To Brew or Not to Brew

by Joyce Tremel

  The tunnel seemed to go on forever, but it could only have been a few blocks. A quarter of a mile at most. As we walked, I searched for some kind of escape path but there was nothing. The only way out was back the way we’d come. We soon reached a set of concrete steps at the end of the tunnel and Adam ordered me to go up. There was a hatch at the top, and he reached overhead, slid the lock over, and pushed it open. “Out,” he said.

  I expected there to be buildings or something in this area, but it was eerily empty. I could barely make out Butler Street in the far distance. Between the street and where we now stood were gravel lots whose only occupants were weeds. If any cars had parked here, it had been ages ago. Railroad tracks ran directly beside us, and on the other side was a slight slope that led down to the river. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it. I had to think of something. And fast.

  Jake would be here soon. I was sure Adam wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. I couldn’t let that happen.

  Adam nudged me with the gun again. “We’re going down to the river.”

  “No, we’re not.” It wasn’t the smartest thing to say, but I wasn’t a good swimmer. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even like the water much. Especially water where I couldn’t see the bottom. The river was very deep—over twenty feet in spots, and the current was strong. I wasn’t going in without a fight. I had to delay what seemed like the inevitable. I turned so my back was to the river and planted my feet. Not only was I not taking another step, but my turning this way prevented Adam from seeing Jake when he came. If he came. “I’m not going anywhere near that river,” I said. “Not until I get some answers. You owe me that much.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but I’m asking you anyway. Why, Adam? I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you did any of this. Not the vandalism, and especially not the murders.”

  “Why? You want to know why?” he said. “That building should have been mine. Not yours, and certainly not that looney tunes history lady’s. I had it all worked out. I was going to expand and have five more stores. I even had blueprints drawn up. Then I went out of the country, and when I came back I found you bought the building. All my plans to sell my exclusive merchandise . . . gone.”

  “Don’t you mean your counterfeit merchandise? That’s why you hid the tunnel entrance, isn’t it?”

  “Gee. You’re as smart as you look. What else was I supposed to do?”

  I caught a glimpse of Jake’s head coming up through the hatch. I forced my gaze to stay on Adam so I didn’t give Jake away. “I didn’t even know about the tunnel until this week. I wouldn’t have cared if you wanted to use it. I never would have known your stuff wasn’t legit.”

  “It would have been a matter of time. But that wasn’t the point, anyway. That building was supposed to be mine. But you had to have your little brewery.”

  Jake was close. He crouched down waiting to make his move.

  “So you killed two people trying to drive me out.”

  “Soon to be three,” he said. “Kurt figured out it was me. I dropped my watch that night and he found it. He knew it was mine because he admired it once. I hid and listened while he called you. I had this with me.” He held up the bat. “I’d planned on using it on your tanks. Instead, I made a noise near one of the tanks, and when he came to check, I took care of him once and for all.”

  I was going to be sick. I took a deep breath and swallowed. Poor Kurt. Tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away. I was not going to let Adam see me cry. “What about Dominic Costello?” My mouth was so dry, I could barely get the words out.

  Adam shrugged. “A convenient patsy. He was the perfect fall guy, since he was so vocal about opposing you. But once again, my plans were ruined. I was in the brewery trying to decide what to smash that would be blamed on him. I planned to be long gone before he showed up, but he was early. When he didn’t see things my way I had to take care of him, too.” He motioned with the gun. “I’ve had enough of this. Time for you to take a little swim.”

  This was the moment Jake had been waiting for. He sprang up and tackled Adam from behind. They crashed to the ground. The gun flew from Adam’s hand and skittered down the slope. It made a splash as it fell into the water. I watched in terror as they rolled on the ground. Jake was much bigger, but Adam was strong. The bat lay on the ground near them but I couldn’t get close enough to get it.

