Tangled Up in a Brew

by Joyce Tremel

  While Mom and Kate took seats on the patio, I made my way over to the grill. “Mmm, something smells good.”

  “Tomato-basil chicken. At least that’s what I think your mother said it was.” Dad gave me a one-armed hug, since his other one was occupied with turning the chicken. “She warned me not to burn it.”

  Although Dad was the master of the grill, he had a tendency to overcook things a bit. “I’ll help you keep an eye on it.” I reached over and turned the heat down to low on the gas grill. “That should help.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” He finished turning the chicken and closed the lid on the grill. “How did it go today? Sorry I didn’t make it down there.”

  “We were busy. After what happened yesterday, we weren’t sure if anyone would show up. There was a much bigger turnout than anyone expected.” I paused for a moment, hoping Dad would volunteer a little information, since I’d more or less brought up the murder, but he didn’t. I guessed I hadn’t been specific enough, so I came right out and asked him how the investigation was going.

  “It’s a little too early to tell. We’re still interviewing witnesses and haven’t gotten all the lab work back.”

  “Do you have any suspects yet?” I knew his partner sure did.

  Dad gave me the same look he did when I was a kid and asked him a question that was none of my business. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “What about the lab work? You said you got some of that back.”

  “Yes.” Dad drew out the word to three syllables.

  “Well? What did you find out?”

  “It was cyanide, but I’m sure you figured that out already.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s all I can tell you,” he said. “I can’t discuss it.”

  Maybe I should have expected that’s what he’d say. There were always certain things he couldn’t talk about. That didn’t mean I had to like it. Besides, this case was different. Jake and I were involved—no matter how indirectly—and I thought we had a right to know what was going on. “Why can’t you discuss it?” I asked. “If Jake and I are suspects—”

  Dad put a hand up. “Stop right there. What in the world gave you that idea?”

  Just then I heard Jake’s voice as he came out the sliding door, followed by his parents.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Dad told me.

  Mom was already greeting our guests by the time I reached them. I hadn’t seen Jake’s parents for years—since well before I went to Germany after grad school. I shouldn’t have been, but I was surprised at how much they’d aged. Jake—their only child—had been what everyone called a “change of life” baby. They were both in their late seventies now. Jake’s mother was smaller than I remembered, but she was still taller than me. She was dressed in pastel pink slacks and a white short-sleeved blouse. Her white hair was short and wavy. His dad still looked the same—just older. He still had a thick head of steel gray hair that was the same color as his pants.

  “You remember Max, don’t you?” Jake said to them.

  “Of course we do,” Mrs. Lambert said as she hugged me. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”

  “And no skinned knees,” her husband chimed in. “I remember you had a lot of them.”

  I laughed. “It was hard keeping up with my brothers and your son.”

  “Looks like you caught him now,” Mr. Lambert said with a wink.

  I felt my cheeks redden.

  Mrs. Lambert smacked her husband on the arm. “Bob, stop teasing her.” She turned to me. “Don’t pay him any mind. I don’t. We always knew our boy would come to his senses.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was referring to Jake’s ex-fiancée, Victoria, or just that he was seeing me.

  Jake put his arm around me. “Sheesh. Keep talking like I’m not here.”

  “Get used to it, son.” Bob Lambert looked around. “So, where’s this beer we keep hearing so much about? I’m parched.”

  Jake led his dad to get a drink and I took a seat on the patio with his mom and my mother. We chatted for a few minutes until Dad took the chicken off the grill and it was time to eat.

  * * *

  All in all, it had been an enjoyable evening. Mike, Kate, and the girls headed out shortly after dinner to get Maira and Fiona into bed at a reasonable hour. Hops was worn-out from playing with my nieces and she was curled up in a corner of the kitchen. I was disappointed I hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to my oldest brother. One of Sean’s parishioners had passed away and he left to go comfort the family. After Jake and his parents left, I helped Mom clean up, then put a sleepy Hops in her carrier.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Dad said. He helped me buckle the kitten’s carrier in the backseat, then closed the door and turned to me. “I’m sorry if I was short with you before.”

  “You weren’t,” I said. “Not really, anyway. I would like to know what’s going on, though.”

  “I know you would.” He let out a sigh. “I’d like to tell you more, but I can’t.”

  “When Kurt died, you didn’t have a problem filling me in.”

  “Things are different now.”

  “I don’t see how. Jake and I were there. The man died right in front of us—eating Jake’s food.”

  “Is that why you think you and Jake are suspects?”

  I hesitated before I said, “More or less.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  Dad crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not telling me something.”

  Drat. I should have realized I wouldn’t be able to keep Vince’s visit from my dad. It didn’t help that he was used to questioning suspects and could see right through the smallest of fibs. “It’s nothing. Really.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” he said. “If it has something to do with Mobley’s death, I need to know.”

