Pint of No Return
Page 7
When the door opened Callie was overwhelmed with a scent she could only identify as a cross between yeasty bread and a breeze blowing across a field of wheat. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent.
Floyd noticed her deep breath and smiled. “Smells pretty good, eh? I think you’ll be a fine addition to our brewing family. Not everyone appreciates the odors of the process.”
“It’s sort of sweet, but a very full scent,” said Callie.
They walked through a large area full of floor to ceiling metal tanks and numerous metal vats with gauges and dials. When they got to the back of the space, they entered a room of openwork metal shelves piled with bags. Hops ran over to one set of shelves, piled high with green burlap bags, sniffing madly. “What’s got him so interested?” asked Callie.
“His namesake. For some reason he likes the scent of hops.” Then the dog rubbed against the rough burlap. “Or he enjoys the back scratching.”
There were large plastic jars labeled with things like coriander, lemon peel, and cocoa powder. “It takes many things to make up a beer,” said Callie, looking around in surprise. “I guess I never thought through that all that flavoring had to start just like this.”
“We’re lucky we live in an area where there’s an emphasis on natural ingredients, so they can be fresh when added to the beer,” he said. “Even though we’re not a large town, there’s such a strong brewing industry that we have our own spice merchant. It’s amazing how they can order any spice you ask for. They get the spices whole and then roast and grind them to our specifications.”
They walked through the warehouse and Floyd pointed out the various stages of brewing. “This is where I make our seasonal and specialty beers,” he said, pointing to several small squat vats. “The larger batch beers like our Magic Waters Ale and Black Magic Stout are made at our facility that’s right outside of Junction City.”
“What specialty beers are you brewing up today?” asked Callie.
Floyd’s eyes twinkled. “You are the one person who gets to find out about our competition special. I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now.”
Past all the kettles and tanks there was a metal door to a cooler. “Go into the office and I’ll bring out the beer and you can have a taste.” He opened the cooler door and went in.
Callie walked into a room that was more kitchen than office. There were two industrial sinks along one wall with a row of cabinets above them. In the center of the room was a long wooden table surrounded by chairs.
Floyd came into the room carrying a small pitcher. Hops was at his feet and barking madly.
“I take it he’s not a fan of beer?” asked Callie.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” he said impatiently. “Hops, sit!” The dog sat, tucking his paws underneath him, but Callie could see his legs quivering with the desire to jump up again. He whined.
“This is my specialty beer. I named it Belle Chanterelle,” said Floyd.
“You made a mushroom beer?” Callie asked, astonished. “How? Or maybe I should ask why?”
“The competition is for the most unique beer and I haven’t seen anyone else doing a mushroom beer. It seems like such a logical flavor for a brewery called Magic Waters. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” he said proudly. He went to one of the cabinets and took out two glasses. “I added mushroom flavor two different ways. I added dried mushrooms to the wort just before fermenting. Afterwards, I strained the pieces out. Second, I made a sort of Chanterelle extract by soaking the mushrooms in vodka for a few weeks and then adding the liquid to the beer after fermenting. So you get a subtle under taste from the first, and an aroma and flavor from the second. The mushroom comes at you from several different places.”
“Did you go out and get the mushrooms yourself?”
“No. Have you been out to Alterspice? They have dried mushrooms along with all the spices. It would have taken me a while to pick this quantity of mushrooms and dry them.” He poured out two glasses of beer. “You’re the first person to try this.”
Callie picked up the glass and held it to the light. The beer looked like a normal lager, shot through with golden light, but when she held it to her nose, she could definitely smell the aroma of mushrooms. She wasn’t certain she would like it. Hops barked as if in agreement.
However, she held her glass in the air. “Cheers!”
Floyd brought his glass in the air and clinked it against hers. As he pulled his arm back though, he convulsed, falling in on himself. He dropped the glass on the table where it broke, spilling amber liquid and broken glass on the table and floor. He grabbed the edge of the table, but wasn’t able to stop himself. He fell to the ground.