  Jake was on top of Adam with one hand on his throat holding him down. He drew his other hand back for a punch. Adam grabbed Jake’s wrist and used it for leverage to pull Jake off him. Adam jumped to his feet. He grabbed the bat and swung it down toward Jake’s head. I screamed. Jake rolled away at the last second and the bat struck the ground with a clang. Jake kicked the bat out of Adam’s hands. It rolled to my feet and I snatched it up.

  Before Adam could go after Jake again, I drew the bat back with both hands and swung with all my might. The bat hit Adam’s elbow and I heard the bone crack. He fell to the ground screaming in pain. Then he passed out.

  The bat dropped from my hand and Jake caught me before I did the same. He held me and we stood like that until we heard sirens. “You called the police?” I said.

  “As soon as your call dropped I called your dad. He got your message and was trying to call you back. I told him what little I knew about Adam.”

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue.” His arm was still around my shoulders, and I leaned into him.

  He kissed me on my head. “I should be thanking you. That was one hell of a swing.”

  I looked up at him. He was grinning. “What?” I said.

  “Want to know what my first thought was when he hit the ground?”

  “Sure.”

  “She shoots and scores!”

  We were still laughing when my dad and the cavalry arrived.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Mike stood on a chair and tapped his spoon against the top of his glass. No one heard it over the din. I was behind the bar, and so far, opening night had been everything I’d dreamed it would be. We had a packed house. Every table was full, and it was standing room only at the bar. My entire family was there, including all my brothers. Mom was in seventh heaven with all her kids in one room. Mike tried again to get everyone’s attention, to no avail, so my brother Joey stood, put two fingers in his mouth, and let loose an ear-splitting whistle. The crowd fell silent in an instant.

  Mike shook his head. “Man, I really need to learn how to do that.” He was greeted with laughter. “Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate my baby sister over there. . . .” He pointed in my direction. “Max has worked like a demon. . . .”

  “Bad choice of words,” Sean hollered. He got a bigger laugh than Mike had. I guess no one expected a priest to be funny. They obviously didn’t know much about my eldest brother.

  “Sorry,” Mike said. “Max has worked really hard for this. For those of you who don’t know her, she trained for years to be a brewer, and if you’ve tasted the beer tonight, you know it’s paid off.”

  Someone yelled, “Hear! Hear!”

  “She’s had a rough few weeks, but she didn’t quit. She didn’t give up her dream. Thank you all for turning out and supporting her.”

  My face grew hot at the round of applause that followed. Mike jumped off the chair and headed my way. When he reached the bar, I wrapped my arms around him. “You are the best brother in the world,” I said. “But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll tend the taps for a while.”

  I protested, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I rinsed and dried my hands, then went to mingle with the customers. I went from table to table and tried to talk to as many people as possible. Everyone, with few exceptions, not only raved about the beer but loved the food as well. Jake’s buffalo chicken pierogies were the hit o
f the night. That made me so happy for Jake, who had been stuck in the kitchen most of the night. I was pleased at the comments about the waitstaff, too. At one point I overheard Nicole talking about our brews with a table full of guys who thought they were beer experts. She didn’t falter once, and she may even have won them over. I caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up.

  We closed the kitchen at eleven, and by midnight, there were only a few stragglers—most of them my family and friends. Two young guys sat at the bar trying their best to impress Nicole, who had taken over the taps. My sisters-in-law and my nieces and nephews all left at the same time. Sean had left an hour ago because he had early Mass in the morning, but my other brothers stuck around. Elmer had even put in an appearance earlier. Ken Butterfield had stopped in for dinner and so had Ralph Meehan.

  I sank onto the chair beside my mother at the table where she was sitting with Candy, Kristie, and Fran Donovan. Dad was at the next table with my brothers, and it sounded like he and Patrick were exchanging cop stories.

  Mom squeezed my hand. “I am so proud of you, sweetie. Tonight was wonderful.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” I said. “I can’t believe it finally all came together.”

  “Kurt would have been pleased.”

