by Joyce Tremel
Every time I talked to Adam, he seemed to get more cynical. He was friendly to his customers, less so to his clerks. He’d always been cordial to me and to his other neighbors. I watched him as his gaze roamed the room. It was hard to guess his age, but I’d put him at mid-fifties. He was pencil slim, and he wore his steel gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was dressed in black pants, a red shirt, and a black tie, loosened at the neck. Very befitting a boutique owner.
“I see you finally got an alarm system,” Adam said. “Very wise move—especially the motion detectors. I don’t see any cameras, though. I keep mine running whenever I’m not there.”
Considering his previous comment about his employees, it didn’t surprise me.
The front door opened just then and my dad came in. “Am I interrupting?” he said.
“Not at all.” I made the usual introductions and the men shook hands.
“I’d best be going,” Adam said. “If you need anything, remember I’m right across the street.”
Dad and I sat down at the bar. “I stopped to make sure you were doing all right,” he said, “and to tell you Mr. Schmidt has arranged to have Kurt returned to Germany.”
I assumed that was what Kurt’s father would do. I wouldn’t get to attend his funeral, but maybe I could do some kind of memorial here. I liked that idea. “Have you heard anything from the medical examiner yet?”
He didn’t answer right away, and I knew he was trying to decide how much to tell me.
“Dad, I’m not a child.”
“I know that. But you’re still my little girl.” He patted my hand. “We got the preliminary findings from the medical examiner.”
“And?”
“The ME said Kurt had some slight trauma to his head.”
“I was right.” I put my hands in my lap so my dad wouldn’t see them shaking. “He was murdered.”
“That’s not likely.”
“But you just said—”
Dad held up his hand. “Let me finish. The ME said the wound on his head could have occurred any number of ways, that, in his opinion, it was likely Kurt hit his head when he fell into the tank.”
I shook my head. No way. Not super-careful Kurt. “That’s not possible.”
“We didn’t find anything that someone could have hit Kurt with, and there was nothing to indicate that anyone else was even there.”
“That doesn’t mean no one was.” Dad was silent, and I didn’t like the expression on his face. There was something else. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Kurt hitting his head wasn’t the cause of death,” he said finally. “The ME thought it was hard enough to daze him, though.”
My stomach lurched. He didn’t have to spell it out for me.
“I’m sorry, Max.”
I tried to wrap my mind around what Dad had just told me. It didn’t fit the events of that night. Kurt was in the kitchen making his torte. Why would he leave perishable cherries and whipped cream out on the counter, go into the brewery, and climb the steps to look into the mash tun? The answer was that he wouldn’t. I didn’t care what the medical examiner thought. His conclusion was wrong. Kurt had been murdered. I couldn’t sit any longer. I slid off the stool and paced back and forth. “What about Kurt’s phone call to me?” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence that he said he found something and knew who was out to get us, and an hour later he’s dead.”
“Do you know what that something was?” Dad asked.
“No. Kurt wanted to show it to me.”
“Do you know for sure someone was sabotaging the pub?”
“Not exactly, no. But Kurt did. He was sure of it, and I believe him.”
My dad sighed. “I know you don’t like it, but unless I discover otherwise—or find some new evidence—it will be ruled an accident.” He got up and hugged me. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It’s not what you wanted to hear. But if there’s any new evidence, or something else comes up, we’ll take another look. And definitely let me know if you have any more problems with vandalism.”
After he left, I collapsed into a chair. I was stunned. Not to mention angry. There was no way Kurt had fallen into the mash tun. Even if he hadn’t been hit over the head, someone had pushed him into that tank. I just had to prove it.
* * *
The flower shop, Beautiful Blooms, was next door to Cupcakes N’at, so I decided to start there. I liked flowers, of course, but didn’t buy them all that often. Usually, I’d drop a bouquet into a vase and promptly forget all about it until all that was left were sticks and wilted petals. The shop was owned by Daisy Hart, who was outgoing and friendly and always had a smile on her face. I was sure she wasn’t the one resorting to sabotage and murder, but she might have known something. I needed to order plants and flowers before the opening anyway, and this was as good a time as any to do it.
Daisy looked up when the bell on the door rang as I entered. “Max!” She dropped the lily she’d been trimming and rushed over to me. I wasn’t too surprised when she pulled me into a hug. “I am so sorry about Kurt. Candy told me all about it. Such a horrible thing to happen to someone. I just can’t believe it.”
“Thanks. I can’t, either.”
Daisy looked like her name implied. She had shoulder-length blond hair that she wore in pigtails today. Together with her denim overalls, she could have been twelve years old instead of thirty. She took my hand and pulled me over to the glass counter, where she practically sat me down on a vintage piano stool.
The shop was decorated in a hodgepodge of vintage and hand-me-down items that somehow looked as if they belonged. There was even an old 1930s refrigerator that Daisy had taken the door off and now used to display small knickknacks and tiny bud vases. She pulled out another stool and sat down.
“I wanted to come over to see you,” she said, “but I didn’t want to get in the way, and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You wouldn’t have been in the way. I spent yesterday cleaning and today hiring a new chef.”