Callie set her beer on the table and ran over to him. “Floyd? Floyd?” she said, gently shaking him. He didn’t respond. She checked his pulse, and he still seemed to be breathing. She dialed 911.
As she waited for the EMT’s, Callie did what she could for Floyd. She found a flannel jacket across the back of one of the chairs and laid it across his shoulders, hoping to keep him warm and out of shock. When he had fallen to the ground, his cell phone came out of his pocket. Although she felt a little intrusive, Callie turned the phone on, in the hopes of finding a number for Ethan. His number was there and Callie dialed it.
“Dad?”
“Ethan, no. It’s Callie Stone. I came by the brewery about the Bru-topia today.”
“Why are you calling from Dad’s phone?” he asked, more puzzled than worried.
“Floyd’s had some sort of seizure and he’s unconscious. We’re in the back of the warehouse and I’ve called an ambulance.”
“Oh, god,” said Ethan. “I told him to take it easy after that flu.”
“Can you meet him at the hospital downtown? I’m assuming that by the time you would get here, they will have come and gone.”
“You’re right, the hospital’s closer. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you so much for calling me.”
Callie hung up, not sure what to do. Hops came over and laid himself alongside Floyd, the dog’s full body stretched out against Floyd’s.
“Good boy, Hops. Try to keep him warm.”
Callie realized she hadn’t asked Ethan what to do about the dog. She went out into the warehouse. Certainly someone else was here? “Hello, is there anyone around?” she called out.
A man came from the back, wiping his hands on a towel. “Can I help you?”
“Floyd has passed out. I’ve contacted an ambulance and called Ethan who’s going to go meet him at the hospital.”
The man ran into the kitchen area. “Hops, you dirty mutt, get away from him!” Hops jumped to his feet as if he’d been kicked and whined, running over to Callie.
The man pointed to a drawer next to one of the sinks as he knelt onto the ground. “We have a first aid kit in there. I think there’s a space blanket with it.”
Callie opened the kit and found the metallic blanket. The man wrapped the blanket over the flannel jacket. “Maybe that will help.”
The EMT’s came and rapidly packed Floyd up to rush him to the hospital. The man, who had never bothered to introduce himself, left with them, presumably in the ambulance.
Callie looked at Hops. “Well, it looks like just you and me, eh?”
Callie walked through the warehouse. Floyd and the mystery man seemed to have been the only employees on site. Instead of going to the door that connected the warehouse to the taproom, Callie headed to an overhead door that was obviously used for deliveries. It was open and she looked along the wall until she found the switch that would close it. She wasn’t sure how to lock everything, but she found the light switch and turned out the lights as she left.
At the side of the warehouse there was a large dog run and kennel area, surrounded by a tall steel chain link fence. Inside was a doghouse and a sliver colored food bowl. Callie opened the door and Hops obligingly trotted in and laid down on an old gray blanket in front of the house.
Callie drove home, Hops laying quietly on the seat beside her. She drove the long driveway to the house, enjoying the fall colors on the trees. She felt lucky her mom believed in the value of composting leaves, otherwise it would make for hours of raking.
She opened the door and Hops jumped out, eagerly sniffing the ground. Callie didn’t take him into the main house. She figured Hops would go over better if she offered to keep him in the cottage. She walked around to the back of the house and the path for the cottage.
Across the garden, Callie could see her mother, bent over a patch of late potatoes.
“Who’s this fine fellow?” asked her mom. Hops, knowing to take advantage of a friendly voice when he heard one, bounded over the plants and bumped his nose into Coral’s leg.
“This is Hops. He belongs to Floyd Fillmer,” said Callie. “Floyd got suddenly ill and had to go to the hospital.”
“That’s terrible. Do they know what’s wrong with him?” Coral asked, stroking Hops’ soft fur.
“No, he basically just collapsed in front of me. There wasn’t any other staff around and I didn’t feel I could leave the dog there alone,” she said. “They don’t even know he’s with me.”
