by Joyce Tremel
“Max?” Candy called again.
“In here.” I stood and stretched. It felt good when my back cracked.
Candy whooshed into the office carrying a clear glass plate holding two chocolate chip muffins. These were definitely not ordinary muffins. They were twice the size of most and topped with pecan slivers and drizzled with a dark chocolate glaze. She put the plate down on my desk and crushed me into a bear hug.
“Oh, Max,” she said. “I just heard. I am so sorry! That poor boy. And what you must be going through.”
I seriously doubted Candy “just heard” about Kurt. She almost always heard about things the minute they happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sometimes knew in advance. Her information-gathering skills were second to none. She should have been working for the NSA. I disentangled myself and backed up far enough that she wouldn’t hug me again. Ordinarily, I didn’t mind hugs but Candy’s were a little too enthusiastic to suit me. She was a good bit taller than me, so my head ended up smashed against her ample bosom. The rest of her was fairly ample, too.
Before we met, I’d pictured a statuesque blond bombshell when I first heard her name. She was as far from that as one could be. She was tall, but that’s where the similarities ended. Picture Mrs. Santa Claus in black and gold. She was a rabid Steelers fan and wasn’t afraid to show it, no matter how outlandish the outfit. Today she wore lemon yellow pants and a black T-shirt with a large photo of Troy Polamalu on the front. Her black orthopedic shoes were tied with yellow Steelers laces. Even her fingernails had team decals.
“I’m all right,” I said.
“It must have been so traumatic.” Candy lowered herself into one of the chairs I’d picked up at a yard sale, and I reclaimed the seat at my desk.
“It was.” I knew she was waiting for the particulars. As much as I liked her, I didn’t want the events of the previous night to be fodder for gossip. Candy knew everyone and everything that happened in the neighborhood. She wasn’t malicious about it; she just liked to talk.
“I just can’t believe it,” Candy said. “Kurt was such a nice young man. Did you know we exchanged recipes?”
I shook my head and broke off a chunk of muffin. One piece wouldn’t be too many calories.
“I gave him my aunt’s recipe for German chocolate cake. Maybe I’ll make some in his honor.” She picked up the other muffin and split it in half.
“That would be nice.” I picked off another piece of muffin.
Candy went on about a few more recipes they’d shared. While she talked, my mind wandered and I only half listened. I couldn’t help thinking about Kurt’s last words to me. He’d known who was behind the sabotage. I only came back to earth when Candy stood up.
“I need to get back to the bakery,” she said. “And you look like you need some rest.”
“I’m sorry I’m not very good company right now,” I said. As I walked with her through the pub to the front door, I had a thought. I hadn’t wanted to tell her the whole story because she might gossip, but Candy was the eyes and ears of the neighborhood. Maybe she knew who might not want the brewery to open. “Did Kurt ever mention anything about some of the strange things that happened here lately?”
“Like what? Ghosts? I’d love to have a ghost.”
I told her what had been going on and what Kurt suspected, including what he told me when he called.
“It wasn’t an accident, then,” she said.
“I don’t think it was.”
Candy was silent, studying me. It was long enough to make me wonder what she was thinking and if I’d made a huge mistake by confiding in her.
“It really doesn’t surprise me,” she said finally. “Not one bit.”
CHAPTER THREE
It was my turn to stare. “What do you mean you aren’t surprised?”
Candy put a hand on my arm. “That didn’t come out quite right. Of course Kurt’s death is a shock. I surely didn’t expect anything like that. It’s just that not everyone in the neighborhood wanted this brewery to open again.”
I walked over to a table, pulled out two chairs, and motioned for Candy to sit. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t they? Look how this part of town went downhill when Steel City closed. This building was nothing but an eyesore. Another business, especially a potentially successful one, will be a boon to this neighborhood.”
“I know, dear. Not everyone thinks that way.”
“You keep saying that. I want to know who.”
“Off the top of my head, one would be Dominic Costello.”
I didn’t recognize the name. “Who is he?”
“Dom owns the Galaxy down the street.”
The Galaxy was a small neighborhood bar two blocks away. It was a shot-and-a-beer kind of place that had been there since I was a kid. It certainly didn’t attract the same type of customer I hoped the brewpub would.
Candy continued. “Dom is afraid you’ll steal all his customers. I heard he’s telling everyone he sees to boycott this place. He’s even considering adding something besides peanuts and pickled eggs to his food selections.”
“That’s ridiculous. I seriously doubt anyone who frequents the Galaxy would be interested in coming here.” I leaned back in my seat. “I’m going to have to talk to him.”
“He’s likely to toss you out on your keister.”
“I’ll take my chances. Anyone else?”
She tapped two of her Steelers-decorated fingertips on her lips. “Hmm. Let me think.” She tossed a couple more names my way, but they were all neighbors I was on good terms with, like Daisy Hart, who owned the flower shop, and Adam Greeley, who owned three boutiques across the street.