“Really? You hired a new chef?”
“You seem surprised.”
“It’s just that, well, I didn’t expect it. Especially not so soon.”
“I didn’t have any choice with the opening so close. Besides, my brother recommended the guy, and I’ve known him all my life. It just seemed to be the right thing to do.”
Daisy got up and went behind the glass counter. “So you’ll be opening after all?” She picked up the lily she’d been holding when I came in. “I thought—I mean, I heard—” Her phone rang just then and she answered it.
While she took care of business, I walked around the shop looking at the plants and flowers and wondering why Daisy seemed to think I wouldn’t be opening the brew house. Was that what everyone was thinking? It wouldn’t have surprised me. In the months I’d been working on the brew house, I’d come across more than one person who thought Kurt was really in charge. A female brewmaster was as alien as, well, an alien. I wasn’t going to let that bother me now.
Daisy finished her call. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize. Business should come first.” I smiled. “Although I do plan on being a paying customer. I’m going to need to order some plants, and maybe some special arrangements, for the opening.”
“Wonderful!”
I told her what I had in mind, and she showed me what she thought would work. I was more than pleased there would be no ferns. Not that I had anything against them, but I didn’t want the pub to be anything like the yuppie hangouts of the eighties and nineties. I had painstakingly gone for a traditional pub look with a bit of industrial thrown in for good measure. I wanted it to feel like the Allegheny Brew House had always been there. With the plank floors, the oak tables, the brass foot rail on the bar, and the exposed brick and ductwork, I liked to think I’d accomplished it.
&nbs
p; When we finished, Daisy said, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Actually, there is.” If I was going to find out anything to solve Kurt’s murder, now was the time. “Have you seen anything strange going on near the brewery lately?”
“Strange? I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“I mean anyone hanging around who shouldn’t be. Someone going in when no one is there. That sort of thing.”
Daisy chewed her lip. “I haven’t noticed anything. Other than the workmen you’ve had going in and out. But that’s when either you or Kurt were there. Why?”
I couldn’t very well come out and say Kurt had been murdered, especially when the police were calling it an accident. “We’ve had a few instances of vandalism. I was just wondering.”
“Probably kids. Every time I put bouquets outside, some little brat will go by and grab one. I finally wised up and stopped putting them out.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a dented aluminum baseball bat. She grinned. “The last time one of them tried to lift something from in here, I brought this baby out. They haven’t been back since. You should at least get yourself one of these.”
I laughed. “It’s not quite as dramatic, but I did have an alarm system put in today.”
“Now, why didn’t I think of that? Of course, watching them run when I lifted the bat was a lot more fun.”
* * *
After I left Daisy, I went home and retrieved my old Corolla from the parking lot. The poor thing probably felt neglected, since I hadn’t driven it much lately. The upside to living and working in the same neighborhood was that I could walk most days. Unfortunately, I still needed a vehicle for everything else. The city has public transportation, but it didn’t always go where I wanted to go. A car was much more convenient, especially when I needed groceries, which was where I was headed now.
Two hours later, I had restocked my fridge and cupboards and fixed a salad for dinner. I had eaten way too much of Jake’s offerings at lunch, so I needed to make up for the excess in calories. Every extra pound showed on my small frame.
I’d had time to do a lot of thinking since leaving the flower shop. Daisy’s surprise that I was still planning to open the brew house continued to bother me. I tried to recall her exact words. If I remembered right, she said she heard something. From whom? Candy liked to gossip, but it wouldn’t have been from her. She knew my plans. Adam Greeley was a possibility, but he was more likely to complain about his employees. Dominic Costello was a better choice, but unless Daisy stopped at the Galaxy for a shot and a beer, he was probably out. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to the other store owners yet to have opinions about them. Now that I’d given it some thought, I wasn’t sure it mattered. It wasn’t going to get me any closer to finding out who had murdered Kurt.
As the daughter of a homicide detective, you’d think I’d know how to go about it, but the truth was, I had no idea. Dad had never brought his work home with him and never talked about cases with my brothers or me. Only one of us followed him into law enforcement. Patrick, my second oldest brother, was a police officer in Richmond, Virginia. He and Dad talked shop when we all got together, but only until Mom and Pat’s wife put a stop to it. I considered calling him, but I was pretty sure he’d squeal to Dad and I didn’t want that. I guess I could start by asking some questions, like I had this afternoon. I hadn’t learned much from Daisy, but maybe I’d have better luck with the others tomorrow.
With that much decided, there was one more thing I wanted to do before the day was over. I grabbed my purse and headed out again.
* * *
My brother, Sean, was the pastor of Most Holy Name of Jesus parish in the Troy Hill section of Pittsburgh. The church was one of the older in the city, built in the late 1860s. The parish included St. Anthony’s Chapel, which had the largest collection of relics outside the Vatican. The neighborhood sat on a bluff overlooking the Allegheny River, so I crossed the Fortieth Street Bridge and took Route 28 to Rialto Street. Rialto was known as Pig Hill or Pig Alley by the old-timers, because it had been the route used to drive pigs to local slaughterhouses. Neither the pigs nor the slaughterhouses were around anymore, thank goodness. Rialto was also one of the steepest roads in the city, but it was a convenient shortcut to the top of the hill. It shaved at least ten minutes from the drive.