“Well, you did the right thing,” said Coral. “Hops can have a little farm vacation. I may have some leftover dog food for him. One of the farm volunteers last spring had a dog.”
“I can keep him in the cottage,” Callie offered.
“Don’t worry. Let’s see where he wants to stay. I don’t mind having him in the house. He’ll give me and your grandma something to argue about,” she said. “Come on, Hops. Let’s get you something to eat.”
Callie could hear Coral’s voice talking to the dog as they walked towards the barn and Hops looked at her with every indication of understanding. Callie smiled to herself. Hops would fit in fine here for a few days.
When she got to her cottage, she called Walt Eckman, but Yuki answered the phone. “Callie, how was your tour of Magic Waters?” she asked.
“The tour part was fine, but something happened to Floyd at the end.” Callie explained Floyd’s collapse and subsequent trip to the hospital.
“Oh no! Thank you so much for calling us,” said Yuki. “We’ll go straight to the hospital.” As she hung up, Callie could hear her calling for Walt.
Callie hadn’t realized the Eckmans were so close to Floyd Fillmer. They had encouraged her to go and visit his brewery, but only as one of the set of the several places who were participating in the premium showcase.
Callie walked over to the main house and found her grandma in the kitchen peeling potatoes. “What are you going to do with those?” Callie asked. “I didn’t think you could can potatoes.”
“So you think you know everything about canning, eh?” said Grandma Minnie. Her steel gray hair was pulled into its usual bun and she was wearing a hand knitted pink cardigan. “I just happen to think canned potatoes are mushy. Besides, they keep pretty well in their skin. There’s not a whole lot of need to preserve them some other way.”
“I stand corrected,” said Callie. The counter was stacked with small faceted jam jars. “Then what’s going in the jam jars?”
“We have a lone quince tree back in the orchard. Your mom picked some and I plan to put up a batch of jelly tomorrow.”
Callie had always liked the quilted glass jars her grandma used. The faceted sides sparkled in the light and always made the contents look translucent and shot through with light. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen ones that small.”
“A little quince jelly goes a long way,” said Grandma. “Those are half the size of the normal jars. The potatoes I’m peeling for dinner. Your mom found a passel of mushrooms in a stand of firs next to the hazelnut orchard and I thought they’d make a nice sort of gravy and I’d make a casserole. It’d be better with meat, but you know your mom.”
“That’s the second time today I’ve encountered mushrooms,” said Callie. “Did you know you could brew them into a beer?”
Grandma sniffed. “That sounds like a waste of both a good beer and good mushrooms.”
Coral came into the kitchen, Hops right behind her.
“What on earth is that thing?” asked Grandma, staring at the dog.
“That’s Hops,” said Callie. “I was over at the Magic Waters Brewery today and Floyd Fillmer fell ill. There wasn’t anyone around to take care of the dog, so I brought him home. It’s only temporary.”
Hops saw Grandma Minnie and barked at her.
“We can hope so,” Grandma Minnie said.
“Maybe he doesn’t think you smell good,” said Coral.
“What was wrong with Floyd? It wasn’t serious, was it?” asked Grandma Minnie, glaring at Coral, but ignoring her comment.
“He mentioned he’d just gotten over the flu, but he sort of collapsed in front of me,” said Callie, “so it might be more serious than that. They took him to the hospital.”
Grandma looked at Hops warily. “How long do you think he’ll be in there?”
Callie laughed. “Hopefully not very long. Hops will fit in just fine, you’ll see.”
As Callie was putting out the dinner plates on the table, Coral asked about her house hunting. “Did you see anything you liked?”
“Yes and no. I liked the look of the Lincoln School Condos, but the price, combined with the housing association fee, leads me to think I don’t like it that much. Then I got to see a place in historic Millton that would take me all the way back to doing dishes and laundry by hand.”
“That would certainly be energy saving,” laughed Coral. “You know I’m in no hurry to have you out of here. I won’t need any more help with the farm until March or so. You’re doing such good work with the basic chores it’s freeing me up to prepare the gardens for winter.”
