To Brew or Not to Brew

by Joyce Tremel

  * * *

  The more I thought about the break-in, the madder I got. Unable to sit still, I paced the floor in my living room. I really believed that, after Kurt’s death, the vandalism would stop. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he’d killed Kurt. I didn’t understand this person’s motivation. If he was trying to keep me from opening, there were other—and probably better—ways to go about it. There were permits and inspections out the wazoo. Surely, a complaint or two—even a false complaint—to the right person would go further than messing with the plumbing.

  And it totally baffled me how the person had gotten into the pub with no telltale signs. He hadn’t set off any door or window alarms, only the motion detector. So how had he done it? I suddenly had an idea. I picked up the phone and called my dad’s cell.

  “Hey, sweetie,” he said. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. I have a question. Do you happen to have Kurt’s keys for the brewpub?”

  “I can double-check, but I didn’t see them in his personal effects. Why?”

  I told him what happened. “I thought maybe someone stole his keys. That would explain how they got in.”

  “I don’t like this at all. You need to change your locks, just in case. I’ll call a locksmith I know and have him get in touch with you,” he said. “I’m also going to see if a unit can do some extra drive-bys. And you shouldn’t be there alone at night.”

  “Do you believe me now that Kurt’s death wasn’t an accident?”

  He paused before answering. “I won’t go that far, but I do agree something is going on.”

  He hadn’t exactly said he’d keep Kurt’s case open, but this was better than nothing. We talked a few more minutes, and I promised him I’d be careful. Five minutes later, the locksmith called and we agreed to meet first thing in the morning. Hopefully, between new locks and the alarm system, there would be no more vandalism. It didn’t, however, get me any closer to figuring out who had killed Kurt.

  * * *

  The locksmith came as promised, and by nine a.m. I had brand-new locks and two sets of keys. I considered giving Candy a third set, since she was right next door, but changed my mind. Until Kurt’s murderer was behind bars, Jake and I would be the sole key holders. Only Kurt and I had access before, and even that didn’t turn out well. There was no sense complicating things any further by giving out extras.

  Jake arrived as the locksmith was leaving. Today he was dressed in faded jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair still looked damp from the shower. My stomach did a little flip. “Something going on I should know about?” he said.

  “Sort of.” He worked here now, so it was time to tell him what was going on.

  As he listened, his expression grew dark. When I finished, he said, “And you didn’t think to tell me any of this before.”

  “Well, I—”

  He swore. “Let me get this straight. Someone’s been breaking in, he may have killed your previous chef, and he broke in again last night.”

  I felt my face flushing. “That pretty much sums it up.”

  Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Great. Just great.”

  “I understand perfectly if you want to quit. Maybe I should have told you—”

  “Maybe? Maybe you should have told me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “In retrospect, I should have said something, but I honestly didn’t think the vandalism would continue. I didn’t want to scare you off. And my dad thinks Kurt’s death was an accident.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t. There are too many things that don’t fit for his death to be an accident.” When Jake didn’t say anything, I went over to the bar and picked up my purse. “I’ll pay you for yesterday of course, and today, for coming in.”

  Jake sighed. “Put that thing away.”

  “No, really. I want to pay you.”

  He walked over, took my purse from me and placed it back on the bar. “I didn’t say I was going to quit.”

  He was close enough that I could smell the soap he’d used. I couldn’t place the brand, but I liked it. I also liked the fact that he didn’t feel the need to douse himself in cologne or one of those horrid body sprays. “You’re not?” It came out like a squeak. So much for sounding like a boss. I was Max the teenager again.

  “I’m not.” He pulled out two bar stools and we sat. “It just would have been nice to know everything that’s been going on. I had no idea. Mike never mentioned anything, either.”

  “Mike doesn’t know, except for maybe the water line he had to fix. He saw that it had been cut, but I didn’t explain anything about it. My dad knows, but that’s it. And I’d kind of like to keep it that way. I don’t want my mom to worry, and you know how my brothers get.”

  “They just want to take care of their baby sister.”

  “Yeah, well, baby sister is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “You’d better.”

  Jake grinned. “Yes, boss lady.” A serious look returned to his face. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If Kurt really was murdered, you could be in danger, too. Any time you’re planning to be here late, tell me. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  The way he was looking at me made my stomach flip again. “I will.”

  “Good.” He hopped off the stool and reached over and ruffled my hair. “Besides, I have no idea how to make beer. This place would flop without you running it.”

  So much for any hope of a future romance between us. I was back to being his best friend’s little sister. In his eyes, I guess I always would be.

  * * *

  Jake was on the ball. By ten o’clock, he had talked to the kitchen staff Kurt had hired and scheduled two more interviews for that afternoon. He asked me to sit in on the interviews—he wanted me to have final approval. Although technically they’d be my employees, not his, he was the one who had to work with them day in and day out and I told him that. In the end, I agreed to sit in. It was a change from Kurt’s way of working. He had preferred to do everything himself. Not a bad change, but it was one more thing for me to get used to.

