by Joyce Tremel
Jake said, “Given the fact I’m on the suspect list, it might be awkward.”
“You’re in the clear as far as my dad’s concerned.” I told him about my conversation with Dad last night.
“That’s good,” Jake said. “Not that I was really worried. I knew they wouldn’t find anything. What about your dad’s new partner, though? He seems like the type who’d want the facts to bend to his theory.”
“You’re right about that. Detective Falk stopped here yesterday morning.”
“He did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t had the chance. This is the first time we’ve been alone and I didn’t want to get into it with all those people around. Yesterday was so busy, and last night we were at my parents’.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“He asked some questions about you and our relationship.”
“Our relationship is none of his business.”
“That’s what I told him, but he thinks, because we’re seeing each other, that anything I tell him is a lie.”
“That’s crazy,” Jake said.
“Yep. I told him that I don’t lie, but he didn’t believe me. He seems to think that everyone lies and I told him that was a very cynical way to view things. Then he said he planned to prove that you killed Mobley.”
“That will be tricky, since your dad said there was no cyanide in what I served.”
“It doesn’t mean he won’t keep trying, though,” I said. “That’s what has me worried. I have a feeling that whatever they discover the poison in, he’ll accuse you of putting it there.”
“He can accuse me all he wants. It won’t make it so.”
“The good news is that I’ve come up with much better suspects.” I told him about Dwayne and Melody.
“So that’s why you want to go to the funeral home. You’re playing detective again.”
“I’m not playing anything. I just want to see the widow and give her my condolences.”
Jake grinned. “And see if you can catch her in a clinch with Dwayne.”
I smiled back at him. “That would definitely be a bonus.”
Jake slid off his stool and wrapped his arms around me. “Speaking of clinches . . .”
CHAPTER NINE
Mondays at the pub were generally a little slow, but today hadn’t been one of them. We were busy all day long. I worked the taps most of the day with help from Nicole—when she wasn’t assisting the servers. There were many new faces among the customers, and several mentioned they had sampled our offerings at the festival and wanted to try the food. That was great news, especially if we kept them coming back.
I finally got a breather around seven o’clock when the dinner rush was over. Only three tables were occupied, so I headed back to my office to put my feet up. I hadn’t been resting for long when Nicole knocked on the door.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but there’s someone out here asking for you and Jake.”
I swung my legs down from my desk, wondering who it could be. “Did they give you a name?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Probably someone from the festival,” I said, hoping it wasn’t Detective Falk. I wouldn’t put it past him to show up during pub hours and expect me to speak to him. I followed Nicole out of my office and down the hallway to the pub. I was pleasantly surprised to see who was standing by the entrance.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lambert! Welcome to the Allegheny Brew House,” I said, giving them both a hug.
“Mrs. Lambert is much too formal,” Jake’s mother said. “Call me Dot. Or Dorothy if you must, but I prefer Dot.”
They had both told me the same thing last evening, but it was going to take me a while to get used to. It had been ingrained in me since childhood to never call my friends’ parents by their first names.
“And you can call me Bob, or anything you want,” Jake’s dad said. “Just don’t call me late for supper.”
It was an old joke, but I laughed anyway. I introduced them to Nicole, who then went to tell Jake his parents were here.
I asked them if they had eaten dinner yet. They hadn’t, so I led them to a table by the window and told them their meal was on the house. Dot wanted only water to drink, but I went over the brews we served with Bob. We had four beers on tap year-round—a lager, a stout, a hefeweizen, and an IPA. We had two more taps that we used for other brews. Right now we were serving the citrus ale I’d developed, plus a brown ale. I had plans to add two more taps in the next couple of months.
Bob couldn’t decide which beer he wanted, so I suggested the Allegheny Sampler, which was a selection of four beers in five-ounce glasses and served on a wooden paddle. He liked that idea and I headed to the bar. By the time I returned to the table, Jake had joined them.
“I see you’re sitting down on the job again,” I said, placing the sampler on the table in front of Bob and a glass of water at Dot’s place.
Jake grinned. “She’s a tough boss,” he said to his parents. “Max thinks a man’s place is in the kitchen.”
I took the seat beside him. “And don’t you forget it.”
“That a girl,” Bob said. He tapped Jake on the arm. “The secret to happiness is to remember the woman is always right. Even if she’s wrong.”
“Robert!” Dot nudged him with her elbow. “That’s terrible.”
We all laughed and Bob winked at me. He liked to get a rise out of his wife and it seemed like he succeeded. Although Jake’s sense of humor was a little bit like his dad’s, it was tempered by his mother’s common sense. Thank goodness.
After they’d eaten, I asked them if they’d like a tour of the brewery.
“I’d love it,” Bob said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the inner workings of one.”
Dot said, “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble? I know how busy you must be.”
I assured them it was no trouble at all. Jake told them he’d show them the kitchen when we were finished. He returned to the kitchen; then I led his mom and dad across the pub and through the swinging door to the brewing area.
