Distilled Spirits: The Crossroads of Kings Mill, #2

Dedication

To my family and friends, thank you for cheering me on. 

To my husband, I hope you’ll enjoy the journey with me. There are so many stories yet to be told.

To fate, I’m still along for the ride. Lead on.

– iii –

Chapter One

How’s it going down there, Sean? Find anything important?

Sean Lightfoot looked up at Dave Rogers as he stood in the lower level of what had once been an old springhouse. Sean’s construction crew unearthed the historical artifact earlier this morning. He couldn’t believe they found it. And even with all the roots and undergrowth, which could be easily cleared, the stone foundation was still intact.

It’s a hell of a lot cooler down here than where you are, that’s for sure, Sean called up to his friend. 

It was a definite scorcher for the first weekend in April. Temperatures had soared from the low forties to the mid-eighties in less than a week. Maryland had gone from winter straight into summer, skipping spring all together. It was Good Friday. An eighty degree Easter was not what he’d anticipated.

Standing in the small area, the hair on Sean’s arms prickled. The chill of the underground natural spring appeared to be keeping the pit as cool as it must have in the past, back before refrigeration.

Dave Rogers leaned down over the opening, checking things out from his angle without actually going down into the pit. Sean didn’t think he needed to be down here anyway. Dave was a big man, stood six foot four and carried a good three hundred pounds on him. As strong and durable as his physique presented, he appeared to be a gentle-giant of a man.

Dave was a friend of the family. Sean’s Uncle Len used to come up and visit Dave and his wife Claire before she’d passed away some years back. When Dave had called L&L Construction and Contracting to handle the remodeling of his family tavern, Old Town Tavern and Inn, he hadn’t realized Len had passed away as well. Still, he wanted L&L to do the job, felt he owed it to Len. Now that Sean had inherited the company, he knew his uncle would want him to honor the man’s wishes.

Sean knew Dave Rogers wanted in on the Kings Mill’s rebirth. Kenneth James Miles, one of the world’s wealthiest men, had established a home in Kings Mill, Maryland putting the town back on the map. Miles had decided to reconstruct his ancestor’s mill and home, making it into a hands-on historical site. The forecast for the project would be big. Not Disney World big but big just the same. The mill had been the town’s namesake back in the 1700’s and Miles saw it as a focal point in bringing history to life. The local media devoured the story, following its every move in restoration. Dave mentioned to him how he needed to get on board, update his historical tavern and bring in business once the mill re-opened.

Sean saw the opportunity as a stepping-stone to working with Kenneth Miles, eventually. If he played his part in the renovation of the tavern, he might be able to draw Miles’ interest. He could possibly have a chance at some of his other national and international contracts. What a feather in his cap that would be. Winning bids on such lucrative construction and development deals would set him up for life.

From what I can tell, there might be an artesian well feeding this water source. If that’s the case, you could sink a pump down here and make a small fortune in bottled water, Sean said.

Are you adding that into the other promises? Dave laughed.

I’m just stating a possibility.

Sean looked around his small area. The stones were well placed which made him admire whoever constructed the original design. Moisture coated his fingers as he touched the walls. A chill ran through his body, and it had nothing to do with the water.

He knelt down, inspecting each stone. A distinct part of the wall appeared to be made separately from the rest. How odd. A framed in area perhaps to another room built into the springhouse? Where most of the other stones were stacked neatly, these were not so evenly spaced or aligned. He would need to see if any documents existed on the actual construction. Not much more to see, I’m heading up. Can you hold the ladder? Without further thought, Sean climbed up the rungs. When it started to tilt, he looked up. Blinding sunlight obscured his vision. Taking for granted Dave was there supporting the ladder he continued his climb. Suddenly the base of the ladder gave a bit as if someone had pulled it out from its secure angle. Wobbling to and fro to center his balance, Sean called out as his world tilted dangerously off kilter.

As the ladder continued to fall back, he yelled, Dave!

Too late to stop the ladder’s momentum, he fell backwards into the pit, hitting the solid ground so violently he heard the sound of his skull cracking against the rock floor. Pain radiated throughout his head. Haziness clouded his vision as he tried to open his eyes. He could feel warmth ebbing from his body. He knew this feeling. Death.