  Kurt had been very organized and Jake told me the files I’d given him the day before contained everything he needed. There were several recipes for each item on our menu, as well as names and numbers of all the restaurant suppliers. While Jake chose a few recipes to try out and made some calls to the various vendors, I decided it would be the perfect time to visit a few of my neighbors. I’d just gotten off the phone with Sean and we’d set up Kurt’s memorial service for Monday evening, so it would give me an opportunity to extend an invitation. And to question them about anything suspicious they may have noticed near the brewery.

  Jump, Jive & Java, the coffee hotspot on the opposite side of the street and next door to one of Adam Greeley’s boutiques, seemed like a logical place to start. It had nothing to do with the fact that I had a sudden craving for their mocha java topped with whipped cream and chocolate jimmies. Or maybe it did. The fragrance of freshly ground coffee beans and the sound of Benny Goodman playing the clarinet welcomed me as I stepped inside. The place wasn’t quite as busy as it was on most mornings, but there was still a good crowd—a mix of senior citizens, college students, young mothers with children, and a writer or two.

  Barista and owner, Kristie Brinkley, looked up from her spot behind the counter. She always introduced herself as “Kristie with a K,” although I’m sure no one would mistake her for the former supermodel. Not that she wasn’t gorgeous—she was. She was African American and bore a striking resemblance to Halle Berry—if Ms. Berry wore dreadlocks, that is. Burgundy ones at that.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite brewmaster,” Kristie said with a grin as I reached the counter.
<
br />   “And exactly how many other brewmasters do you know?”

  She pretended to think about it. “Zero. You’re the one and only.”

  I laughed. “I thought so.”

  She reached over and squeezed my hand. “How are you? You doing okay?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “I knew you would be. It’s just such a shock.” She reached for a cup. “Do you want the usual?”

  “Yep.”

  While she fixed my mocha, I told her about the memorial service and she said she should be able to make it. No one else was in line after me, so she poured herself a cup of plain old coffee and joined me at the table next to a poster of Casablanca.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Kristie had a master’s degree in psychology, and although she’d chosen not to pursue her doctorate and hang out her shingle, she often threw in a bit of counseling along with a cup of java. “It’s healthy to get your feelings out.”

  “My feelings are out, believe me,” I said.

  “That’s good. Can I help you with anything?”

  I spooned the last of the whipped cream from the top of my mocha, licked the spoon, and set it down on the table. “Maybe.” I told her about the vandalism, including the incident last night, and asked if she’d noticed anything out of the ordinary.

  Kristie thought for a moment. “I can’t say that I have, but I’m not usually here at night unless there’s some neighborhood thing going on.”

  The fact that no one was open all night was throwing a wrench into my strategy of asking my neighbors if they’d seen anything. They couldn’t very well see anything if they weren’t there. I thought I might have to rethink my strategy.

  “I can ask around. Some of my early morning customers are out and about all night. Maybe one of them saw something.”

  “That would be great,” I said.

  The door opened just then and Kristie got up. “We can talk about it tonight—if you’re still coming.”

  I’d almost forgotten. Thursday was our monthly book club meeting at the Lawrenceville branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh. The group included Candy, who always supplied the goodies; Kristie’s mother, Pearl; Amanda Morgan, the children’s librarian; and Elmer Fairbanks, the only male in the group. I wasn’t quite sure how Elmer had gotten involved other than that he was ninety-two years old and practically lived at the library. He’d attached himself somehow.

  On the way to the counter, Kristie turned back and grinned. “If worse comes to worst, we can always stake out your place. I’m always up for an adventure.”

  I finished my mocha thinking about her suggestion. It wasn’t a bad idea at all. As a matter of fact, it might be just the thing. The more I considered it, the more I liked it. I left the coffee shop with a plan in my head and a smile on my face.

  The rest of the day passed quietly. The kitchen staff interviews went well. Jake seemed to know the right questions to ask and in the end decided to hire one of the two candidates. The other one had no cooking experience at all—I was reasonably sure he was just hoping for free beer. He smelled like he’d already had more than his share.

  After that, I checked the beer I had fermenting but put off starting a new batch of anything. I couldn’t delay it much longer, but I still couldn’t bring myself to use the mash tun. I told myself I’d brew tomorrow. Back in my office, I sorted through some waitstaff applications and made a few phone calls to schedule interviews. We’d hired a few people already, but we needed to hire more. I couldn’t put it off any longer.

  I’d just finished up when Jake poked his head into my office. “How about we both call it a night and I take you out to dinner to celebrate my first full day as a chef?”

  The idea was tempting, even if it did sound too much like a date and Jake didn’t mean it that way. If I didn’t have book club, I’d probably have taken him up on it. “Can I take a rain check? I already have plans tonight.”

  “Hot date?”