“Oh my,” Dot said. “It looks so clean. It must take a lot of work to keep those tanks that shiny.”
“I’ve got it down to a routine.” I explained how important cleanliness was in the brewing process. We crossed the room to the steel stairs leading to the mash tun. “This is where the process begins. There’s a rake at the bottom that mixes the grain with hot water. Eventually this liquid is transferred to the brew kettle.”
Bob went up the stairs to check out the mash tun, but Dot was afraid of the steps. I tensed up when he leaned over to look into the opening. I pushed the thought of Kurt out of my mind, wondering if I’d ever stop thinking of him. I was relieved when Bob came back down.
I showed them the fermentation tanks and answered Bob’s many questions. When we were finished, Dot said she was very impressed. She hadn’t known there was so much involved and it gave her a new appreciation for the beverage.
Next, I took them to the kitchen and Jake showed them around. I could tell Dot was happy with Jake’s change of career. Bob didn’t say so, but I had the feeling he was more comfortable saying his son was a professional hockey player instead of a chef.
Dot had as many questions about the kitchen as Bob had about the brewery. While Jake answered her questions, Bob pulled me aside. “I’ve been wanting to ask this since I got here and this might be my only chance. What’s this I hear about a murder at that festival? Jake’s been mum about it, but I saw it on the news. Dot doesn’t watch the news and I didn’t want to ask in front of her. She’d be upset.”
I told him what had happened, but I left out the part that Jake had been a suspect. He didn’t need to know that at this point.
When I finished, he said, “You said the dead guy’s name was Reginald Mobley?”
> I nodded.
Bob rubbed his chin. “This might sound strange, but when I saw his picture on TV, I thought I recognized him. I knew a guy years ago who looked like him—just younger—but his name wasn’t Mobley. And he didn’t write for a newspaper.”
“What are you two talking about?” Dot asked as she and Jake crossed the room.
“We’re just shooting the breeze,” Bob said. “This is really quite a place you’ve got here, Max. You should be proud. You, too, son.”
Jake and I thanked them. The four of us chatted a few more minutes; then they bade us good-bye.
“What were you and Dad talking about?” Jake asked as soon as they were gone.
“He asked about me about the murder.”
Jake made a face. “I’ve been avoiding saying anything to him about it. It would only worry Mom, so I kept my mouth shut.”
I nodded. “That’s why he pulled me aside while she was talking to you.” I told him what his dad said about thinking he recognized the dead critic. “But he said the man he knew wasn’t named Mobley and he didn’t write for a newspaper.”
Jake laughed and shook his head. “One time he was sure a cashier at Giant Eagle was someone he went to high school with. Turned out she wasn’t. I wouldn’t put much stock in that.”
* * *
The funeral home where Reginald Mobley was laid out (as we say in Pittsburgh) was located on the South Side. I didn’t have too much trouble finding it. It was a couple of blocks off East Carson Street, the main thoroughfare. The only time I got confused was when my GPS wanted me to turn the wrong way on a one-way street. It was Tuesday evening and I had been running late, so I was meeting Candy in the parking lot. Jake had opted to stay at the pub, since one of his cooks had called off. I think he was glad to have an excuse to stay back, even though I’d told him a couple of times he didn’t have to come along.
When I pulled into the lot, Candy was standing beside her gold sedan and Elmer was with her. I groaned inwardly. I had hoped we’d be able to be discreet with any questions I wanted to ask, but with outspoken Elmer along, that wouldn’t be possible. He would interrogate the widow like she was a World War II German spy. I was going to have to find a way to keep him occupied and out of my hair.
“I decided you needed some backup,” Elmer said when I got out of my car. “Can’t have you ladies questioning suspects by yourselves.”
“And who told you that’s what we were doing?” I glanced at Candy, who was looking everywhere but at me. “We’re here to pay our respects. Nothing more. Aren’t we, Candy?”
“Pay your respects, my foot,” Elmer said.
Candy finally spoke up. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told him we needed to do this alone, but he had to butt in.”
“If you didn’t want my help, you should have kept your yap shut.”
I held my hands up. “Can we not argue in the middle of the parking lot?” I had an idea. I turned to Elmer. “I appreciate that you want to help, and I do have something important for you to do.”
“But—”
I nudged Candy before she could say any more.
“Think of it as a critical mission. I need you to be on the lookout for Detective Falk.” It was actually a pretty good idea. If Vince decided to pay a visit to the funeral home—which wasn’t unheard-of—and he spotted us, we’d probably have some explaining to do. Not to mention it would cement the theory in his mind that Jake and I had killed Mobley.
“What’s this Falk guy look like?” Elmer asked.
I gave him a brief description.
Elmer saluted. “You can count on me. What’s our code word?”
“Code word?”
“Yeah,” Elmer said. “If that detective shows up, we need a code word.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Candy said. “Just come in and get us.”
“No can do. A paratrooper doesn’t leave his post. We didn’t do it in Bastogne and I’m not gonna do it here. We have to have a code word.”
