Pint of No Return

by L. M. Fortin

  “I certainly don’t want you going out and asking a bunch of questions,” he said. “Let’s just say I’ve grown to appreciate your intuition and would appreciate your insight here. I’d just like to be sure this is an accident. I mean, there’s no one you know of who might want to harm Floyd, right?”

  She thought of Ethan and Yuki. “I may be able to contribute one or two thoughts,” she said.

  He got out his notebook. “OK, shoot.”

  “The room where the wheat, hops and flavorings were stored was a very low trafficked area in the back of the warehouse. There’s a separate entrance where the supplies are brought in, so it would be easy to come and go unnoticed.”

  “Go on,” he said, taking notes and concentrating on her words.

  “I would suggest you won’t find evidence of mushroom tampering at Alterspice and that it was done sometime after the mushrooms were at Magic Waters. Floyd said no one else knew he was making mushroom beer, but I wonder? It’s not like Ethan or someone else couldn’t have seen the bags of mushrooms in the storage room.”

  “But what would Ethan get out of poisoning his own father?” he asked.

  “He would have gotten total control of the brewery. Floyd wanted to stay a small craft brewery and while he was still alive, Ethan had to go along with that. Ethan has been talking about taking the brewery to a national level or selling out to a larger producer.” She paused. “There’s a second reason. Ethan had a half-sister and only found out about it recently.”

  “A half-sister?” said Scott, looking up at her in surprise. “Who? When?”

  “From Floyd’s days in the Army. He had a live-in girlfriend when he was stationed in South Korea in the late 60s. He did two years there, and she was pregnant when he left. Apparently, he promised to come back and get her, but never did. I’m not sure if he knew whether or not she was pregnant,” she said. “In any case, his daughter moved here. Floyd found out a couple of months ago and told Ethan somewhere along the way. She’s Yuki Eckman.”

  “So Ethan can’t run the brewery the way he wants and finds out he has a sister he may have to share the brewery with,” said Scott. “Could be reasons to kill someone. But what about the daughter?”

  Callie’s hope he wouldn’t think of Yuki as a suspect faded. “She moved here intending to get to know Floyd and then tell him she was his daughter. She was looking to be accepted by him. Her mother died in South Korea, never knowing what Yuki intended to do. When Yuki finally got up the courage to talk to him, he rejected her. I think that left her angry for a couple of reasons. First, she betrayed her own mother by seeking him out and second, Floyd betrayed her.”

  “Does she want his brewery?” asked Scott.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure she was thinking as far ahead as any inheritance,” she said. “But as long as she can prove it with DNA, I think she’d have a strong case for part of it. But I know she and Walt didn’t come to Skinner to run a brewery. They could have done that at any time on their own.”

  “The timeline is interesting here. All of this would have come about around the same time Floyd was in the beginning stages of making his premium showcase beer. Got anything else?” he asked. “This gives me leads to start on. You find out by accident what it takes us weeks of careful work to do.”

  “One more thing, but you’re going to think this one is really weird.”

  “I don’t think I’ve caught out your intuition as wrong yet, but maybe this will be the first time,” said Scott.

  She laughed and pointed at Hops. “This is Floyd’s dog. When we did the tour, Hops was well behaved until Floyd brought out the mushroom beer. He actually barked at it.”

  “The dog wasn’t fond of your boyfriend today, either,” Scott said, smirking.

  “If he is my boyfriend, and I’m not saying he is, it’s because no one else was willing to step up and take the job,” said Callie in annoyance. “However, my original point is that Hops also barked when we brought mushrooms into the kitchen, perfectly safe ones,” she reassured him, “from the fields outside. I thought he was barking at Grandma Minnie, but now I’m not so sure. I bet you could take Hops around the storage room and he’d bark when he smelled them again.” She felt a twinge. If Scott took Hops to Magic Waters, would Ethan keep the dog there? She’d gotten used to his eager presence on the farm.

