“Don’t make a track that leads off-road. Lawmen look for them. One of Ernie’s cousins got caught by creating a trail with his truck that led through the woods straight to his still.”

“But to get to our still, we have to drive over ground.”

“So never turn off at the same place twice. Also, lawmen are on the lookout for anybody buying copper. It’s a dead giveaway. I was lucky to sneak in mine for the new still. Bought the copper sheets from an outfit in Weatherford, then smuggled them in on the bottom of my truck.”

He had already explained that the purchase of the copper had coincided with their leasing the house. That was why their other bills had gone unpaid. He had planned to make up the temporary shortfall soon by doubling whiskey production. Her “list” had limited his time to work on it.

“You trust the copper seller not to report you?” she asked now.

Irv laughed out loud. “He ain’t gonna tell. He’s supplying every moonshiner west of Fort Worth. See? The business is good for everybody.”

“How’s the still coming along?”

“About finished. Soon’s the cap passes Ernie’s inspection. He’s persnickety about the tapering. Says even before it’s sealed during a run, it’s gotta fit into the cooker as tight as a…” Clearing his throat, he’d left the analogy unspoken and simply said the fit had to be airtight.

He then circled back to other giveaways. “Don’t be caught with a stockpile of mason jars or sugar. Nobody needs twenty or thirty pounds of sugar at a time unless they’re making moonshine.”

“Where do you buy your supplies?”

“From my trusted suppliers, who will remain nameless.”

“Nameless to me?”

“Especially to you. For your own safety as well as theirs. They’re making money hand over fist, too, but they can’t be too obvious about it and jeopardize their legitimate businesses.”

“They could trust me.”

“The system doesn’t work that way, Laurel. Their trust in me doesn’t rub off on you. You’ll have to earn it yourself.”

“All right. But what’s the risk to me?”

“Competition for goods is fierce. Men have had knock-down-drag-outs over bags of Dixie Crystals. That might’ve been what got Wally Johnson killed.”

“The man who was murdered?”

“Gossip is that he hijacked a hay wagon loaded with contraband sugar that was meant for somebody else. I don’t know if it’s true, but it stands to reason. His family have recently upped their production to meet the demand in Ranger and Breckenridge.”

“Oil boom towns.”

“Yep. Populated by hundreds of thirsty men that the Johnsons intend to keep quenched.”

“Not you, though.”

“Hell no,” he said. “Those are lucrative markets, all right, but they come with risks Ernie and me aren’t willing to take. The men working on those drilling rigs are a tough crowd. They’ll shoot each other over a roll of dice, a perceived insult, or a whore. Pardon the mention.”

“I can hardly take offense, Irv. I’m a moonshiner, in no position to judge how another woman makes her living.”

“Well, around here they don’t walk the streets like in the boom towns. Mostly they ply their trade at Lefty’s.”

“The roadhouse.”

“That’s why I told you not to go near it. If a man is so inclined, he can take his pleasure in the rooms upstairs. Or get skunk drunk in the back room. Lefty’s is a regular den of iniquity. A blind tiger.”

“A what?”

He’d explained the term, and she was astonished.

“A speakeasy? Here? Where there’s a church on every corner?”

He snuffled. “Me and Ernie, and every moonshiner around, love nothing better than a tent revival that goes on for days. We raise more spirits selling corn liquor on the parking lot than the preachers raise under the tent. Make more money than what’s dropped in the offering plate, too.”

They laughed together before he turned solemn again. “When this new still is up and running, I’d like to expand the business. But those boom towns…naw,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m too old for all that rowdiness. And, if I was to poach on the Johnsons’ territory, they’d cut out my heart and feed it to a mad dog.

“Just as scary,” he went on, “are the government agents on the hunt for bootleggers and moonshiners. And it’s open season. They patrol every road going in and out of those oil towns, armed to the teeth. More and more of them are getting those new submachine guns. And even if it weren’t for the guns, Ernie and me don’t have a vehicle fast enough to outrun theirs.”

They fell into a ponderous silence, each lost in thought. Laurel picked up a piece of pie crust left on her plate and crumbled it between her finger and thumb. Her mother had taught her the technique of making it flaky. She remembered standing on a footstool in the kitchen, watching as her mother combined the ingredients and added cold water, one drop at a time, until the dough was the perfect consistency to roll out on the floured surface.

She often felt a wave of nostalgia for her mother. But never for her father. The condemnation he would heap on his daughter, the moonshiner, perversely deepened her determination to succeed at it.

“Tell me more about Lefty’s,” she said.

“It does a brisk business. Folks come from all round.”

“Who keeps him stocked?”

“A bootlegger out of Dallas. Or so I’m told. He’s talked about, but not by name. Lefty also supports the local economy, though.”

Laurel raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

All Irv said was, “Lefty and me have an understanding and do just fine by each other.”

“Who else does he have an understanding with?”

“That’s his business.”

“It’s our business, Irv. Our bills are caught up, but I don’t want to be just caught up. I want to make money, and my stock-in-trade is moonshine whiskey.” She leaned forward across the table. “Maybe Lefty—what’s his last name?”

Irv scratched his cheek. “You know, I don’t recall ever hearin’. It’s always just been him and his wife, Gert.

“Could Lefty be enticed to buy more from you if you discounted the price per jar?”