We talked for a few more minutes, but in the end, I didn’t have much in the way of suspects. The most promising one—really the only one—was Dominic Costello. I planned to have a chat with him as soon as I could. But first, I had work to do.
I hadn’t been back to my chores for long when my mom came by. I’d propped open the door to the brewing area, and I spotted her as soon as she entered the pub. Mom was an older version of myself—as long as I aged as well as she has. One of the only things that gave away her age was her salt-and-pepper hair. She refused to color it—she said it gave her character. I waved and she rushed over. As soon as she pulled me into a hug, my eyes opened like a faucet again. So did hers.
“Oh, Max,” she said when we finished. “I am so sorry.”
We sat across from each other at the same table Candy and I had vacated earlier, with a box of tissues between us. I snatched up another tissue and passed the box to Mom. She took one and patted it under her eyes.
“I still can’t quite believe it,” I said.
“Kurt was such a nice boy. Just the thought of what your dad told me . . .” She shuddered and reached for my hand. “Such a horrible accident.”
So Dad hadn’t mentioned my suspicions to her. Either he’d completely dismissed them or he just didn’t want her to worry. Mom was definitely a worrier, even if she tried not to show it. We sat quietly for a few minutes, then Mom suddenly smiled. “Remember when you first met Kurt and called me because you were mad he kept correcting your German?”
I nodded. “I thought he was making fun of me. It turned out he was only trying to help. He was appalled that I thought badly of him.” I told her a few more stories about Kurt, and by the time she stood to leave, I felt a thousand times better.
* * *
By six in the evening, I couldn’t do another thing. The stainless steel tanks were gleaming and you could probably eat off the concrete floor, which was the way it should be. Cleanliness is everything in a brewery. In a way, I was glad I was so exhausted. Maybe I’d be able to sleep without having visions of what had happened last night swirling around my brain. I needed to be back here bright and early. The alarm company was coming at eight to install a state-of-the-art
system. I had called them earlier to see if they could move the installation up a few days. If whoever had killed Kurt returned after tonight, he’d be in for a surprise.
I locked up for the night, and as I started down the street, someone called my name. The male voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. He called me again, and then said, “Wait up.” With those words, I put the face together with the voice.
Jake Lambert had been my brother Mike’s best friend. We’d played together as kids, and by the time I reached puberty, I had been sure I was madly in love with him. I had also been sure he didn’t return the feeling. As I was leaving for college eleven years ago, he’d told me to “wait up.” I’d hoped he would kiss me good-bye. Instead, he ruffled my hair and told me to behave myself. The only time I’d seen him since then was at Mike’s wedding six years ago. Jake had been his best man.
He reached me as I turned around. I half expected him to ruffle my hair again, but this time he hugged me. He stepped back, grinning. “You look great,” he said.
He needed to get his eyes examined. That wasn’t the word I’d have used to describe myself after cleaning all day. “You, too.” And I meant it. He’d gotten better looking—if that was even possible. He wore khaki cargo shorts and a navy polo shirt. His chocolate brown hair still had the same waves I remembered, and although there were a few lines around his brown eyes now, he didn’t look much older. A little bulkier, but that no doubt was from playing hockey with the New York Rangers. It made me wonder what he was doing in Pittsburgh right now. The last I heard he was living in Brooklyn and engaged to a future supermodel. I’d been too busy to follow hockey or any other sport lately, but maybe the Rangers were in town for a playoff game.
“I’m glad I caught you,” Jake said. “Mike said you’re usually here late.”
“I’m actually leaving early tonight. It’s been a long day.”
“He told me what happened,” he said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you had dinner yet? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“No, I haven’t.” Now that he mentioned dinner, I realized I was starving. I never got around to eating lunch, and as tasty as Candy’s muffin had been, it hadn’t satisfied for long. Besides, I couldn’t imagine what he wanted to talk to me about, and I was dying to find out. I suggested a small restaurant a few blocks away. They had a good beer list and great burgers. We exchanged idle chitchat while we walked. After we were seated, he asked me what was good on the beer list. I recommended a couple from a local craft brewery.
“Isn’t that the competition?” Jake asked.
“Sure it is. But it’s a friendly competition. I know most of the brewers around here. We all think we have the best beer, but we’re not above recommending another’s. We even give one another pointers on improving our products.”
Jake grinned, showing the dimple on his left cheek that I remembered so well. “Kind of like hockey.”
“I thought the different teams hated each other.”
“Nah. We saved the fights for during the games. Once in a while it carried over, but most of us were pretty good friends.”
I couldn’t help but notice he used past tense. What was that all about? “Speaking of hockey, haven’t the playoffs started? Are the Rangers in town?”
“No, they’re not.”
The server brought our drinks then and we both ordered burgers. Jake tried the beer and it met with his approval. When he didn’t elaborate on why he was in town during the playoffs, I came right out and asked.