  “It doesn’t. At least not directly.”

  He gave me his tough-detective look and I caved.

  “Detective Falk came to see me at the pub this morning.”

  “He what?”

  I’d been right. He hadn’t known about his partner’s visit. “He made it plain that Jake was his number one suspect and I was guilty by association.”

  Dad rarely swore, but by the set of his jaw I knew he was holding back a string of words that would have turned the air blue.

  “I figured he hadn’t told you and I didn’t want to rat out your partner. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

  “I’m glad you finally did.” He put his arm around me. “Don’t ever feel like you have to keep things from me. Especially something like this. I knew Vince was a little gung ho, but I didn’t think he’d go this far. What else did he say?”

  “That’s about it. Other than he plans to prove we did it.”

  “Well, that’s going to be a little hard, since there was no cyanide in what Jake served to Mobley.”

  I knew there hadn’t been, but it was a relief to hear it.

  “I shouldn’t have told you that, but this whole situation has gotten way out of hand.”

  I was about to ask him why he wasn’t supposed to tell me when Hops meowed loudly from inside the car.

  Dad smiled. “I think someone wants to get going.” He opened my car door for me and I gave him a hug. “Go home and forget about it,” he said. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m sorry if any of this caused you problems.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  I hoped he was right. Despite what Dad said, I had a feeling Vincent Falk wasn’t through with us.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I slept so soundly it took both alarms on my clock and Hops batting me in the face to wake me up. I had a lot to catch up on at the brew house, or I’d have gone back to bed after
feeding the cat. Although the pub had been in Nicole’s capable hands and I had stopped in yesterday morning, there were still things that only I could take care of. I’d been teaching both Nicole and Jake about brewing, but neither one was ready to go it alone. I also wanted to talk to Jake before anyone else arrived and fill him in on everything. I’d considered calling him when I got home last night, but I hadn’t wanted to interrupt his time with his parents. It had become a nightly ritual that one of us would call the other, and it felt off to not say good night to him. We exchanged text messages, but it wasn’t the same.

  I arrived at the pub around seven and once I got settled, I headed into the brewery and checked all the tanks. The gauges showed the beer was fermenting nicely. A traditional Irish stout and an IPA would be ready to keg by the end of the week. Satisfied, I headed to the storage room at the far end of the brewery, where I did another quick inventory in case I forgot to order anything for next week’s scheduled brewing.

  Back in my office I made a note of the ingredients that were getting low. After that, I went through some invoices and put them in the order I wanted to pay them. All of this took less than an hour and when I finished, I found myself thinking about something Dad had said last night. I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, but now I was curious. He’d said he “shouldn’t have told” me there was no cyanide in the food Jake had made. There were always aspects about a case he couldn’t discuss, but this time it sounded like he wasn’t to discuss it with me in particular. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did his new partner have something to do with it? That didn’t make sense to me, either. Dad was the senior partner, not the other way around.

  I rose from my chair. I had some time to spare—Jake wasn’t due in for another hour. Maybe Candy could help me figure it out. I also wanted to know what she thought about me seeing Dwayne with the brand-new widow. Besides, I hadn’t eaten breakfast and a cheese Danish was sounding pretty good about now. I locked up and headed next door.

  Candy was behind the counter and Mary Louise was in front cleaning the glass display case. Both of them looked up when the bell on the door jingled. The Monday morning rush was over and I was the only customer at the moment.

  Mary Louise stopped wiping and smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, ladies,” I said.

  “I thought you’d be sleeping in after this weekend,” Candy said.

  “I did, too,” Mary Louise said. “And to think you’ll have to do it all again next weekend. Minus that terrible tragedy, of course. Candy told me what happened, and it was all over the news.”

  “I almost did sleep in,” I said. “I hit the snooze alarm twice, but fortunately Hops made sure I got up.”

  “That kitten of yours is so adorable,” Mary Louise said. “I’m going to have to take a trip to Animal Friends and see about adopting one. Maybe one of the older cats for me. I never thought I’d want another cat after my Nellie passed last year, but I think I’m ready.”

  “You should do that. Taking Hops in was one of the best things I’ve ever done.” I smiled. “And you won’t need an alarm clock.”

  I made my purchase, then asked Candy if she had a minute. She followed me outside.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said once we reached the sidewalk. “I could tell you had something you wanted to talk about.”

  The street was too busy for carrying on a conversation, especially one about murder, so Candy and I went into the pub, where we settled at one of the tables.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “Where do we stand with our investigation?”

  “Our investigation?”

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “I know you’re snooping around and you have a theory or two. So unless you have some enticing tidbit to share about that hunk of burning love of yours—”

  “You sound like Kristie. My romantic life is not your concern.”

  “At least you have one now. That’s an improvement.”

  “Can we get back on track here?”