“I’m glad I can help,” said Callie, still feeling guilty she wasn’t paying rent.
They sat down to dinner, Hops lying on top of Callie’s feet under the table. She smiled to herself. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to live alone. She liked living with her mom and grandma. The cottage provided enough privacy and separation of space that there were times it felt like living alone.
It was also nice to have someone care about where she was. The cooked meals, minus some of the more vegetarian horrors, were nice to come home to.
“What’s up with Detective Scooter?” asked Grandma Minnie. Callie shook her head. So much for privacy.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. We haven’t had much chance to talk,” said Callie truthfully. “I think he’s started a new case. Or something.”
“Don’t let the grass grow under your feet. He’s a keeper,” said Grandma.
As they were already near the topic, Callie said, “I’m meeting Audrey tomorrow to chat about wedding supplies.”
Grandma Minnie went straight for the point that had been troubling Callie. “Maybe this is one job you shouldn’t have taken on. I’m not sure how you can be dating her ex, but planning her next wedding. That’s just borrowin’ trouble to me.”
“I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call my relationship with Scott dating,” she said. “And no, I don’t think Audrey has any idea that he and I have been seeing each other.” Saw each other, she added mentally as she wasn’t sure of seeing him again in the future.
“Don’t you think you should say something?” asked Coral. “It wouldn’t be good for you to invest more work in the wedding and then have her fire you at the last minute. And you’re not charging her for it?”
“No,” said Callie. “As it will be a sort of big time event in town, I thought I’d probably get a lot of value from just the exposure of being the wedding planner.
”
“Didn’t you say the same thing about the brew fest?” asked Grandma Minnie.
“Yes, but really, the first couple of events will connect me with folks and give me plenty of references to use when I go out seeking paid work. Besides, Audrey’s an old friend. Think of how many hours we spent dreaming of fairy tale weddings when we were kids. It’s my chance to help her with that.”
They looked at her doubtfully, but didn’t say anything else.
Chapter Six
On Wednesday morning, Callie drove downtown to Caffe Misto to meet Audrey and talk about wedding plans. Callie arrived first and, sighing regretfully, only got a coffee. She couldn’t get a cinnamon roll every time she came here. Besides, she normally split it with whomever she was sitting with and she couldn’t imagine Audrey wanting something like that while thinking of fitting into a wedding dress. She got the coffee special, a mocha with orange, and added whipped cream to spite her lack of cinnamon roll. The cafe was half full as the morning coffee rush had taken place well over an hour ago.
Callie took her coffee to a round table in the back corner. It was her favorite table as she could sit with her back to the warm red brick walls and see the rest of the cafe and even out to the street. The walls were hung with large carpets from a local carpet store and Callie admired the latest one hanging in what she thought of as her corner. The rug was a vibrant cobalt blue shot through with black vines and small gold flowers. It looked so lovely on the wall, she couldn’t imagine how someone would walk on it.
Audrey came in, interrupting Callie’s ruminations on the carpet. Audrey was wearing slim fitting jeans with black flats. Although Callie couldn’t tell the designer immediately, she knew that Audrey also indulged in clothing that was more likely to be seen in New York than in Skinner. It was nice to see someone else had a weakness for designer fashions. As Audrey ordered a coffee and waited for it, Callie wondered if she herself should find a less expensive vice. It wasn’t that she couldn’t wear jeans from Wal-Mart, but that she didn’t want to. There was something reassuring about the fit and cut of more expensive clothes, although Callie supposed the jeans her mom wore from Bi-Mart, a local discount chain, clothed a person adequately. And for Coral’s work on the farm, where her jeans were constantly covered in mud, goats and other vegetal items, less expensive jeans were practical. Callie didn’t want to be practical. She saw clothing as a statement. It told people where you were from or what you cared about. She felt that clothing provided her a cover, gave her a status that maybe, in her heart of hearts, she didn’t think she possessed.