  “I hate to involve you in this any more than I have to, but would it be possible for you to come over to Magic Waters and bring the dog? He responds well to you. I’d also like you to point out where the mushroom beer came from.”

  She gestured to her hiking clothes. “Right now? I need to change.”

  “The sooner the better,” he said. “We’ve got to corral the beer that’s poisonous. We’ve quarantined the brewery and I’m sure Ethan would appreciate us finding the bad beer without impounding every keg he’s got. I’ll go hang out with your mom and you can come get me when you’re ready.”

  She looked at him in exasperation, but had to admit that removing the dangerous beer was of paramount importance. As she was looking at him, she realized something else. Scott had been worried when he couldn’t find her. He had been concerned at the thought she might have been poisoned by the mushroom beer. Maybe he didn’t realize it or maybe he was trying to fight it, but her intuition told her he cared for her. She wasn’t sure what was up with him, but she was pretty sure she would figure it out sooner or later.

  “I’ll go change right away,” she said. He looked puzzled at her immediate acquiescence. She’d work on keeping him puzzled for a while.

  Chapter Eleven

  He crouched on the ground, near the house, in the still green bushes. Hops hadn’t yet forgotten his existence in the brewery. There were certainly lots of aromas a dog could appreciate, but the farm was an entirely different world. Not only did he have the run of the place instead of being locked in a dog kennel each night, he felt well-liked by the variety of people who were around.

  There was the good smelling lady with the soft hands, and then the lady who smelled of farm things like dirt and leaves, and then there was the lady who just smelled old. They all made a big fuss over him. The farm smelling lady liked it when he hung around as she did her chores and she often talked to him. Sometimes he’d be distracted by the noises of mice and once he had chased a snake, but he liked snuffling as she laid out compost or used a large spade to turn over the earth.

  The old lady had the scent of some floral odor Hops hadn’t encountered before, but even if he found her smell uncomfortable, she was the most liberal with dog treats, especially when the other ladies weren’t around.

  The good smelling lady with the soft hands who had taken him from the brewery had been tense when she had been on the porch with the man. The man smelled of gunmetal and spray starch which made his pants scratchy when Hops tried to brush up against him. After a few minutes of tense discussion though, the lady left the porch, tenseness gone and instead seemed excited about something.

  The man opened the door, “Coming, Hops?” Instead of following him, Hops was attracted by something off the porch, possibly a rabbit. He could go in for snacks a little later, he thought as he leapt off the porch to the underbrush near the house.

  The man laughed and said, “Don’t go far, we’ll be needing you in a minute,” and went inside.

  Hops was disgusted to find that his hoped for rabbit was, instead, just another squirrel. That was something the brewery had been blessedly free from. Well, it was a good tradeoff for being able to run around as he wished. Life was like that.

  A few minutes later the front door opened and out came the soft hands lady and the gunmetal man. She called to him, “Hops, come here, boy.” Happily he ran to her and she spent a second or two scratching behind his ears, which he loved. The moment was short lived though and she said, “Want to go for a ride?”

  He knew the word ride from his time with the man who smelled like wheat and grain. They would often ride in the man’s truck together, goi
ng into town or out into the countryside. Town always smelled bad to Hops. Too many exhaust fumes and the scent of sun on tar-soaked asphalt wasn’t very pleasant.

  Going to the fields, the wheat man would let Hops out of the truck where he could run, looking for those elusive rabbits and spend afternoons snuffling around in the grass. Much better than the warehouse with its cold cement floors and puddles of bad smelling liquids.

  The good smelling lady opened the door to the white police cruiser, “Get in, boy,” she said. “You don’t mind having a dog in your car do you?” she said to the man.

  The man shook his head. “If you knew what sort of people had been in this car -- It’s a wonder the dog doesn’t gag.”

  Hops wasn’t sure what the man was saying, but he spent the next few minutes busily sniffing around at the worn leather seats and the floor mats of the car.