  Candy gave me a look she normally reserved for Elmer. “You’re the one who interrupted me. I’ll ask you again. Where do we stand?”

  I should have known better than to argue with her. Although argue wasn’t exactly the right word. Spar was more like it. “Fine. Where do you want me to start?”

  “How about at the beginning?” she said. “With the visitor you had yesterday morning.”

  “How did you . . .” I didn’t bother finishing the sentence. It didn’t matter how—she always seemed to know everything. One of these days I was going to press her on it, but right now I wasn’t going to let it sidetrack me again. I told her about my conversation with Vincent Falk.

  Candy was shaking her head by the time I finished. “So he really does think you and Jake killed the critic.”

  “He does,” I said. “I talked to my dad last night and he didn’t know anything about his partner’s visit. He was pretty angry about it. Dad told me there was no cyanide in the food Jake served, but when I tried to get more information from him, he wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Kind of. There are always things pertaining to his cases that he can’t talk about, but this seemed different. I got the feeling he wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He said he wasn’t even supposed to tell me that much. I think maybe he was told not to.”

  “Hmm.” Candy tapped her index finger on her lips. “What’s your dad’s relationship like with his bosses?”

  “Great,” I said. “He’s been there a long time. They respect him. Why?”

  Candy was silent for a moment. “You’re probably not going to like what I have to say.”

  I waited.

  “I’ve seen it before. Up close and personal. A young hotshot comes in and even though he’s a little too big for his britches, the higher-ups see that he’s the future and your dad’s the past.”

  She was right about one thing. I didn’t like it. “If that’s the case, why do they have my dad training him? My dad is a decorated, dedicated officer. He’s got commendations galore. He’s the mayor’s friend, for goodness’ sake.”

  Candy put her hand on my arm. “I know. But you have to face the facts. Your dad has been eligible for retirement for a few years now. Falk is what? Thirty-five or so? He’s got twenty years to go.”

  “Vinnie the Viper is not going to force my dad out. I won’t let that happen. And even if you’re right, which I don’t think you are, it doesn’t tell me why Dad’s clammed up all of a sudden.”

  Candy looked thoughtful. “It could be he just doesn’t want it to get back to Falk that he told you anything.”

  “Dad’s the senior partner. Why would he care if Vince knew that?”

  Candy shrugged. “Maybe Detective Falk is like those kids in school we used to call brownnoses. You know—those kids who’d ingratiate themselves to the teachers and tattle on everyone.”

  That almost made sense to me. “In other words, Vince is trying to make himself look good by making my dad look bad. Dad has to watch his step or his partner tattles on him. But wouldn’t that work the other way, too? Why wouldn’t Dad just turn the tables on his partner, especially if he’s supposed to be training Vince?”

  “Because your dad is an honorable man, my dear,” Candy said.

  She was right about that. Dad wouldn’t think of tattling on his partner. He preferred to lead by example. He would correct Vince and deal with him directly. From what I’d seen so far of Detective Falk, I wasn’t sure that approach would work. I’d have to tread lightly when dealing with him. I wouldn’t want to give him any ammunition to use against my father. I’d already blundered by telling Dad that Vince had stopped in to see me. I’d have to be more careful in the future.

  I filled Candy in on everything else that had happened the day before, including Vince catching Ginger
Alvarado taking down the crime scene tape and accusing us of being in cahoots. I finished up with my sighting of Dwayne Tunstall with his arms around Melody Mobley.

  “You’re sure it was her?” Candy said.

  “Positive. What do you make of it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’d say it’s pretty obvious.”

  “It could be perfectly innocent,” I said. “He could have been comforting the widow. It wasn’t like they were trying to hide anything. It was a public parking lot.”

  Candy shook her head. “It doesn’t smell right. Why would she return to the place her husband was murdered—the very next day, no less? There’s something going on there.” She grinned. “I think we may have our suspects, Max. All we have to do is prove it.”

  * * *

  I was sitting at the bar reading Reginald Mobley’s obituary in the paper when Jake came in. He squeezed my shoulder and slid onto the adjacent stool. “A little light reading, I see.”

  I pushed the paper aside, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek. His hair was still damp from the shower and he smelled like Irish Spring soap. A winning combination. “I was just checking to see when Mobley’s viewing would be. How are your mom and dad?”

  “They’re fine. They’re spending the day with some of their old friends. They said to tell you they had a great time last night.” Jake pointed at the paper. “You’re not actually thinking about going to the funeral home, are you?”

  “Well . . . maybe.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” I asked, even though I’d told Candy the same thing when she’d suggested it half an hour ago. She had decided that going to the funeral home was the best way to get to talk to Melody Mobley. The widow had no idea who we were and if she asked, we’d tell her we knew her husband. I hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, but Candy was persuasive and finally talked me into it. I was even beginning to like the idea.