by Joyce Tremel
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I thought a celebration was in order. You know, you taking a chance on me.”
I knew he meant me hiring him, even though I wanted to imagine the other thing. “I don’t mind.”
The waiter poured and stood beside the table.
Jake raised his flute. “Here’s to a long and happy relationship.”
We clinked glasses and took sips, then Jake nodded to the waiter. The server set the bottle on the table and leaned over. “Congratulations. I hope you’re very happy and have a long life together.”
I almost dropped my glass. I felt the heat in my face and was sure it was fire engine red. Jake thanked the waiter and didn’t bother setting him straight.
“Jake! Why didn’t you correct him?”
His eyes twinkled. “Why should I?”
“He thinks . . .” I couldn’t even say it. He thinks we’re a couple. Engaged to be married.
Jake’s grin was wicked. “So? Is that such a revolting idea?”
My face flamed again. “No! Not at all.” On the contrary.
Jake picked up his menu. “Then it doesn’t matter what he thinks. I got over caring about what people think when I went to play for the Rangers. I was called a traitor—and much worse.”
I had been a huge sports fan as a kid and through college—I mean, who wouldn’t be with five brothers? I even had a Lynn Swann jersey that had been my dad’s. But living overseas for five years, I’d lost touch with American sports. Until I’d met Candy, that is. Believe me, she filled me in. I knew all the teams that were hated rivals to the Steelers, Pirates, and Penguins. The New York Rangers were up there near the top. I hadn’t realized, however, how that would affect a hometown boy playing for them.
“It was that bad?” I said.
He made a face. “Only if you consider threats to break my legs and arms, and shove the stick—”
“I get the picture. What about now? Do you still get threats, since you’re not playing anymore?”
He shook his head and smiled. “Nope. Now I’m like the prodigal son. Hometown kid comes back to his roots.”
“Do you miss playing hockey?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you retire so early, then? Wouldn’t you have had a few more years to play?”
“Things don’t always work out the way we want them to.” He opened his menu. “So what looks good to you?”
That topic apparently was off-limits. It wasn’t the first time he’d changed the subject when I asked about his retirement. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t talk about it. It wasn’t like I was a complete stranger, or a reporter wanting a big scoop or hoping for a scandal. I guess I’d just have to be patient. Or ask Mike, like I’d thought of doing before. Knowing my brother, though, he wouldn’t tell me anything if Jake told him to keep it a secret.
I stole peeks at Jake while I perused the menu. His baby blue oxford shirt was a nice contrast to his brown hair and eyes. He had wide shoulders and muscular arms. Not playing hockey sure hadn’t hurt his physique any. I forced my gaze back to the menu before he caught me staring.
All in all, it was an enjoyable but unremarkable dinner. We talked about plans for the pub, and Jake told me about a few new recipes he wanted to try. As we were leaving, Jake’s cell phone rang. I smiled at the ring tone—it was the song they played at the start of the Penguins’ games.
Jake wasn’t smiling, though. He frowned when he glanced at the display. I was standing right beside him and caught the caller’s name: Victoria. My stomach dropped at least to my knees, and I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. The supermodel. I’d forgotten about her. Totally and completely. He hit the ignore button and pocketed the phone.
“Don’t you have to get that?” I asked.
“It’s not important.”
“But isn’t that your—”
“Ex-fiancée,” he said before I even had the word out. “Yes. And I’m not interested in anything she has to say.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jake put up a hand. “Before you ask, I don’t want to talk about it. She’s history. End of story.”
As much as I wanted to hear the whole tale and not just the end, I kept my mouth shut. From the set of Jake’s jaw, he was still angry about the breakup. I couldn’t help wondering if Ms. Supermodel had dumped him or if she’d done something to cause Jake to break up with her. I told myself to mind my own business. He would tell me eventually. I hoped.
He was distracted on the ride back to my place and conversation was practically nonexistent. I gave up trying to get him to talk the third time he said, “Huh?” to one of my questions. I gave him credit for at least walking me to my door instead of just dropping me off. A good night kiss, or even a friendly peck on the cheek, was out of the question.
I couldn’t fall asleep, although I should have been exhausted. I had too much on my mind, between thinking about Kurt’s death, getting the brewpub up and running, the kitten and her broken leg, and now Jake’s situation. I finally dozed off around four and woke up at eight. I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. Extra strong. I had a lot to do today.
After I showered and dressed, I went to pick up Hops at the vet. I was shown to an exam room, and minutes later Doctor Perry brought the kitten in and put her down on the exam table. She scrambled over to me, holding her hot pink soft cast out in front of her like she was saying, “Look what I got!”
“She did great,” Doctor Perry said. “She’s quite a charmer. I had three staff members arguing about which one of them would get to take care of her.” He gave me instructions, told me to bring her back in two weeks, and to call if there were any problems.
“You look very fancy in your little pink cast,” I said to Hops when we got back to the car.
“Murp.” She circled a few times, then settled down in the passenger seat.
I debated whether to take her home or to the brewery with me, and I finally decided on the brewery. I’d put her in my office again. She’d be just as comfortable there, and I could keep an eye on her.
