Tangled Up in a Brew

by Joyce Tremel

  “A little bit,” I said. “You’ve been around the restaurant scene for a lot of years—”

  “Are you calling me old?” He grinned.

  “Maybe.” I returned his grin. “Did you ever hear of a place downtown called Le Meilleur? It closed about fifteen years ago.”

  Dave scratched his beard. “It sounds really familiar.”

  I picked up the folder that Candy had given me earlier and passed it to him. I waited while he scanned the articles.

  “I remember it now,” Dave said. “There was a lot of talk back then of what happened. Some people thought this Moore guy should’ve been charged with murder, and the rest thought he’d gotten a bum rap. Personally I was in the latter camp. He had no way of knowing the eel he’d bought was tainted. What’s this have to do with what happened here? I thought Mobley and his wife died from cyanide poisoning, not food poisoning.”

  “They did,” I said. I went on to explain what Dwayne had told me that morning.

  “You’re kidding,” Dave said when I’d finished. “No wonder Mobley was such a mean son of a gun. He couldn’t cook anymore, so he hated anyone who did. Makes a lot of sense now.”

  “And now Dwayne is in danger because he kept Mobley’s secret.” I pointed to the grainy newspaper photo of Darlene Nichols and her daughter on the page he was holding. “Do you recognize either one of them?”

  Dave studied the picture. “I don’t think so, but this was fifteen years ago. And Le Meilleur wasn’t exactly my kind of place.” He flipped to the last article about the wrongful-death suit. “Hey, I know that law firm,” he said. “That Gregory in Anson, Gregory and Powell is Randy’s dad.”

  “Seriously?” Jake said.

  Something clicked in my brain. Randy fishing for information at the Brewers Association meeting. A comment Randy had made to Jake. Something like Mobley got what was coming to him, and he hoped he felt like the other ones. The “other ones” comment hadn’t made any sense at the time, but I thought it might now. They were the diners who’d suffered from food poisoning. But how did Randy know that Mobley was Moore?

  “Yeah,” Dave said. “Randy’s dad was a lawyer. He died a couple of years ago.”

  That meant I couldn’t talk to him. But I could see what Randy knew. It seemed like he knew a lot. I glanced across the aisle to Randy’s booth. He was already beginning to pack up. “I’m going to talk to Randy.”

  “Not by yourself, you’re not,” Jake said.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s just across the way. You can see everything from here.”

  Dave said, “I can go with you.”

  I shook my head and took the folder back from him. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to talk to him.”

  I could see Jake wanted to come up with a good reason for me not to go, but without going into full protection mode like my dad and brothers would, he had little choice in the matter. He relented. “Be careful. I’ll be watching the whole time. If he gives you any trouble at all . . .”

  I didn’t wait for him to finish. I wanted to race across the gravel, but forced my pace down to a casual stroll. Randy saw me coming and waved.

  “How did Jake do in the contest?” he asked.

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  “That was a shame about Mobley’s wife. What’s your dad saying about it? Any idea who did it yet?”

  “We have a pretty good lead. It’s just a matter of time.” I watched him closely.

  He showed no reaction other than taking a great interest in his shoes. “Really? That’s good news.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So, who is it? My money’s on Dwayne. He’s a total loser. It would be just like him to do something like that.”

  “Oh, it’s not Dwayne.” Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but that comment ticked me off. Dwayne might be a lot of things, but a killer wasn’t one of them.

  Randy raised his head. “Who is it, then?”

  I didn’t want to come right out and accuse him. So far, that approach hadn’t worked out all that well for me. Something must have shown on my face, though.

  “You’re thinking it’s me, aren’t you?” When I didn’t answer, he said, “That’s ridiculous.” He laughed shakily. “That’s a pretty good joke.”

  I opened the folder and pulled out the page that mentioned his father’s law firm. “That’s your dad, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  I showed him the articles about Le Meilleur. “You knew Reginald Mobley was Ronald Moore.”

  He shoved the papers back at me. “Like I said, so what? The guy was scum. Instead of facing up to what he did, he ran away. You can’t get much lower than that. That poor girl grew up without a mother. Even though that suit was dismissed, my dad spent half his life trying to track him down. He was right under our noses the whole time.”

  A few people passed closely by the tent, so the discussion was put on hold until they left. When they were out of earshot, Randy said, “I’ll never admit I’m not glad he died, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then tell me the whole story. If you didn’t kill Mobley and Melody, you must know who did. That would make you an accessory.”

  His face turned pale. “But I don’t know who it is.”

  I pulled my cell phone from my shorts pocket. “Then you don’t mind if I call my dad.”

  “Wait.” He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

  I put my phone back.

  A couple came up to the booth and Randy lied and told them he was out of beer. As soon as they were gone, I asked him how he knew Mobley’s identity.

  “I was at the casino the same night Dwayne ran into him. The table games were way out of my league, but I saw Dwayne standing by a table and I slowed down as I was passing. I wanted to know what he was doing there. I heard him call the guy sitting there ‘Ronnie,’ and the guy went ballistic. It seemed weird to me, so I followed them when they left the table, and I listened in on their conversation. That’s when I knew.”