Candy rolled her eyes. “How do you propose to let us know that the detective is here with your code word? Smoke signals?”
Elmer grinned and pulled a cell phone from his pocket and waved it in Candy’s face. “You girls do know how to text, don’t you?”
After some discussion, we settled on a word. Elmer proposed we use the same code the Airborne had on D-Day. He wanted to text flash, then have us respond thunder. I finally convinced him it would take too long to text back. Candy and I would just leave if we got his message. With much grumbling, he agreed and we settled on flash alone.
Candy and I made our way inside, where we found a black message board with Reginald Mobley’s name in white plastic letters and an arrow pointing to the left. The place was eerily quiet, even for a funeral home. The dark red floral carpeting muffled any sounds our footsteps would have made as we walked down the hallway. I hadn’t expected a crowd, but I surely thought there would be more than the half dozen people who looked our way when we entered the room. The only one I recognized was the widow. Melody Mobley had ditched the red dress she’d worn on Sunday and was now more appropriately attired in a black sleeveless shift dress.
As she came our way, I began having second thoughts about being here, but apparently Candy didn’t. She rushed forward and pulled Melody into a hug like she was a long-lost relative.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Candy said. “You poor dear.”
Melody disentangled herself from Candy’s arms and dabbed a tissue at her eyes. “Thank you for coming.”
“When we heard Reginald passed on, we just had to come.” She nudged me.
“Yes, we had to,” I said.
I could tell that Melody was trying to place who we were and if she should know us. She must have decided it didn’t matter, because seconds later she offered to walk us over to the casket. I hadn’t considered the fact that we’d actually have to see the deceased. My Catholic upbringing kicked in and I said three Hail Marys while we stood at the casket. After a few long minutes we stepped to the side.
“How did the two of you know Reggie?” Melody asked.
I had wondered if she’d get around to that question. Candy and I had decided it was best not to let anyone know who I really was. She had come up with a good story, so I let her answer.
She took both of Melody’s hands in hers. “Your dear husband was a frequent visitor to my bakery—Cupcakes N’at. I’m sure he must have told you all about it. He was such a dear man.”
Candy was really laying it on thick. Maybe too thick—especially with the “dear man” comment.
“Really?” Melody sounded surprised. “He never said a word. He really shouldn’t have been going to a bakery.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“His doctor told him he had to lose weight. He was borderline diabetic. He wasn’t supposed to have sweets.”
Candy didn’t miss a beat. “I know, dear,” she said. “That’s why I’d only let him buy my sugar-free goodies. He wasn’t happy about it at all. Sometimes he would beg me for something with real sugar in it, but I wouldn’t give in.”
The widow nodded. “Thank you for that. He wasn’t always easy to get along with.”
That was an understatement if I ever heard one.
Someone else came in just then and Melody excused herself. I took Candy by the arm and pulled her to the far side of the room. “We should go,” I said. “We’re not going to learn anything from her—especially not here.”
“How dare you!” Melody screeched.
For a second I thought she was yelling at us, but I turned just in time to see her shove the woman who’d entered moments ago. The woman flew backward into a flower display and both crashed to the ground.
“You have no right to be here,” Melody said. Her face was as red as the dress she’d worn on Sunday. “He’s my hu
sband now. Not yours.”
I put two and two together, and when I got a closer look at the woman attempting to stand, I realized she was the ex-wife who’d caused the disturbance at the festival. I tried to recall her name. Linda. That was it. The others in the room who had been talking quietly were now silent. Candy and I exchanged glances.
Linda made it to her feet, brushing carnations and rose petals from her white blouse. “I have more right to be here than you. I’m the mother of his child. We were married for ten years. You’ve been his wife for what? Six months?”
“Eight,” Melody said. “But that doesn’t matter. We were very much in love.”
“Love?” Linda said, rolling her eyes. “Give me a break.”
“We had our whole lives to look forward to—until you did this.” Melody pointed to the casket.
“Me?” Linda said. “Why would I kill him?”
“Because you hated him. You wanted our money—”
“It’s not your money, you witch.” Linda took a step forward. “Maybe that’s why you killed him—to get his money. Well, it’s not going to work. I’m not going to let you get away with it.”
“Out!” Melody jabbed her finger toward the door. “Out. Get out before I call the police.”
The undertaker stepped into the room. “Is there a problem here?” He’d sure taken his good old time to show up.
“I want this woman removed,” Melody said.
Linda brushed a stray petal from her navy skirt. “Don’t bother. I’m leaving. But you haven’t seen the last of me. I want what’s rightfully mine.”
I motioned to Candy that I was going to follow Linda and she nodded. By the time I got outside, Linda was halfway across the parking lot. I called her name and she stopped and turned around.
When I reached her, she said, “Who are you and what do you want? If you’re a reporter, I have nothing to say.”
“I’m not a reporter.”
Linda crossed her arms over her chest. “So who are you, then?”
I told her, including how I knew her ex-husband. She was smiling by the time I finished.