When I reached the brew house, I parked in an empty spot on the street instead of the lot around the side of the building. Between the businesses, shops, and apartments in the area, there was rarely a place to park on the street. Saturday was usually the worst day to find a spot, as most people were off work and took that day to hit all the stores. In other words, I got lucky. As I locked up the car, I spotted Daisy Hart coming out of Handbag Heaven. Her hands were empty. One of these days I’d have to find out how she managed to leave that store without buying anything. I avoided going in there because it was too tempting. I’d never come out of the store without doing damage to my credit card.
Daisy waved to me and kept walking, then suddenly turned around and dashed across the street to me. “What in the world do you have there?” She pointed at the kitten in my arms.
“This is Hops.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“I didn’t until two days ago.” I told her about finding Hops in the alley. When I mentioned her broken leg, Daisy’s face turned pale.
“You found her in the alley?” she said.
“Yep. Why? Have you seen her before?”
She shook her head. “No. You should be careful with it, though. You wouldn’t want it to bite you or anything.”
“Hops would never do that. She’s the sweetest little thing.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Daisy said. “I know someone who was just bitten by a stray.”
I told her not to worry, that Hops and I would get along just fine.
There was a short pause, then she said, “Well, I’ll let you go. You probably have a million things to do.” She turned abruptly and trotted up the street.
I stood and watched her until she entered her shop,
then unlocked my own door and went inside, the whole time thinking what an odd conversation that had been. Although she denied it, I got the impression she’d seen the kitten before. Not that it mattered. It also seemed strange that she didn’t want to stick around and chat—at least for a few minutes. Daisy was usually much more talkative.
I settled Hops into her makeshift bed in my office and put some food and water out for her, then headed to the brewery to check the fermentation tanks. The pressure and temperature gauges both had the correct readings. My brews were fermenting nicely. After that, I went to the pub kitchen to see what we had to eat, since I hadn’t eaten breakfast and it was now almost lunchtime. I found a nice, ripe banana and made a slice of toast to go with it. The only thing better would have been peanut butter, which isn’t one of the usual staples in a brewpub. Peanut butter and jelly might make a good addition to the children’s menu, which as of now consisted of chicken nuggets and a grilled cheese sandwich.
Properly fortified, I checked on Hops again. She was sound asleep on her blanket. I had two interviews scheduled that afternoon for waitstaff, but the first one wasn’t for an hour and a half. As busy as I’d been for the last couple of days, I hadn’t had much time to do any investigating. Even my stakeout attempt had mostly been a bust. It had been five days since Kurt died, and I hadn’t accomplished anything. I needed to do better. I owed at least that much to Kurt.
Part of my problem was that I didn’t have any real suspects. Dominic Costello was the only one who had made any kind of a threat. Who else was there? I could definitely rule out Candy and Kristie. What about Daisy? I couldn’t see that, either. I thought about my book group members. Elmer was cranky, but that was it. He’d even offered to be my bodyguard. Amanda wouldn’t hurt a fly. And Pearl—well, she was Kristie’s mom. No way. Candy had mentioned Ken Butterfield, but I couldn’t see him as a killer, either. What reason would any of them have for not wanting the pub to open?
I felt like a lightbulb went on over my head. That was the key. I needed to find out who had a reason to keep us from opening. I knew exactly where to start. I grabbed my purse, locked the pub, and headed up the street.
* * *
The Galaxy Bar was located a good block and a half from the Allegheny Brew House on a side street that crossed Butler. The exterior was a throwback to another era. The front was dingy yellow brick with tiny windows set high above the sidewalk. One window sported a neon Miller beer sign, the other advertised Pabst Blue Ribbon. The stained wood entry door had a round window and a doorknob that probably hadn’t been changed since the bar had opened in 1962. It was apparent that it hadn’t been cleaned since then, either. Above the door was another neon sign with the bar’s name.
I paused before going in. I didn’t expect Dominic Costello to welcome me with open arms. I only hoped he wouldn’t pick me up and toss me to the curb. I took a deep breath and opened the door. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior, which was even less attractive than the exterior, if that was even possible. I was pretty sure any loss of patrons wouldn’t be my fault. Dominic’s customers—all two of them—sat at the bar on ancient chrome and vinyl bar stools. Both of the men looked like they’d been there since the bar opened. They didn’t even turn around to see who had come in.
Dominic wasn’t behind the bar. I crossed the worn linoleum floor intending to ask the men where I could find him when he pushed through a swinging door at the far side of the bar. He was carrying a jar of pickled eggs, which he set none too gently on the counter when he saw me.
“You got a lot of nerve showing your face here,” he said. “Come by to steal a few customers?”
I bit my tongue to keep from saying, What customers? “I just wanted to stop by to say hello, Mr. Costello. We got off to kind of a rocky start and I want to fix that.”
“Yeah?” He glared at me. “You can fix it by getting the hell out of my bar. Better yet, get out of my neighborhood. We don’t need another beer garden here.” He turned to the two at the bar. “Right?”
The two at the bar both mumbled something unintelligible.