  He certainly would have been, even though we didn’t serve his kirschtorte tonight.

  Jake came up behind me, and a thrill went through me when he rested his hands on my shoulders. “It was a great night.”

  “I can’t help thinking it almost didn’t happen,” Candy said. “That creep was right under our noses and we didn’t see it. It makes my blood boil.”

  “And poor Daisy,” Kristie said. “Has anyone heard from her?”

  “I talked to her yesterday. She brought the rest of the plants over, but she’s not ready to face the public. She’s keeping the shop closed for another week.” Daisy and I’d had a good cry together yesterday. She truly loved Adam and was devastated that he had used her the way he did. We talked for a long time. “I think she’ll be okay,” I said. “She’s just hurting right now.”

  Mom got up and excused herself to corral the guys and call it a night. Jake took the seat she’d just vacated. He pulled the chair closer to mine and put his arm around me. We hadn’t talked about it, but his actions since the close call with Adam made me think he really did like me. And not as his friend’s kid sister.

  Fran Donovan was quiet, and I asked her if something was wrong.

  “I still feel terrible,” she said. “If I had told you earlier about those tunnels . . .”

  “Adam would have found another way in,” I said. “What he really wanted was this building. Besides, you didn’t build the tunnels.” I hadn’t told her my idea yet, and I figured now was the perfect time. “You know how you talked about a museum here?”

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “That was wrong of me.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” I smiled. “Actually, I think it’s a great idea.”

  Everyone at the table looked confused except for Jake, who knew all about it.

  Fran said, “I don’t understand.”

  “Despite what happened, those tunnels are part of this place and part of this city’s history. They need to be preserved. I propose we turn that big chamber down there into your brewing museum. Fix it up the way you see fit.” I grinned at the surprise on her face. “It’s all yours.”

  Fran worked her mouth but no words came out. A tear made a track down her face. Finally, she simply said, “Thank you.”

  * * *

  It was three in the morning and everyone was gone except Jake and me. We both stood behind the bar putting glasses away. I turned to Jake. “Do you believe I didn’t have a single glass of beer tonight?”

  “I didn’t, either.” He picked up two glasses. “We need to remedy that.” He filled the glasses with hefeweizen and handed me one.

  “This calls for some kind of toast,” I said, “but I think I’m too tired for words.”

  “You’re speechless. I should write that down. It doesn’t happen too often.”

  I laughed. “Very funny. Would you like to wear that beer?”

  “I’d much rather drink it. I have a toast.” He held up his glass. “To Max. The prettiest brewer I know.”

  “I believe I’m the only brewer you know. How about . . . to Jake. The best hockey player–chef I know.”

  “You forgot to say I was brawny.”

  I laughed. “Okay. To the best brawny hockey player–chef I know.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t work, either. Okay. I have one.” He held up his glass with one hand and placed his other hand on the small of my back and pulled me closer. “To the future and whatever it brings.”

  That I liked. I especially liked something I saw in his eyes. “Prost,” I said in German. I clinked my glass against his.

  “Cheers,” Jake said. “To the future.”

  RECIPES

  BLACK FOREST CAKE

  (kirschtorte)

  This is similar to the cake Kurt was trying to perfect, although he would have baked his from scratch.

  1 box chocolate cake mix, plus ingredients to prepare (or bake from scratch)

  2 20-oz. cans tart pitted cherries

  1 cup sugar

  ¼ cup cornstarch

  1½ tsp. vanilla

  3 cups whipping cream

  ⅓ cup confectioner’s sugar

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour two 9-inch round cake pans.

  Prepare cake mix according to directions on box. Pour batter into prepared pans. Bake according to package directions. Cool in pans on wire racks for 10 minutes, then remove from pans and cool completely. Drain cherries, reserving ½ cup liquid. Combine reserved liquid, cherries, sugar, and cornstarch in saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until thickened. Stir in vanilla. Split each cake layer in two lengthwise (so you have four), then crumble one layer and set aside.