Enclosed in a dark tunnel of cold, damp earth, a scent of rich oak penetrated his senses, giving way to a field of ... roses? A flicker of light and warmth surged around him, forming a woman’s face. Beautiful in its disheveled appearance, she smiled sadly and gently lifted his head into her lap, stroking his temples, the back of his head, tenderly taking the pain away. Warmth radiated throughout his body once again. He must have died this time—he had an angel at his side.

# # #

Sean Lightfoot carefully rubbed the bandage around his head as he stared down into the pit of the springhouse. It had been two days since his accident. Why hadn’t anyone covered this hole in the ground so no one else would fall into it? 

Sure, it was a great discovery, but he would leave that to the experts to dwell on, he had other things to do. And now that the Easter weekend had arrived, he had nowhere to go. His crew was with their families, and he was stuck here in Kings Mill until at least after his next follow up doctor’s appointment. The medical staff in the emergency room had been astounded at his recovery. The CAT Scans and EEG’s showed no apparent damage, but they’d kept him overnight for observation and to make sure he didn’t have a concussion. Released on his own, he’d been instructed not to drive, use heavy equipment and no unnecessary lifting or exercise until his follow up visit with the doctor later in the week. 

But he was anxious to get this project finished. The sooner they got this done, the sooner he could prove his worth to Kenneth Miles. The historic tavern had become his pet project now. A little odd for him, usually he stayed close to the office and let his crew work the sites, but this one was way too important. As much as he was doing this as a favor for his uncle, his main goal was to impress KJM Enterprise, to be on the list for possible contracts with them. He had grand plans for the expansion of L&L Construction.

But KJM Enterprise wasn’t the only contractor in the neighborhood. Though they had been the ones to start the new growth for Kings Mill, they’d unfortunately brought every other top name in the industry to the area to make their mark in the historic town’s development and rebirth.

Sean had looked into many of the other names. The only real threat KJM had against them was Hamilton Developers. 

The owner, Terry Hamilton had been a thorn in the Maryland industry for a while. He remembered his dad and uncle talking about some of the contracts Troy Hamilton had managed to steal. Not that they’d illegally stolen them, but according to the politics of the contracting business—his uncle and dad were old school and believed in old fashioned values. Something they didn’t see Hamilton embracing in their business ethics.

Hamilton Developers had their hooks in half of the city council and the board of economic development. They played on political sympathy and went where they knew they could get a major toehold in a local area. Since Kenneth Miles brought Kings Mill to light, Hamilton saw the town as a prosperous urban residential bedroom community to Washington D.C. and Baltimore and wanted to modernize the historic downtown for the up and coming professionals.

How are you feeling today, Sean?

Dave Rogers stood next to him, his hands deep in his pockets.

Feeling good. Better than yesterday.

That’s good to hear. Dave looked down into the hole in the ground Sean’s crew had dug. Any new developments with the springhouse?

I think we might be able to take another look at it, but right now there are some issues I’ve got to handle.

Well, take your time. The doctor said you need to relax for a full recovery. You should be resting.

I am. Do you see me doing any work?

Trust me. You need the rest. Besides, can’t do any more work until the crew comes back from Easter weekend. I’ve put you up in the first suite. It’s a bit outdated but it’s a bed and bath.

Sean wasn’t going to argue with the man. Dave had a good seventy pounds on him and at least five inches. Not only that, he did feel a headache coming on again. He’d been traveling back and forth to his apartment in Baltimore but the doctor’s orders this morning had him grounded. He accepted Dave’s offer of staying at the tavern. It made sense. He’d be able to see what needed to be done upon a closer inspection. 

Fine Dave, I’ll go rest. He pointed a determined finger at the older man. But I want to get started on this as soon as possible Tuesday when the crew returns.

# # #

Sean’s nose twitched at the overpowering scent of roses in his room. Someone must have sprayed air freshener recently to spruce it up. The antiquated closet of a suite couldn’t be comfortable for anyone staying here. His minuscule bedroom as a child had been bigger. A double size brass bed took up most of the area along with an armoire and a writing desk.

Dust coated every piece of furniture, including a full tube TV mounted on an overhead shelf on the wall. He expected to see the old rabbit ears his dad used to have on his television back in the day. A green rotary phone sat on the writing desk on top of a phone book dating from 1985. It would appear the Old Town Tavern didn’t have a whole lot of guests—at least for the overnight stays. He’d been informed the ‘inn’ hadn’t been in use since Dave Rogers’ first wife, Claire, began looking into renovations before she’d died back in 2006.