  “No such luck, unless your idea of hot is an evening at the library with four other women and a ninety-year-old man.”

  “Well, now. That would depend on the women.”

  I laughed. “I guess it would.”

  Jake perched on the edge of my battered desk. “What about tomorrow night? I’d really like to celebrate.”

  In all the conversations we’d had, he hadn’t once mentioned his fiancée in New York. I leaned back in my chair. “You mean you don’t have a hot date on a Friday night? I thought you were engaged.”

  The smile left his face. “Not anymore.”

  Nothing like putting your foot in your mouth, Max. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “So was I.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Yikes. Now I sounded like Kristie.

  “Not really. Let’s just say it didn’t work out, like a lot of other things.”

  Like hockey?

  Jake stood. “You didn’t answer my question. How about tomorrow night?”

  I didn’t have any reason to turn him down, so I said okay. After he left, I tried to push my second thoughts away. Just because Jake had no romantic interest in me was no reason not to go out with him. We were friends and coworkers. People who worked together went out all the time. We were just two friends having dinner.

  By the time I got home, I had almost convinced myself. Almost.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “The football players today are a bunch of babies,” Elmer Fairbanks said. “Back in my day, they didn’t have all the fancy pads and hard helmets like they do now. Bunch of sissies, if you ask me.”

  “Well, we didn’t ask you,” Candy said. “And Terry Bradshaw isn’t exactly one of today’s players.”

  It had been Candy’s turn to choose the book for discussion this month, so her choice had been a biography of Terry Bradshaw, who had been a Steelers quarterback in the seventies. I hoped Candy didn’t ask me any questions, because I hadn’t read the book. I scanned the dust jacket five minutes before the meeting. The discussion had barely begun when Elmer made his comment. Every month he had some complaint about the book, except when it was his turn, of course. I’d only been with the group for a few months, but I’d heard his picks varied between Zane Grey or Louis L’Amour and anything about World War II. I had a feeling he was a cowboy at heart. When he wasn’t wearing his 101st Airborne ball cap, he wore a Stetson.

  I liked the variety of genres. I’d been an avid reader as a child, but I’d had so much academic reading to do throughout college and grad school, I’d set pleasure reading aside. It was fun to get back to it. Ordinarily, I would have read this month’s book, even though it wasn’t a topic I was interested in. I had just gotten busy and forgotten about it until Kristie reminded me about the meeting. I was slowly learning the participants’ tastes in reading. Since I joined the group, Kristie picked the latest women’s fiction. Her mother, Pearl, liked historical fiction. Amanda, the children’s librarian, had chosen a young adult novel. It would be my turn next month—my first time—and I had no idea what to have everyone read. I did know, however, that whatever the book was, Elmer would be sure to complain.

  “I learned a lot, Candy,” Pearl said. “I didn’t know anything about Mr. Bradshaw before I read the book.”

  The other comments were more of the same. Needless to say, I didn’t add much to the discussion. When it seemed like we were winding down, I excused myself to use the restroom, and when I got back, Candy and Kristie were standing in the corner, deep in conversation. Everyone else was digging into the cupcakes Candy had brought. I grabbed one for myself and sat down beside Amanda.

  “These are delicious,” Amanda said. “And so cute with those little footballs. I should get some of these for next week’s story time. The children would love them.”

  Elmer made a face. “In my day we weren’t allowed to eat in the library. These kids
today—”

  “We know, Elmer,” Candy said, returning to the table with Kristie. She shoved another cupcake at him. “Stick this in your yap. The rest of us have something important to talk about.”

  “We sure do.” Kristie tapped me on the arm. “You’ve been holding out on us, Max.”

  I had no idea what she meant.

  “Why didn’t you tell us Kurt was murdered?” Kristie said.

  So that’s what they’d been talking about. I’d figured Candy would spill the beans eventually. Actually, I was surprised she’d kept it to herself this long. The problem was, I didn’t want everyone in Lawrenceville to know—at least not yet. Not until I had some proof to show my dad. I put my cupcake down on my napkin. “The medical examiner said Kurt’s death was likely accidental.”

  “I take it you don’t believe that,” Pearl said.

  Candy spoke up. “Of course she doesn’t. Tell them what you told me, Max.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Kristie said. “You’re not getting out of it now. You told me your place was getting vandalized. You didn’t say anything about murder. Spill it, girl.”

  “It’s true someone has been vandalizing the brewery. I didn’t believe Kurt at first, but now . . .” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. I should have been used to telling the story by now, but I wasn’t. “There were a few minor things that were more annoying than anything.”

  “Like what?” Kristie asked.

  “One morning, the mirror behind the bar was cracked when I arrived. Another time, some of the lights wouldn’t turn on and Kurt found a problem with one of the breakers. Just the other day, a water line had been cut. Things like that.”

  “They don’t sound minor to me,” Pearl said. “Couldn’t that breaker have started a fire?”