Troy Hill didn’t look all that different from some of the residential sections of Lawrenceville. There were a few businesses along the short main drag, but the area was mostly small single-family homes. Like many older, working-class sections of the city, the houses were built close together. Holy Name sat right smack in the middle of it all.
There were about a dozen cars in the asphalt parking lot, and I wondered if maybe I should have called Sean first. I knew there was a weekly novena in St. Anthony’s Chapel, but I thought that was on Tuesday nights, and this was Wednesday. If it was tonight instead, I’d probably give Sean the shock of his life. I hadn’t been to a novena since I was in high school. I went to the chapel first but found the door locked, so my brother was safe for now. When I reached the door of the main church, I heard singing. Inside, I discovered the choir practicing, and I went searching for Sean. I definitely should have called first—he could be anywhere.
He wasn’t in the church, but before I could slip out, one of the choir members spotted me and asked if she could help me. She told me Sean was probably in the rectory, so that’s where I headed. I probably should have gone there first. I was just about to ring the bell when the front door opened.
“Max!” Sean said. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to see my big brother.”
The expression of alarm on his face disappeared. “I was worried for a second. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here on a weeknight. As a matter of fact, I’m sure of it.” He put his arm around me. “I only have a few minutes. I’m heading down to Allegheny General. One of my parishioners is scheduled for heart surgery tomorrow and he asked for the Anointing of the Sick.”
“I only need a minute.” I walked with him to his car and told him about Kurt’s dad having him returned to Germany for burial. “Kurt wasn’t Catholic, but I’d like to have some kind of memorial service for him. I thought maybe you could help.”
Sean nodded. “Definitely. Let me check my schedule and I’ll get back to you either tonight or tomorrow sometime.”
“Thanks.”
He kissed me on the cheek and squeezed my shoulder. “And I will see you here on Sunday.”
I watched him drive away and returned to my Corolla. I’d just started the engine when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I answered anyway, ready to yell at whatever telemarketer was calling me even though I was on the Do Not Call Registry. I was wrong about who the caller was. It was the alarm company. My motion detectors had been set off.
CHAPTER SIX
Thankfully, traffic was light and I made it to the brew house in record time. A Pittsburgh Police Zone 2 squad car was double-parked on the street near the front entrance. I screeched into the lot beside the building and raced to meet the officer at the door.
“You the keyholder?” He looked me up and down like there was no way this place was mine.
I straightened in an attempt to make myself taller than my five-foot-two. “Yes. I’m the owner.”
“I checked the doors already,” he said. “They’re all locked. No sign of forced entry. I’ll check inside if you’d like.”
“I would. Thanks.” I unlocked the door and he went inside. I followed and punched in the alarm code.
“Wait there,” he said.
I did, taking deep breaths to slow down my heartbeat, which could have kept time with a Spanish flamenco. I couldn’t help replaying Monday night in my mind. It seemed like hours before Officer What’s His Name returned, but I knew it was only minutes.
“You’re all clear, miss.”
“Are you sure?” I said. “The alarm company said the motion detectors were activated. Wouldn’t that mean someone was in here? How did they get in? How did they get out?” I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop.
“Probably just a glitch of some kind. It happens all the time.”
“I only had the alarm installed today, so I wouldn’t know.”
He suggested I follow up with the alarm company in the morning, then asked for my information for his report. When I told him my name, he looked at me again. “That name sounds familiar.” He snapped his fingers. “Wasn’t there an incident here the other night? I think I saw something on the call log.”
I was not only jumpy, I was a little cranky by this point. I pulled myself up to my full height again, which was almost a foot shorter than he was. “My assistant was killed. I’m the one who found his body. So it was a lot more than an incident, as you put it.”
The officer had the good grace to blush and apologize to me. He even offered to do an extra drive-by before his shift was over. After he left, I locked the door behind him, then went to take a look around myself. Maybe I’d see something he missed.
Thirty minutes later, I hadn’t found anything out of order. Either the officer was right and there was a problem with the alarm, or my intruder was a magician. I went into the kitchen to get a drink of water. I turned the faucet on for the water to get cold while I retrieved a glass, and when I turned back to the sink, water was pouring out from the trap and onto the floor. I quickly shut off the water and grabbed a mop and some paper towels. After I dried the floor and under the sink, I inspected the trap. It was a good thing Sean wasn’t within earshot, because I spat out every swear word I knew.
A nut on the trap had been loosened and there was a gap between the pipes. There was no problem with my motion detectors. They worked just fine. Someone really had broken in. But how in the world had he gotten in? And out? I was a little spooked about the whole thing, but I managed to put the trap back together and tighten the nut. I ran some water and there was no leak for now, so I washed my hands, reset the alarm, locked up, and headed home.