“Mr. Costello, I’m not opening my place to compete with you or anyone else. There’s plenty of room for all of us.”
“You’re wrong about that. Ever since I got wind of what you were doing over there, all I hear is everyone yapping their jaws about it. Talking about how you saved the brewery. About how nice it’ll be to have another pub with craft beer.” He used air quotes around craft beer. “Well, I got news for you.” He shook his index finger at me. “You didn’t save anything.”
“I never said I did.”
“For your information, those buildings burned down after those damn foreigners took over and moved to some hoity-toity city. There was nothing left to save. What do you got? A one-story office building? That ain’t no brewery. Steel City was a real brewery that kept this city alive for a long time.”
“Mr. Costello—”
“I don’t know why all you people have to ruin everything for us guys trying to make a living. I’ve worked hard all my life, and I ain’t giving up without a fight.”
One of the men at the bar turned around. “Hey, Dom. Cut the girl some slack. She don’t mean no harm.”
Dominic ignored him. “I buy my beer from real breweries. The ones that’ve been around for more years than you’ve been alive. If you think you can force me to start serving your sissy beer, you’re out of your mind.”
The other man turned around. “How do you know her beer ain’t good? My grandpap used to make a home brew that’d knock your socks off.”
His cohort laughed. “I bet it’s better than the swill you serve here.”
Dominic slammed his fist down on the bar. “That’s it. I don’t need your business anymore. Get the hell out.”
“Come on, Dom,” the first man said. “We were only kidding.”
“I wasn’t,” the other guy said.
“That’s it. I want all three of yinz outta here.”
No one moved.
“Now!”
He didn’t need to tell me again. I turned and started for the door as the other two slid off their stools. Dominic came up behind me and clamped a hand on my forearm. Startled, I froze.
“You think you can force me out? Well, you’re dead wrong.”
“I’m not trying to force you out,” I said, knowing my words would fall on deaf ears.
“Don’t you ever come in here again,” he said, practically spitting the words. “I will make you sorry if you do. And if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to keep you from putting me out of business.”
My heart pounded as I tore away from his grasp and almost ran outside. I stopped on the sidewalk and rubbed my arm where he’d grabbed me. Dominic Costello had already been at the top of my suspect list, and now I had a good reason to keep him there.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“When can you start?” I asked Nicole Clark. She was my second interview of the day and I liked everything about her. The first interview had not gone well. The woman had reeked of cigarette smoke, and by the yellow stains on her fingers I could tell she was a chain-smoker. That would have meant frequent smoke breaks and neglected patrons. She hadn’t even bothered to shower. Her hair was dirty and her jeans and T-shirt had seen better days. When she told me she would only work ten hours a week and insisted on full benefits, I thanked her and told her I’d be in touch.
Nicole was the complete opposite. Her shoulder-length light brown hair was clean and she was appropriately dressed in neat khakis and a pressed blouse. She was a junior at the University of Pittsburgh and happened to be a chemistry major. She not only had waitress experience, she was interested in brewing. The restaurant where she currently worked had started limiting her hours and she’d decided it was time to move on. I told her she could work as much as she needed to as long as it didn’t interfere with her studies. She was
ecstatic.
“I can start now if you’d like,” Nicole said in answer to my question. “I was so hoping I’d get this job that I already gave my notice. My boss told me to not bother coming back.”
“Are you serious? That’s no way to run a restaurant.”
“I couldn’t believe it either at first. But now I’m glad he did it.”
We decided she’d come in on Monday. The others I’d hired weren’t starting for another week, but the fact that she was without a paycheck changed my mind. She wouldn’t need much in the way of training other than to learn the menu and the beers we’d be serving, but there was plenty she could help me with. With the extra help, it was possible I could start growler sales before the pub opened. Kurt and I had planned on doing just that, but with his death, I’d put the idea on hold. We had a good supply of the half-gallon glass jugs known as growlers and enough beer brewed. The licensing wasn’t an issue, either—I’d received that a month ago. Growler sales would also get the buzz going for the pub.
After Nicole left, I went to my office and played with Hops, who was wide-awake and sitting on top of the paperwork on my desk. Having her leg in a cast didn’t seem to faze her one bit. When she tired of trying to bite my hand and settled down again, I made some more phone calls and set up a few more interviews. I then talked to several suppliers and verified deliveries for the following week. It seemed like everything was coming together for the opening. It was hard to believe it was only three weeks away. I called it a day after that, gathered up Hops and her belongings, and headed home.
* * *
I should have been exhausted, since I hadn’t slept well the previous night. Instead, I found myself pacing the living room in my apartment, the encounter with Dominic Costello on my mind. I’d been able to avoid thinking too much about it because I was busy all afternoon. And this evening I’d been on the phone, first with Mom, who wanted to make sure I was coming to dinner tomorrow, then with Candy, who was miffed I hadn’t called and filled her in on what she referred to as the Big Date. I assured Mom I’d be there and offered to make dessert. Although I tried to convince Candy otherwise, she still insisted Jake was interested in me. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d have been so sure if Jake hadn’t been a former sports figure.