  “Who did you tell about it?” I asked.

  “No one. At least not at first. I didn’t even think about it until I got that letter from the state turning down my brewpub license. Cory told me Mobley was behind it. I didn’t have the money to fight it. I could have gone to my dad’s firm, but I was too embarrassed. He always wanted me to follow in his footsteps and was disappointed in my choice. That’s when I decided to dig into some things and find a way to expose him for what he really was.” He paused and drew himself a beer from the sole keg that was still tapped. “Want one?”

  I shook my head. “I only want to hear the rest of your story.”

  He took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I went through some of my dad’s files that he had at home. I found a current address for the daughter and wrote her a note. After that, we started exchanging e-mails and we’ve been friends ever since. She’s not interested in revenge. She doesn’t want the notoriety that opening this up would bring.”

  Regardless of whether any of his story was true or not, I wanted to know the daughter’s name. I asked him what it was.

  “Mary Patrice Nichols,” he said.

  It didn’t sound even vaguely familiar. I’d expected it to be someone involved with the festival. Maybe I was on the wrong track.

  “But you know her by a different name,” he added. “She goes by Phoebe Atwell now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Phoebe?” My voice came out as a squeak. “Phoebe is the dead woman’s daughter?”

  “That’s what I said.” Randy looked at me like I was an idiot.

  “And you didn’t think it was a little strange she’d suggest the man who caused her mother’s death to be her substitute when she got called away on her so-called emergency?” Everything was beginning to make sense now and fall into pla
ce. As soon as Phoebe found out Reginald Mobley was Ronald Moore, she planned his demise, despite what she had told Randy. Getting called away was just a ruse to get Mobley installed as judge and murder him in front of hundreds of people.

  “Wait just a minute,” Randy said. “You can’t possibly think Phoebe had anything to do with the murders. She’s a kind, gentle, fun-loving woman. She would never even consider killing someone. Besides, she wasn’t even here when that poor excuse for a critic was killed.”

  “I’m sorry, Randy, but it’s too much of a coincidence that her emergency just happened to resolve itself in time for her to come back after Mobley’s death. She came back to finish the job on Dwayne but killed Melody instead.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll never get me to believe that.”

  “It’s the only thing that fits. Think about it.”

  “You don’t know her like I do. She’s not like that. She’s not.”

  Even as he said that, I could see the doubt in his eyes. He was in love with her and didn’t want to believe it even though everything I said made perfect sense. His doubt would soon turn to hurt, then betrayal. I’d seen the same look when a friend of mine learned her beloved was a cold-blooded killer. I felt terrible for Randy, but I couldn’t do anything to help him right now. I needed to find Phoebe.

  I ran back across the aisle. “We need to find Phoebe,” I said to Jake and Dave.

  “Why?” Jake asked. “What’s going on?”

  I told them what I’d found out from Randy.

  “I can’t believe it,” Dave said when I’d finished. “I’m going to go over and stay with Randy. I’ll make sure he’s okay and that he doesn’t do anything stupid, like giving Phoebe a heads-up.”

  While Jake started packing up our stuff, I called my dad and filled him in.

  “You’re sure about this?” he said.

  “Absolutely.”

  He didn’t pause for more than a few seconds, but it seemed like a lifetime to me. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you and Jake to act like nothing has happened. Let everything proceed as normal.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said.

  “Let me finish. If Miss Atwell isn’t aware that anyone suspects her, we can take her into custody when the judges appear to announce the winners of the contests. That will be the safest way to get to her. In the meantime, I’ll notify all the officers here to be on the lookout for her and I’ll send someone to talk to Randy Gregory.”

  I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to wait. What if Phoebe got to Dwayne before then, or Randy was somehow able to contact her? “I don’t like not knowing where she is,” I said to Jake after I was done talking to my dad. “Maybe we should finish packing up and look for her.”

  Jake agreed with me. I called Mom and told her we’d meet them at the small stage they were setting up near the kitchen. As soon as we had the truck loaded, we headed toward the other end of the festival grounds. Dwayne’s booth was unattended when we passed it and that worried me. I hadn’t seen Phoebe anywhere near it, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t lured him away somehow. I offered up a quick prayer for his safety.

  While we walked, I called Candy and told her what had happened.

  “Of course!” she said. “I should have suspected her all along, but in my defense, she played it brilliantly. She never went anywhere and was in the perfect position to commit murder. I’ll keep my eyes open and if I spot her, I’ll call my favorite detective.”

  When we reached the other end of the festival grounds, Ginger was near the stage, directing workers on where to place a few chairs and a podium. Jake and I headed that way. She waved when she saw me and gave us a big smile. “Are you excited?” she asked. “I know I am. I can’t wait to see who wins.”

  Neither one of us answered her question. Instead I asked if she’d seen Phoebe anywhere.

  “No, I haven’t. I saw Marshall and Leonard a little while ago. They were looking for her, too.”

  I hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.

  Ginger’s gaze moved from me to Jake and back again. “Is there something going on I should know about?”