  “What do you think this will accomplish?” asked the good smelling lady.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Or maybe your intuitions are rubbing off on me,” the man said. “In any case, it makes sense to take you back to the scene of the incident. Floyd’s death may have taken place in the hospital, but the cause of it occurred in the brewery and you saw part of it.”

  They took River Road all the way out to where it crossed Highway 99 and turned off onto the gravel road that led to Magic Waters. Hops sniffed the air, sensing there was a difference to the buildings than when he had lived there. Before all the scents were of fermenting grain and malt, now there was a sort of stale scent in the air.

  “I know I was only out here a few days ago,” said the sweet smelling lady, “but it already feels forlorn.”

  “Ethan and his team spent most of the last few days at the hospital, and let the brewing operations come to a halt,” said the man. “Once we found out about the possible poisoning, we closed the place off, as we couldn’t be certain where the mushrooms had come from.”

  They stopped the car next to a black and white police cruiser. Callie let Hops out and he went to sniff the second man who also smelled of gunmetal. He didn’t have a starch odor like the first man, but more of a sweaty odor.

  “Anyone try to get in, Myers?” asked the gunmetal man.

  “The owner came by and wanted to go in, but I told him it was closed,” said the sweaty man.

  “What did he say to that?” asked the sweet smelling lady.

  “He wasn’t too happy about it. He said he just needed to come in and get something.”

  The man took the building keys from the patrolman and the man and woman headed towards the door to the tasting room.

  Once inside, the gunmetal man said, “Were you tasting beer in here when Floyd collapsed?”

  “No,” she said. “We were back in the room that’s a sort of combination between a kitchen and an office. It’s past the storage tanks.”

  The man opened the door connecting the tasting room to the main warehouse and Hops bounded through, sniffing madly. It was nice to revisit the familiar odors of the brewery.

  “Hops!” called the lady. “Come back here.”

  “No,” said the man. “Let’s follow him and see where he goes. Then we can try the kitchen.”

  Hops wound his way in and out of the tanks, heading towards the back of the warehouse. He bounded back to his favorite place, a room full of spicy and complex scents.

  “He’s going to the storage room,” said the lady. “I would think the mushrooms were stored there at one point in time. I wonder if Floyd used them all or if there were any left over when he was done with the beer.”

  Hops entered the room, closely followed by the man and the lady. He ran straight for the large green burlap bags of hops and rubbed against their rough surface, scratching an itch on his side.

  The lady laughed, “Well, there’s one reason why he liked it in here.” Hops stopped scratching and started sniffing around the floor. He wandered randomly around the room, going where his nose led him.

  Callie watched as Hops moved quickly back and forth across the room, moving randomly. “How long do you want to let him do this?” she asked Scott. “I’m not sure he has any sort of agenda here.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Hops gave a growl and began digging at one of the bags labeled as wheat. “Grab him, will you Callie?” said Scott, pulling on a pair of plastic gloves.

  She grabbed the dog and knelt next to him, putting her arms around his neck. “What did you find, boy? Is there something you don’t like there?”

  Scott lifted the bag and from underneath, pulled out a clear plastic bag. On the front of it was an Alterspice label. The bag was less than half full of evenly chopped brown pieces, each about an inch in diameter. “We can have these tested and see if this is what Floyd used.”

  Hops was barking madly. “I wonder what he thinks he’s going to do to those except bark at them?” asked Callie.

  Scott got on his radio. “Myers, will you call a forensics team to meet us here?”

  Scott returned the mushrooms to their original location. “Can you get Hops out of here before he destroys something?”

  Callie pulled the dog out of the room and headed back out into the warehouse. She let the dog go and he ran off, snuffling under the tanks. He growled again.

  “Hops, what are you into?” she said, winding her way between the tall tanks, looking for the dog. She heard him off to her left and walked around the large metal fermentation vessel that was in the last row of tanks. The hair on the back of her neck rose. “Hops? Where are you?”