  Make frosting: Beat 3 cups cold whipping cream and ⅓ cup confectioner’s sugar in a chilled bowl at high speed until stiff peaks form. Set aside 1½ cups for decorating.

  Place first layer on a plate. Spread 1 cup frosting over cake. Top with ¾ cup cherry mixture. Repeat with second layer. Top with third layer. Frost sides of cake with remaining frosting, then pat crumbs around sides. Put reserved frosting into a decorating bag with a star tip and pipe around top and bottom edges of cake. Place remaining cherry filling onto top of cake.

  Refrigerate until serving time.

  BUFFALO CHICKEN PIEROGIES

  This is the appetizer that wowed everyone at the Allegheny Brew House.

  JAKE’S FILLING:

  1 cup cooked shredded chicken (or 1 can chunk chicken)

  ⅓ cup Frank’s RedHot sauce

  1 8-oz. package cream cheese

  ½ cup ranch dressing

  ¾ cup shredded cheddar cheese

  Heat chicken and hot sauce in saucepan. Stir in cream cheese and ranch dressing and heat until cream cheese is melted and mixture is hot. Mix in cheddar cheese and cook until cheese is melted and mixture is hot and bubbly.

  BASIC PIEROGI DOUGH

  (Makes 12 to 15)

  2 cups flour

  1 tsp. salt

  1 egg

  ½ cup sour cream

  ¼ cup butter, softened

  Mix flour and salt. Beat egg, then add to flour mixture. Add sour cream and butter and work until dough loses stickiness. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 30 minutes, or overnight.

  Boil water in large pot. Roll dough on floured surface to ⅛-inch thick. Using a large glass or a cookie cutter (3- to 4-inch diameter), cut dough into circles. Place 1 Tbsp. filling on each circle. Wet edges of circles, fold, and seal completely using fingers or tines of a fork.

  Place pierogies in boiling water.
When they float to the top, remove with slotted spoon and drain. (At this point, they can be frozen until later, if desired. Place in boiling water again to defrost.)

  Heat 2 Tbsp. canola oil in a nonstick pan. Add pierogies and brown on each side. Drain on paper towels.

  Arrange on a plate and serve with ranch dressing for dipping.

  Keep reading for a special preview of Joyce Tremel’s next Brewing Trouble Mystery . . .

  TANGLED UP IN BREW

  Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!

  I looked at the printout in my hand one more time, then checked the number spray painted on the gravel in the formerly empty lot in Pittsburgh’s Strip District. “Thirty-eight. This is it,” I said to Jake Lambert, my assistant and chef—and more importantly, my boyfriend.

  Jake dropped the poles and tent parts he’d lugged from his truck. “Thank goodness. I was starting to think they skipped us.” He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. It was only nine in the morning and already the temperature had hit eighty. Not unusual for a mid-July day, and we’d dressed for the heat. Jake wore khaki shorts and a white tank top, while I opted for my ancient denim cutoffs and teal tank.

  It had taken us twenty minutes to find the designated spot where we were to set up our tent for the inaugural Three Rivers Brews and Burgers Festival. My brewpub, the Allegheny Brew House, was one of the fifty breweries and brew pubs invited to participate in what everyone hoped would be an annual event. There would be prizes for the best beers and for the best burger creation. I was entering three beers in the competition—a chocolate stout, an IPA, and my newly developed citrus ale.

  So far, Jake was keeping his burger recipe top secret. Even my friend, Candy Sczypinski, who owned the Cupcakes N’at bakery next door to the brewpub couldn’t get it out of him. And Candy had an uncanny knack for learning everyone’s secrets. Her information network rivaled the NSA’s. Maybe it was the fact she looked like Mrs. Santa Claus—if Mrs. Claus was a devout Steelers fan, that is. In any case, she’d never failed to get the scoop on anything going on in our Lawrenceville neighborhood—until now.