It makes me sad for her and mad at them. She is such a sweet old lady, and I hate to think what it will do to her when they’re arrested. These are the kind of thoughts I can’t dwell on. Otherwise it will mess with my head.

I close my notepad and click my pen.

“I believe I’ve gotten all the information I need,” I say. “If I have any questions, I can always call you later.”

I can’t take this charade anymore and am beginning to feel bad for deceiving her.

Sometimes I hate my job.

Especially when innocent people get hurt and I always end up feeling like it’s my fault.

“Well, hang on a minute. You can’t go yet.” She walks over to the cabinet and pulls out a Mason jar filled with a light amber liquid. “Sam, fetch us some hot toddy glasses,” she says, pointing to a cabinet above the refrigerator.

While he reaches for three little shot glasses, she opens the lid on the jar and sniffs. Her eyes immediately water and she pats at them with the corner of her apron.

“Whew!” she says. “Smells strong. Don’t worry. You’re going to like this, Lila. And I won’t let you leave without trying it.”

I feel like banging my head on the Formica kitchen table.

Okay, fine.

At this point I’m willing to drink gasoline for this to be over and done with.

Sam places the shot glasses on the table and she carefully fills each one to the rim. After handing me mine, she gives one to Sam and picks up her glass.

“Here’s to new friends,” she says, holding her glass high.

Sam catches my eye and lifts his glass. His eyes are twinkling in mischief again. He knows this is going to be bad, and he’s not doing one damn thing to stop it.

When the devil came down to Georgia looking for a soul to steal, he found one person.

Sam Mason.

And he never left.

“To new friends,” he repeats.

“Cheers,” I say.

I tilt the entire contents of the shot glass into my mouth and swallow.

I’m on fire.

Gasoline would have gone down smoother. My throat and lungs are burning in agony. I start coughing and choking.

“Don’t stand there like an idiot, Sam,” Aunt Leona says. “Hurry and get her a glass of water.”

She pounds me hard on the back like I’m choking on a piece of steak while I try to catch my breath. What she’s doing isn’t helping one bit.

“Here, drink this,” Sam says. He hands me a glass of water and I try to take a sip in between coughs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve warned you. Hooch is stronger than regular liquor. That’s why we call it hard liquor.”

I nod and drink more water.