  She found him digging at a door located along the wall. That was a different back entrance than the one in the storage room. The door was located in a place where someone could come and go without any notice. She walked up to the door and began to turn the handle. A deep thrumming noise caused her to jump. She laughed at herself. It was one of the refrigeration units starting up. Underneath the vibrations though, for a moment, she fancied she could hear a second unit vibrating. It lasted for a second and disappeared.

  The door was unlocked and she swung it open. There was a small porch with a chair on it and a metal can half-filled with cigarette butts. Some big secret she had discovered. The door to the break area.

  She heard Scott call her name. “Scott, I’m back here.”

  He followed the sound of her voice, “Look at what Hops had to show us here,” she said. “He was growling again, so I’m thinking he doesn’t like cigarette smokers either.”

  Scott looked outdoors at the porch and the dirt road that ran around that side of the warehouse. “Maybe not,” he said, but she thought he wasn’t seeing what was outside and instead was thinking of something else. “I’ll need to station a second officer here.”

  They walked back to the main aisle way in the warehouse and to the kitchen where Floyd had collapsed.

  “So tell me everything that happened when you came in here,” said Scott.

  “I came in first and Floyd went into the cooler and got a pitcher of beer,” she said.

  “A pitcher? It wasn’t in a bottle?”

  “No, I got the impression that as a specialty beer this wasn’t something they would offer for sale as a retail beer. It was his own recipe and he called it Belle Chanterelle,” she said.

  Scott left the room and went into the cooler. From inside, he called out, “You didn’t see what keg the beer came from, did you?”

  “No, I was in here the whole time,” said Callie. She noticed the first aid kit was still on the floor next to where Floyd had collapsed, but the pitcher and glasses were missing.

  He emerged from the cooler and pulled out his radio. “Myers, I’m going to need a roll of crime scene tape at the south end of the warehouse.” To Callie he said, “There are numerous kegs in there and, right now, I can’t tell which one, if it is only one, which the mushroom beer is in, so I’ll just cordon off the whole thing until we can test them all.”

  “It shouldn’t be too hard,” she said. “The beer had a very disti
nctive mushroom scent. You won’t be able to miss it.”

  “So what happened next?” Scott asked.

  “Floyd walked over to the cupboards here and got out two glasses,” she said mimicking his actions. As she approached the cupboard, she saw the pitcher and a single glass were sitting in the sink, both of them still wet. “Scott, did you have any of your folks clean up after Floyd collapsed?”

  “No,” he said. “Why?”

  “Because this looks an awful lot like the pitcher Floyd poured the beer from along with the glass that was mine. They’re both here in the sink and they look as if they’ve been washed. They’re still wet.”

  Scott came over to the sink. “So they are. I’ll have to find out who was in here. This shouldn’t have been touched.”

  They moved back to the table in the center of the room. “I stood on this side, and Floyd was at the end of the table,” she said.

  “Here?” asked Scott.

  “Yes, that’s just about right,” she said. “He poured us each a glass and then told Hops to be quiet. He was barking more and now that I think about it, he started barking as soon as Floyd came in with the pitcher of beer. Then we both raised up our glasses in a toast. Then Floyd fell.”

  She looked around. “Someone must have come in here after he fell. His glass broke and beer spilled onto the floor and on the table.”

  They both looked around and Hops sniffed about. “There’s not even any sticky residue,” said Scott. “This floor has been cleaned recently.”

  Callie walked over to the garbage can and lifted the lid. “There aren’t any pieces of glass here. While I can imagine Ethan having someone clean up the broken glass, I can’t imagine that taking out the trash happened regularly with his dad in the hospital.” She looked up at him. “You said there were numerous kegs in the cooler. Can you tell if there are any missing?”

  They both walked to the cooler door and went in. “Floyd wasn’t in here long,” Callie said, “so I think we can discount any of those on the farther wall. It would probably have been right here next to the door,” she said as she pointed to a spot that could have held a small keg, but was empty.