A few wire hangers hung forlornly in the armoire for his dress shirts, a set of built in drawers would have to hold the rest of his clothes. He opened the warped wooden drawers, the squeak of age set his nerves on end and he shivered. It was like nails on a chalkboard. He would have to find some way of fixing that.

The only other pieces of furniture were a small drop down writing desk with a wooden back chair to match and a light blue winged-back chair faded and thread-bear in spots. He wondered where he could set up his laptop and hoped the electrical outlets were up to code. Retrieving his cell phone charger from his tote bag, he plugged it into the wall socket next to the desk. He had three quarters of a charge on his phone but liked to make sure it stayed fully charged when not in use.

Sean pulled back the heavy drapes of the two windows in the room. He coughed as dust billowed about. Sunlight hit him through the yellowed, lacy sheers turning the dust motes into golden flecks floating around him. He squinted until his eyes adjusted. Moving the sheers to the side, he unlatched the lock and lifted the wooden framed pane to air out the room. More squealing of old wood against wood, rattling his already aching head. He would have to replace the windows, too.

The early April breeze blew cool air through the storm screen. The sounds of demolition taking place next door at the old general store added to his pain. But the room needed to be aired. Sean opened the other window, hoping to release some of the mustiness. He would finish unpacking and see if someone could come up and freshen his bedding.

He opened the door to the adjoining en suite bathroom. How long had it been without proper use and cleaning? The pedestal sink was old, the porcelain chipped in spots as was the claw foot tub fitted with a shower extension. Rust stains lined the backside of faucets where water had run over the years. He flushed the toilet and it seemed to be working all right, but knowing this place, he wouldn’t expect to have any water pressure if the toilets were flushed and the shower was on at the same time.

The bathroom was barely large enough to turn around in and only a small mirror, edged with age, hung at the vanity. Even if this room hadn’t been used in a few years—it needed major renovations. If he wanted to make anything out of this tavern he’d need to have his crew come in and start working on the bedrooms. They needed to be larger with functional bathing facilities. New wiring and Wi-Fi would have to be run. Maybe he should put the springhouse on the back burner for now and concentrate on the interior to draw in more guests.

Arranging some of his toiletries from his shaving kit on the small vanity shelf above the sink, he caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror. He looked up but only saw a portion of the bed and his open suitcase in the reflection. He could’ve sworn he’d seen movement just a moment ago. Walking back into the room he thought maybe someone had come in to check on his accommodations. But no one was there.

He opened the door to the hallway. No one was there either.

Okay, Sean—you’re losing your mind. Relax.

Going to his cell phone, he went to check his emails. He always expected messages or calls from his foremen on other sites around the region. Even though he was overseeing the Old Town Tavern and Inn as a personal favor, he still had five major construction contracts taking place. It took him a moment to remember this was Easter weekend and everyone was on holiday break.

What the—?Sean looked at his phone. Only moments ago there had been a nearly full charge on it, now the phone showed a red flashing light and a small battery icon in the red zone of dying. It was plugged in. His charger securely in place.

What could have drained his phone in such as short amount of time? It didn’t make any sense at all. More determined to get someone in here to fix up his room, he left the rest of his things as they were and went down to question Dave.

# # #

I told you I don’t let out those rooms much anymore, Dave Rogers went about taking the chairs down from the tables in the dining room part of the tavern. I’ll see if Charity would mind going up and giving the room a thorough cleaning before her shift tonight.

What about the electrical? My phone was at full charge and in less than five minutes had been completely drained—while I had it plugged in!

The grizzly man stopped taking the chairs down and propped himself against the latest table on his agenda. "It was probably 

Millie. She has a tendency to pull a few pranks now and again. Millie? Who’s Millie?"

Millie is a local legend in these parts. She was the Old Town Tavern’s server back in the 1700’s. People seem to think she’s as much a part of this place as the tables and chairs. Legend has it, she’d been James Addison’s paramour back in the day, Dave explained.

So are you saying she haunts this place? Sean waved his hand dismissively.

Sean was a practical man who believed in things of substance. Hocus-pocus and nonsensical possibilities were not his things at all. Though his paternal great-grandfather had been from the Cherokee nation down in North Carolina, and they did believe in the spirits and ghosts of ancestors, he’d never been one to grasp the ideals. His dad and uncle had believed to some extent, but they’d learned to be a bit more practical due to life. No, what happened with his phone had to do with electrical issues.