  Anything we said would take too long to explain and I had no doubt she’d have a million questions. It was better to keep mum. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  Jake added, “We just wanted to talk to Phoebe.”

  For the next half hour we circled the entire perimeter of the festival without seeing Phoebe or Dwayne anywhere. Most of the brewers had taken down their booths and packed them up by this time. Except for all the people milling about, there was a clear view of almost the entire area.

  “I don’t like this,” I said.

  Jake squeezed my hand. “We’ll find her. Maybe your dad is right and she’ll show up for the ceremony. Or maybe they’ve taken her into custody already.”

  “Or maybe she killed Dwayne already and is long gone and they’ll never find her.”

  “There are plenty of cops here and your dad is not going to let anything happen to Dwayne. Even if she’s taken off, they know who she is. They’ll find her.”

  It was almost six o’clock, so we returned to the stage area. Ginger’s voice came over the loudspeaker, welcoming everyone and telling them it was almost time for the awards to be given out.

  We moved closer to the stage. I looked for Mom and Jake’s parents, but the crowd was thick. I spotted Candy standing with Nicole on the opposite side of the crowd. I pointed them out to Jake.

  “That’s good,” he said. “We have both sides covered, plus all the police. Phoebe won’t get away with anything.”

  I wished I could be as sure as he seemed to be. I had a terrible feeling everything was about to go wrong.

  Marshall and Leonard took the stage beside Ginger. No Phoebe. While Ginger droned on about the festival and her plans for next year, I stood on tiptoe and scanned the crowd for Phoebe and Dwayne. Neither one of them was anywhere in sight.

  “And now without further ado,” Ginger said, “I’d like all ten finalists in the burger competition to take the stage.”

  “Crap,” Jake said. “I didn’t know they were going to do that. I can’t go up there now.”

  “Yes, you can.” When he looked hesitant, I added, “You’ll have a better view of the crowd from the stage.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Don’t go anywhere.” I heard his dad whooping from somewhere in the middle of the crowd when Jake got to the stage.

  Ginger introduced the finalists, then said that there would be four runners-up and the big winner. She announced the fourth runner-up. I kept watching the throng while she continued. Where in the world was Phoebe? If she was still around, she should be onstage with the other judges. I paid closer attention to the activity on the stage when it came down to Jake and the only woman in the group.

  Ginger opened the final envelope as dramatically as if she were the emcee at a beauty pageant. “And first runner-up is . . .” She paused. “Jake Lambert. That makes the winner of the check for one thousand . . .”

  I tuned out the rest. Until now I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted Jake to win. He’d been very cavalier about the whole thing, but I saw the disappointment on his face. First runner-up was nice, but it wasn’t enough. I made my way to the steps at the side of the stage and met him as he came down. I put my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry you didn’t win.”

  He kissed me on the forehead. “It’s no big deal. There’s always next year.”

  “And now it’s time to announce the winner of the Golden Stein, our new prestigious designation of the best in craft beer,” Ginger’s voice rang out. “And thanks to our generous donors, the winner will also receive a check for one thousand dollars.”

  “Maybe you’ll make up for my loss,” Jake said.

  I made a face. “Not likely.”

  Since she couldn’t call a
ll fifty brewers onto the stage, Ginger began with the fourth runner-up, the woman from New York who had talked to me about doing a collaboration. I applauded when Brandon Long was named next. “And second runner-up is Max O’Hara, from the Allegheny Brew House.”

  I froze and glanced at Jake.

  He smiled. “Get up there.”

  He had to give me a nudge to get moving. I shook Ginger’s hand and took my place beside Brandon. I spotted my mother with Jake’s parents and she gave me a big smile. I scanned the crowd, but I still didn’t see Phoebe anywhere. I began to relax a little. Maybe she was far from the festival. The police would pick her up and everything would be all right.

  “The first runner-up is Cory Dixon, from the South Side Brew Works.”

  “Yeah!” He pumped both fists as he bounded onstage. He grinned at me. “Hey, Max. Nice to see you here.”

  “Likewise.”

  Ginger rattled a sealed envelope. “And now for the big winner. She slid her thumb under the flap and opened the envelope. “The winner of the Golden Stein and a check for one thousand dollars, voted as best craft beer by festival attendees and our three judges, is . . .” She paused dramatically and pulled a card from the envelope. “Dwayne Tunstall, from Lazy River Brewing!”

  There was a collective gasp from the brewers onstage and those in the audience. Marshall and Leonard had puzzled expressions on their faces like they couldn’t believe it, either. Dwayne suddenly appeared from behind a nearby Porta-John and ran onto the stage. If I hadn’t been so worried for him, I would have laughed. He shook Ginger’s hand, then leaned into the microphone. “Thanks, yinz guys! You’re the best!”

  “Fixed,” Cory grumbled beside me. “It had to be fixed.”

  “And now the presentation of the Golden Stein to our winner,” Ginger announced.

  I expected one of the festival volunteers to carry it to the stage, but instead Phoebe was crossing the stage, carrying something that looked more like a goblet than a stein. My stomach tightened and I looked around for police officers. There were a few guys in plain clothes moving slowly toward the stage. Dad was one of them.