He took a long pull on his beer before he answered. “I moved back here a few weeks ago. My parents moved to Florida last year, and their house has been empty. They didn’t want to sell it until they were sure they were staying. I’m living there—at least until I find another place.”
I must have missed something. “So you’re playing with the Penguins now?”
“I’m not playing hockey anymore.”
As my Gram would have said, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Jake not playing hockey was like the Pope not being Catholic. Jake had been skating since he could walk, and he lived and breathed being on the ice. For someone who’d put up with hockey practice at three in the morning all through high school because that was the only ice time he could get, it didn’t make sense that he’d quit the game. “You retired already? I thought you had a few more years to go.”
“Yeah, well, things happened.” He took another drink and pushed his glass aside. “Tell me about your brewpub.”
Nice way to change the subject. I guess it was none of my business. I really wanted to know what had happened, though. Maybe Mike would tell me. Unless he’d been sworn to uphold some supersecret best-friend code. “What would you like to know about the pub?”
“Everything,” Jake said. “What kind of beer, what kind of food. Your plans for the place.”
I took him at his word and told him everything. I stopped myself before I got too far into the brewing process. He wasn’t a chemistry geek like I was.
“Sounds like it’s going to be great,” Jake said when I’d finished. “You learned to brew in Germany, didn’t you?”
I answered with the German form of yes.
He laughed. “Why there?” he asked. “Couldn’t you have learned brewing here somewhere?”
“Yeah, I could have. There are some brewing schools in this country, or I could have just gotten a job and learned the ropes at a microbrewery. Kind of like an internship. But I loved Germany, and the country is synonymous with good beer, so I figured why not learn it from the experts?”
Jake lifted his glass. “To the experts.” We clinked our glasses together, and then he said, “What do your Irish parents think of you brewing German beer?”
“I think Dad was a little disappointed at first that I wasn’t going to come home with the secret recipe for Jameson whiskey. He got over it quickly when I promised to learn how to brew an Irish stout. My assistant, Kurt, was afraid to tell his dad back in Germany we were brewing an Irish beer.” I teared up thinking about Kurt. Jake put his hand over mine and I felt like I was back in high school.
“Were you two close?” Jake asked.
“Not romantically—he had a fiancée back home. He was like having another brother.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Not at the moment,” I said. “I haven’t had much luck in that department. As soon as a guy finds out my dad’s a cop and my brother’s a priest, it pretty much scares them away.” I didn’t mention that I hadn’t yet met anyone I wanted to be in a long-term relationship with. I couldn’t blame it all on my family. “How about you?” I said. I knew about the fiancée but wanted to hear it from him.
Before he could answer, our meals arrived and we moved on to reminiscing about our childhoods. By the time we finished eating, I had forgotten about it. When the server cleared our plates and brought the check, Jake passed him his credit card over my objections. After the server left, Jake said, “Mike told me you’re going to need a new chef.”
“Yes, I am. Do you know someone?”
Jake cleared his throat. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I need someone who can start right away. Like tomorrow. Kurt was completely in charge of the kitchen from the food all the way to hiring the kitchen staff. And because he practically grew up in a brewery, he knew that end, too. If the person you know has brewing experience, that would really be helpful.”
Across the table, Jake was grinning at me again.
“Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” I said.
“You always did.”
I threw my napkin at him. “Thanks a lot.”
The server brought Jake’s card and the receipt back. As he signed the slip, I said, “So, are you going to tell me who this person is? I’d like t
o schedule an interview as soon as possible.”
He leaned forward. “You don’t need to bother with an interview. You already know the person.”
“Great! Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“You?” This had to be a joke. I wondered if Mike had put him up to it. Put one over on his baby sister. “You’re a hockey player.”
“Was a hockey player. I’m also a certified chef.”
“You. A chef.” Hockey and cooking just didn’t go together. At least not in my mind.
Jake nodded. “Yep. I had to do something during the off-season. I always liked to cook. And I figured I’d need to do something when I retired. I thought I’d open a little café or something, but the brewpub sounds like just the thing for me right now.”
He was serious. This could be the answer to my problem. With the opening coming up so quickly, I needed to act fast to hire someone. But could I work with Jake? Sure, I’d known him forever and we seemed to get along. More important, could he cook pub fare? I didn’t want someone who wanted to make fancy dishes or put more decorations on a plate than there was food. And I liked him. Seeing him again brought back so many memories of pining for him all through my teen years. I’d need to get over that if I was going to work with him every day—especially since those feelings were definitely one-sided.
Jake stood, reached for my hand, and helped me up. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he said as we headed for the exit. “Just think about it and let me know.”
He held the door for me and we stepped outside. Despite my misgivings, I didn’t have much of a choice at this point. I needed a chef now. Jake was available. I’d worry later about what to do if it didn’t work out. I could at least give him a tryout and see what he could do. “I don’t need to think about it,” I said. “Come in tomorrow at ten and we’ll see if you really know your way around a kitchen. If you do, you’re hired.”