head. It would take years for her family to get over their deep-seated distrust of the Bonners.

“Fine,” Addison said. “Just don’t be weird about it.”

They made their way up the front steps of the mansion. When she knocked at the door, Sylvia greeted them almost instantly, arms open wide for a hug. Addison let herself relax. The Bonner matriarch smelled like gardenias and the smoky scent of bourbon.

“I’m so glad you came.” Sylvia welcomed them both inside. “After what we learned last night…” She trailed off and glanced at Quinn. Pink oleander bloomed in her aura, but Sylvia had no reason to distrust Addison’s cousin.

“She knows,” Addison said, hoping to ease Sylvia’s fears. “But I haven’t told the rest of the family yet.”

Sylvia took one of Quinn’s hands in hers. “Any of Addison’s family is family to me,” she said. “Why don’t the two of you head to my sipping room, and I’ll get us some lemonade. You remember where it is?”

Addison nodded before she led Quinn down the long hallway to the thick wooden door at the end. They left the daylight behind and descended the stairs. At the bottom, Quinn turned a circle in the middle of the room before making a beeline for the shelf full of bottles.

“Maybe we should wait for Sylvia?” Addison suggested, but her cousin opened the center cabinet wide.

Tumblers of various shapes lined the shelves—heavy bottoms with thin sides, goblet-shaped vessels, square cups where the glass twisted around on itself. Quinn abandoned the glassware and ran her fingers along the bottles.

“Which one was it?” Quinn asked.

“Bottom-right corner.”

Quinn dropped into a crouch.

“I see you have an eye for vintage,” Sylvia said as she stepped into the room, a hint of a smile at her lips.

“Addison mentioned the memories,” Quinn said. “I thought I might find something about what happened to my father in there…”

“Of course.” Sylvia set a tray of lemonade down on the table. She took a sip from the only full glass, then poured the others. “I thought we could start with something a bit more refreshing.”