In 2019, I wrote my first full-fledged crime novel, “Seven Angels,” about Gloria Shepherd, who comes home to the little Tennessee town where she was born to help run the family funeral home and finds herself working to solve a murder and fight white supremacists, human traffickers and corrupt cops.

“Seven Angels” won the 2021 Hugh Holton Award for Best Unpublished Novel from Mystery Writers of America Midwest.

I got to play around with Tennessee characters and storylines, and here’s a portion of a chapter in which Gloria, newly named county coroner, goes out on a multi-jurisdictional raid that takes her to a moonshine still in a holler.

I hope you like it!

The Holler

“I thought moonshine was legal now,” Gloria said from behind the wheel. “Don’t they sell it in Gatlinburg?”

Bobby Lee nodded. “Legal moonshine is legal. Illegal moonshine is still illegal. The state licensed a few distilleries – the same big ones that make the whiskey you get in every bar and package store – to make moonshine, mostly as a tourist thing. But this guy’s not legal.”

Gloria’s Jeep was parked in the widest spot they could find along a gravel road leading into Falls Holler, about eight miles west of town. In front was a black SUV with four federal agents – a couple of ATF personnel, someone from Revenue, an FBI agent – and behind was an unmarked Crockett County car. In her rearview, Gloria could see the face of the woman behind the wheel.

“Who is she?” Gloria asked, hooking a thumb back.

“Deputy Suellen Cross,” Bobby Lee said. “I wanted you to meet her too. She’s good. Smart and a straight shooter. Very methodical but not afraid to get her hands dirty.”

“So if Westerman assigned her to this, he doesn’t like her?”

“Why do you think she’s driving that ancient Crown Vic?” Bobby Lee replied.

“I didn’t even think they made those anymore.”

“They don’t,” Bobby Lee said. “I bet that vehicle’s got 250,000 miles on it.” His portable radio crackled and he keyed his mic in response. “Okay, we’re a go.”

The three-car group, led by the feds, pulled onto the rutted gravel and headed into the hollow. The feds sped up but Gloria and the county issue kept up with them. “I hope Deputy Cross doesn’t break an axle on this shitty road.”

The hollow widened out and the feds led them to a small compound of buildings – shacks and trailers, really – surrounded by a fence. One of the feds jumped out, as did Cross. Both were carrying bolt cutters. They quickly moved to a gate and cut the chains that held it closed. The two pulled the gate to one side. As she walked briskly back to her car, Cross gave Bobby Lee a quick salute and nodded at Gloria. When Cross and the fed were back in their rides, all three vehicles rolled into the compound.

As they braked, Gloria and Bobby Lee got out of the Jeep. Cross quickly walked up behind them. “Bobby Lee,” Cross said, her eyes scanning the buildings. “Hey Suellen,” he replied. The three kept walking.

The feds approached a man who had stepped out of one of the trailers and were serving him with a warrant when Gloria, Bobby Lee and Cross got up to them.

“We don’t make moonshine,” the man, dressed in jeans, boots and a T-shirt, was saying. “My daddy made ‘shine but that’s all that’s left of his still.” The man pointed to a pile of rusty metal at the side of a nearby pole barn.

While one agent babysat the man, the rest of them looked through the buildings. Nothing. They regrouped in the muddy patch at the center of the buildings.

“This was a bust,” one of the feds said.

Cross stood quietly, her face slightly upraised to the wind.

“Can I ask your subject a question?” she asked the fed. He shrugged and nodded.

Cross walked over to the man. “What’s that smell?” she asked. “That sweet smell?”

Gloria whispered to Bobby Lee, “I can’t smell anything but the pigs.” A pen with a couple dozen hogs, knee deep in muck, was next to one of the other trailers.

“The smokehouse,” the man told Suellen.

The deputy shook her head. “That’s not ham, bubba. I can smell ‘shine coming down from the ridge.”

The man’s face fell.

Suellen turned to Gloria and Bobby Lee. “His still’s up past the tree line. You ready for a little hike?”

Later, Gloria asked Suellen, “How did you know there was an active still there?”

Cross smiled. “My granddaddy made ‘shine. He did the same thing, kept a lot of hogs. All you can smell is that hog shit. It burns your eyes.”

“But you could smell the still,” Gloria said.

“When you grow up around it, you know the smell, even if they try to mask it,” Cross said.

Copyright 2022 Keith Roysdon