Gabriel wasn’t sure how much she knew about her father’s involvement in the bootlegging ring, and he didn’t want to be the one to enlighten her. He climbed back into the root cellar and stepped between the toppled cases of liquor, avoiding the broken bottles. Slinky whimpered and quaked, definitely hurt. “It’s all right, boy.” Gabriel hooked his arms under the big dog. “I’ve got you.” He struggled to carry Slinky from the cellar. Why would the bootleggers leave the doors open on Founder’s Day? Someone was bound to happen upon it. This reeked of stupidity or laziness, neither of which he’d attribute to Kensington. The dog panted and whined but didn’t bite. Once out of the cellar, Gabriel set him down. “Stay,” he commanded, probably unnecessarily considering the way the dog favored his right front paw. He returned to the cellar to fetch the red satchel, but halfway in, he heard thrashing. Someone was coming. He did not need Blevins showing up right now. He quickly exited, closed the cellar doors and carried Slinky a short distance away.
