Free Return of the Dixie Deb by Nina Barrett

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    He stared down; his gaze following a bead of moisture running down the tall glass. He swirled it allowing the drip to land on the table as he rattled the ice cubes and studied a sprig of something green on the side. Everything required for a cocktail hour, except for what mattered. He had assumed the lack of liquor the previous day had been because it was a Sunday. What was the deal now?
    After a long afternoon in the sun playing a round of croquet with Jan and some of the other guests followed with sitting by the pool, he had scooped it gratefully off the silver tray Dahlia had offered and taken a long drink. His surprise must have been evident for she had given a regretful shrug, and whispered something about the county being dry, before moving on to where the other guests sat around Miss Lily’s wheelchair at the end of the veranda.
    Dry ? He turned to Jan beside him poking the peach-flavored ice cubes with her straw. Sitting in the sun that afternoon, dangling her feet in the pool, had lent her face and arms a healthy glow. In a yellow sheath, she looked more relaxed than he’d seen her in days. Certainly more at ease than on the road with him or being given the third degree by the I.R.S.
    “So what does the weather have to do with us not getting any liquor?”
    “A dry county means liquor can’t be sold anywhere within the county limits,” Jan explained.
    “Is that legal? I thought they repealed Prohibition.”
    “It’s not that uncommon down here in the South. It’s a local option. If people don’t want liquor sales, they can vote to ban them.”
    “Thank God, the North won the war. You like this stuff?”
    “Yeah, it’s refreshing, isn’t it? I think it’s plantation iced tea. Down home, they make it with cane syrup. And see how they froze peach slices in the ice cubes.”
    “Oh, sure.”
    She took a sip and smiled. “I’m going to sit up beside Miss Lily.”
    He nodded watching her find a place among the other guests listening to their hostess. Carefully made up in a lavender high-necked dinner dress, Miss Lily was holding court in her wheelchair as she detailed stories of past Southern glory. Maybe he could just dump the rest of his drink in one of the potted plants while the others were distracted.
    Another night to get through, then they’d be back to what passed as normal for them these days—knocking over rural banks, forsaking the gracious living of the Major’s for economy class and separate beds.
    Wish he could convince himself he was looking forward to it.
    He was moving stealthily toward a potted Norfolk pine in the corner when Dahlia’s brother-in-law Junior, now in a waiter’s jacket, looked in the veranda door and gave him a quick nod.
    He went over to where Junior was standing. Jan seemed caught up in what Miss Lily was saying. She leaned forward, her long legs crossed at the ankles.
    “Enjoying your refreshment, sir?” Junior smiled.
    “Not as much as some. Jan had to explain to me what a dry county was.”
    “An old tradition here. Doesn’t stop most folks from slipping over the county line every now and then and stocking up on the necessities of life. Would you be interested in trying a bit of our Southern heritage?”
    He lifted an eyebrow as the younger man produced a silver flask from an inside pocket.
    “Pure corn liquor, product of Fawcett County.” Junior held up the flask.
    “Moonshine?”
    “Some call it that or white lightning. High-octane liquid ambrosia might be another name. 100 proof product of local industry.”
    He gave a low whistle, tipped most of his glass into the flowerpot, and held it out.
    “More of an homage to the past now than anything else.” Junior unscrewed the flask lid and let him take a whiff. “My great-uncle and his friends keep the tradition going.”
    “Top it up. Let’s not interfere with history.” He watched as Junior poured in a generous amount. Carefully, he tried a sip.
    “Whoo.” He drew a somewhat shaky