by Joyce Tremel
I couldn’t help smiling at Candy’s observation. “That about sums it up.”
“She must have more money than brains. No wonder the city turned her down.” She pointed to the paper in my hands. “What do you think she’s up to now?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out.”
“Does this mean Dom is off your list?”
“Not at all,” I said. “He’s still at the top, but Frances Donovan is a close second. Especially if her by any means necessary includes murder.”
“So, you’re going to the meeting?”
“I sure am. Care to join me?”
Candy grinned. “Honey, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. This is going to be fun!”
I had a feeling it would be far from fun, but I had to see what Frances had planned. Even if she wasn’t the violent type, that didn’t mean she hadn’t been the one breaking into the pub. Or she could have had someone do it for her. In any case, I needed to find out what this group was up to.
We chatted for a few more minutes while I paid for my blueberry muffin. She interrogated me about my dinner with Jake. She still didn’t believe me that nothing had happened between us. I skipped telling her about the call from his ex-fiancée. That was Jake’s business, and I was sure he wouldn’t want all of Lawrenceville to hear about his love life. I definitely didn’t mention the little kiss on the forehead he’d given me last night.
When I got outside, I stopped to open my umbrella and noticed that all of the businesses up and down the street—with the exception of mine, of course—had bright blue papers stuck in their door handles. The rain had slowed, but most of the flyers were wet and possibly unreadable. It didn’t bode well for a large turnout Thursday night—not that I expected many of my neighbors to go. It would be interesting to see who did.
I’d already had coffee before I left my loft that morning, so I skipped my usual jaunt to Jump, Jive & Java. I’d stop later to get my favorite barista’s take on Frances Donovan’s quest to stop me from opening. I imagined Kristie would have a few choice things to say. After dropping my purse, jacket, and umbrella off in my office, I took my muffin to the kitchen and warmed it up in the microwave, then went back to my desk. Nicole was due in at eleven for her first day, and I worked on getting all the necessary paperwork ready for her to sign. When I had everything in order, I headed to the brewery.
This was the part of my job I liked the best. It was so peaceful here in the morning, and there was always a lingering scent of grain and yeast in the air. I checked the pressure and temperature gauges on the fermentation tanks. Everything was as it should be. I didn’t have time to brew a new batch today, but I lugged the malt I’d need for tomorrow over to the mash tun. I wondered if I’d ever be able to look at the tank without picturing Kurt. I doubted it.
The morning passed quickly. Jake came in at ten. He had two part-time kitchen workers coming in for training that afternoon, which meant more paperwork. He offered to help, so I showed him what needed to be filled out for each employee. When Nicole came in at eleven, I introduced her to Jake. He took a step backward after I made the introduction, probably bracing himself in case she had the same reaction as Candy. Nicole didn’t seem to recognize his face or his name. She signed all her forms, then I showed her around. She had some good ideas for making a few things more efficient.
After the tour, Nicole and I returned to my office. “One of your first duties will be to learn about the beers we’ll be brewing and serving here. You’ll need to know as much about them as you do the food we’ll serve. Many of the people who come in here will know a lot about craft beer and they’ll expect you to know more than they do. Some of them will even try to trip you up.”
“And don’t forget the know-it-alls who don’t know a thing but think they do,” she said.
I laughed. “I’ve met a few of those.”
“I just let them think whatever they want. You can’t change their minds.”
“Exactly.” I liked Nicole more every minute. She was going to be a great asset. I slid a sample menu across the desk. “You can start with this. There’s a short description in here, and I’ll have more for you later.”
“Can I take this home with me?”
“Sure,” I said. I had a feeling she’d have it memorized by tomorrow.
With Jake occupied in the kitchen and Nicole reorganizing the area where we’d be storing menus, napkins, and the like, I had two hours to myself before my scheduled interview.
Time to talk to more neighbors.
* * *
The Lawrenceville Good-Value Hardware Store was located next door to the Galaxy. I hoped Dominic Costello was busy in his bar and didn’t have an urgent need to buy a hammer while I was in the store. I’d only met the owner, Ralph Meehan, a handful of times, but he was always pleasant enough. The small store was packed full of everything imaginable. If you needed it, he most likely had it and knew exactly where to find it in the hodgepodge. Try to get that kind of service in one of the big-box stores.
Mr. Meehan stood behind a faded Formica-topped counter at the back of the store. I picked my way down a narrow aisle. A clerk on the other side of the store was helping a customer with what appeared to be a rather large order. Mr. Meehan was on the phone. He held the receiver between his shoulder and his ear while he flipped through a four-inch-thick catalog of some sort. The way his head tilted to the side made a strand of his gray comb-over fall in the wrong direction. It was hard not to stare as it bobbed up and down with every word he spoke. Thankfully he hung up the phone before I became too mesmerized.
“Well, if it isn’t the little beer maker,” he said.
There was an odd note to his voice, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
“What do you want?” he asked.