When was the last time a thorough inspection of the electrical was performed?

I had the electricians in here a few years back. Everything is up to code. You did notice I have three prong outlets even.

Sarcasm. Sean knew a man’s worth when he defended what was his. Dave could praise this place until the second coming of Christ, but it still didn’t make the tavern worthy of dodging the bulldozer. If they didn’t get the funding for the renovations they’d planned, then it might end up like the old general store next door. The city council was arguing between funding for historical renovations and tearing down the buildings as condemned. Some of the town structures were beyond repair— he knew it happened. But the interior and exterior of the tavern was as solid as the day it was built.

This place isn’t going to last economically, Dave. If you want to use it as an inn that whole upstairs needs to be renovated.

"It’s outdated, I won’t disagree. Claire wanted to renovate the upstairs when she was alive. I just wish Jillian would have taken an interest in the place. She didn’t want anything to do with it. She was always telling me to sell it and retire. Hell, not even my boys want anything to do with it. But I’ll be damned.

This is my birthright."

Sean didn’t know where to go with that. There was no doubt the tavern was in dire circumstances. When Dave had hired him, it was a last resort effort to save his tavern, his family heritage. The economy had hit a lot of people hard and Dave Rogers could lose everything if he couldn’t find some way to bring more income to the historical tavern. Sean knew what a family business meant more than anyone.

As it was, Dave and his current wife Jillian were separated, going through a divorce. The man was beside himself with personal issues that were overpowering his ability to focus on the tavern as much. He looked tired, worn...as if retirement might be a good thing. But Sean knew you couldn’t give up a family business entrusted to you to carry on. 

Dave sat down heavily on one of the chairs. "I’m at my wits end though, Sean. I looked to your Uncle Len to help me out.

But truthfully, between my divorce and just keeping this place up—there is not much I can do. I would love to renovate the upstairs, for Claire’s sake, but I just don’t know if it would be worth it in the long run.

I think taking this one day at a time is all we have right now. Until this damn divorce is finalized and I see how much Jillian is taking me for, I can’t even estimate what I’ll have to work with. But if it is within our originally agreed budget, go ahead with the upstairs, too. Dave sighed and changed the subject. Happy Hour starts at five o’clock. Why don’t you come on down and just enjoy tonight. You still need to take it easy. Dave shook his head. I can’t believe you’re back to work so soon. After that fall, we didn’t think you’d make it.

I didn’t fall, the ladder slid out from beneath me, Sean stated. He knew the ladder had been secure against the side of the wall, but he’d wanted the extra security of having someone hold it from above. He’d thought Dave was there, but Dave had taken a phone call from Jillian’s lawyer on his cell and had moved away from the well.

Dave shrugged. It might have been Millie. She can be a scoundrel.

Sean rolled his eyes. Is that your only excuse? A possible ghost? Blame it on anything but that. I don’t believe in ghosts.

# # #

Didn’t believe in ghosts? Well that was a fine, How do you do! Millie sat quietly in the rafters looking down on the two men discussing business.

She huffed in disgust, blowing a curl out of her face.

As handsome as the new guy was he was also a royal pain in the arse! He and his crew were fixing up her tavern. They’d poked and prodded the old girl, painting and tearing out parts and pieces and replacing them with others. Now they were discussing renovating her old room. It had been updated a time or two since she’d originally been here in the 1700’s. What was wrong with it?

The Rogers had been the owners of the Old Town Tavern and Inn since before she came to the colonies. She’d watched as each generation took over, seeing the differences and similarities throughout the years. Dave reminded her of old Hank, the man who hired her off the boat from England. As tough and burly as he looked, he was a good man with a kind heart. He’d married his high school sweetheart, Claire, and they’d raised two fine sons. But when Claire died over five years ago, a little bit of him died, too.

Why he’d turned to Jillian Chambers, their local accountant, in the following years, Millie would never know. That woman had more talons than a falcon and for some strange reason, very few facial expressions. For as youthful as she tried to be, she looked a bit odd and it didn’t help that she never really supported Dave in his efforts to make something of the tavern. The woman hated the place with a passion and made sure everyone knew how she felt in words and actions.

The scrape of wooden chairs alerted her to the end of the meeting between Dave and the younger man. From her perch she could get a good look at Sean. What she’d seen of him this past month, he wasn’t someone she’d kick out