That was definitely a tone I hadn’t heard him use before. “Actually, I’m here to see you if you have a minute.”
He pushed the catalog he’d been using aside. “I don’t if you’re here to harass me.”
Harass him? “Why would I do something like that?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” He crossed his arms over his navy blue polo shirt.
“Mr. Meehan, I have no idea what you mean.”
“I know all about your visit next door.”
The lightbulb flashed on. He’d been talking to Dominic Costello.
“You should be ashamed of yourself. I thought you were a nice young lady, but what you’re doing to Dom—”
“Me? I haven’t done anything.”
He shook his finger at me. “He’s been a good neighbor to me for more years than I can count. That bar is his livelihood—at least it was until you came along. I thought he was wrong about you, but threatening to run him out of business . . . I never thought you were that kind of person.”
“Whoa. Hold on a minute.” I placed my palms on the counter, mainly to keep my hands from shaking. “I don’t know where you got that information, but it’s not true.”
“Dom told me himself. And I saw you go in there yesterday and run out not five minutes later.”
I kept my voice calm and measured. “Mr. Meehan, I have never done anything to Mr. Costello. For some reason, he’s gotten it into his head that I’m out to get him. Nothing could be further from the truth. I went to see him yesterday to try and smooth things over. He threatened me—not the other way around.”
“Likely story.”
“It’s true,” I said. “You can ask the two guys who were in the Galaxy when I was. He threw them out, too.” I wished I’d have gotten their names, but it was too late to worry about that now. “Dominic Costello threatened to do everything in his power to keep me from ruining his business. I can’t help but wonder if that everything included murdering my assistant.”
Mr. Meehan’s eyes narrowed. “I thought your assistant died in an accident.”
“Now you’re being fanciful. If it was a murder, it’d be all over the news.”
“Not necessarily.” I was kicking myself for opening my big mouth. I shouldn’t have said anything at all to someone I barely knew. And a friend of Dominic Costello to boot.
“Right.” Mr. Meehan’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Even if, for some reason, the news vultures didn’t get wind of a murder, Dom had nothing to do with it. He’s a peaceful person. He’d never kill anyone.”
“If he’s so peaceful like you claim, why did he threaten me?”
“Simple answer: He didn’t. End of story.”
I realized this was pointless. I wasn’t going to change his mind. Not without proof. “I’m sorry you don’t believe me, but every word I said is true.”
He snorted. “You’d better leave Dom alone or else. If I hear about you harassing him anymore, you’ll be sorry.”
“That went well,” I mumbled to myself when I was back outside. I’d gone there to find out more about Dominic Costello. Instead, I now had a second person threatening me. I turned the corner onto Butler Street and headed to my next destination. Hopefully I wasn’t going to make it three.
* * *
Crazy Cards was situated next door to Beautiful Blooms. As I reached the flower shop, Daisy was arranging a new display in the window, and I waved to her. She motioned for me to come in. She darted to the back of the shop and returned with the bright blue flyer Frances Donovan had passed out.
“Did you see this?” she asked.
“Candy showed it to me this morning.”
“There’s no way anyone’s going to let her put a museum in that building.”
“Are you going to the meeting?” I said.
Daisy nodded. “Definitely. And I’m sure Adam will, too.” Her voice softened and there was a hint of a blush in her cheeks when she said his name.
I put two and two together. “I didn’t know you and Adam were seeing each other.”
The blush became more pronounced. “Is it that obvious?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “We’re keeping it hush-hush for now.” She smiled. “Actually, I’d like to shout it from the rooftops, but Adam thinks we should be discreet—you know how people gossip. He’s afraid it would affect our businesses.”
I wasn’t sure how any gossip could possibly affect them, but that sounded like Adam. Image meant a lot to him. In her overalls and T-shirts, Daisy didn’t exactly fit with Adam’s polished look. Then there was the twenty-year age difference between them. They were certainly an interesting combination. For her sake, I hoped it worked out. “Your secret’s safe with me,” I said.
I asked if she’d be coming to Kurt’s memorial service that evening. She said she was planning on it and she’d see me there. We talked another minute before I was able to make my exit and go next door.
Crazy Cards was a misnomer. It was more of an all-purpose paper goods store. They had a few racks of cards like you’d see in any card store, but they were known for the large quantity of handmade ones designed by local artisans. They also carried items to make your own cards, along with scrapbook and stamping supplies. Annie Simpson, the proprietor, was one of those women who made it hard to guess her age. She was slender and a head taller than me. Probably in better shape, too. She belonged to a rowing club across the Allegheny River in Millvale and rowed several times a week.
Annie sat on the scuffed hardwood floor, pulling cellophane packets of plain card stock from the cardboard box in front of her. “Hi, Max,” she said, jumping to her feet.
“You didn’t have to get up,” I said.
“Yes, I did. My butt was getting numb.” A strand of light brown hair came loose from her ponytail and she tucked it behind her ear. “What can I do for you?”
Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure how to ask what I wanted to ask. Then I spotted the infamous blue flyer in the trash can beside the cardboard box. It was covered with discarded cellophane wrappers, but the bright color stood out. I pointed at the can. “I see you got one of those, too.”
“I put it exactly where it belongs.” Annie shook her head. “Such nonsense.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to the meeting?”
“I might have if I wasn’t working. I have scrapbooking class that night.”
“Will you be able to make it to the memorial service tonight?”
“I’d like to, but tonight is stamping class.” She made a face. “I don’t know why I scheduled two classes in the same week. On second thought, I do. Money. Pure and simple. I make more holding the classes than I do the rest of the week in the store. And everyone in the class needs to buy supplies for the next one, so they get them before they leave.”
“It sounds like you’re here a lot of evenings,” I said. This was my opportunity. “Have you noticed any unusual activity around the brewery at night?”
“What do you mean by unusual?”
I told her about some of the vandalism that had occurred. I didn’t mention murder, though. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I had with Ralph Meehan.
Annie tilted her head as she thought about it. “I can’t say that I have. I haven’t seen anyone in the neighborhood who doesn’t belong here. And I haven’t seen anyone paying particular attention to your place.”
I was disappointed, although I’d figured that’s what her answer would be. No one had seen anything. I bought a couple of packs of thank-you cards to send out to anyone who came to the service tonight. Kurt wouldn’t have cared, but I felt it was the right thing to do.
When Annie finished ringing up my purchase, she said, “I just thought of something. I doubt it means anything, though.”
I’d take what I could get at this point.
“It was a day last week when I was closing up. I can’t remember if it was Wednesday or Thursday night. I guess it could have been, either. I was here late both nights.” She paused for a second. “Wait. It was Wednesday. I remember because I went to the grocery store when I left and I was mad because it was the last day of the sale and they were out of the buy-one-get-one-free crackers.”
I wanted to tell her to get to the point, but I restrained myself.
“A guy was in front of the pub. He tried the door, and when he found it was locked, he rattled it a few times. Then he looked in the window—I guess to be sure you were really closed, then he left.”
She was right. It was nothing.
“I didn’t think anything of it. He kept going past your parking lot and down the street.”
I perked up a bit. In the direction of the Galaxy, maybe. “Do you remember what he looked like?”
Annie shrugged. “He looked vaguely familiar, like I’d seen him in the neighborhood before. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup, though. He was an older bald guy.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing?”
“Jeans and a white T-shirt. I think.”
A wave of excitement went through me. An older bald guy wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Unless Annie was describing Mr. Clean, it had to have been Dominic Costello.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Like it or not, I was going to have to pay the Galaxy another visit. I was itching to go now, but the rest of my day was booked. Plus, after Saturday’s incident, I wasn’t about to go alone. One thing I’d learned from having a police officer for a father was the importance of having backup. I didn’t always take his advice, but this time I would, especially since I wanted to confront Dominic and find out why he had been trying to enter the brew house. Wednesday was the night the alarm had gone off and someone had tampered with the sink trap in the kitchen. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Dominic had tried to get in that very night.
When I got back to the pub, Nicole was polishing the oak bar to a shine and the aroma
of whatever Jake was cooking made my mouth water.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Nicole said. “I finished my other project and needed something else to do.”
“Let me see. Do I mind that someone is cleaning besides me?” I tapped a finger on my lips and pretended to think about it.
Nicole laughed. “I guess not.”
“Seriously,” I said. “It looks great. You don’t have to work so hard on your first day, though. There will be plenty for you to do once we open.”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to being busy.”
My stomach growled just then. “Have you eaten lunch yet?” When she shook her head, I suggested we go and see what Jake was making.
I pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, and Nicole followed. Jake stood at a stainless steel table rolling out dough. I immediately recognized what he was making when I saw half-circle pasta pillows on a tray. “Pierogies?”
Jake grinned. “You guessed it. You ladies are just in time to taste some.” He wiped his hands on a towel, then lifted the cover from a pan that sat on the warmer. The aroma of onions and butter filled the air.
Nicole closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I think I may never leave this kitchen.”
Jake and I both laughed, and he said, “Maybe the boss will approve a transfer.”
“Not a chance.”
“Sorry, Nicole,” Jake said. “I tried.”
He placed pierogies on two plates, added forks, and passed a plate to each of us. “These are traditional potato-and-cheese pierogies.”
The half-circles were lightly browned from being sautéed in butter, as were the thin strips of onion. I cut off a corner with the side of my fork. The dough seemed tender and the filling was substantial. And the taste? Let’s just say I cleared my plate in record time. So did Nicole.
Jake handed each of us another plate. “Now try these and let me know what you think.”
These were definitely not traditional pierogies. They were still lightly browned, but sans butter or any kind of sauce. Something you could pick up with your fingers. Beside them on the plate was a dollop of ranch dressing. “I take it this would be an appetizer?”