Tangled Up in a Brew Page 6

  “I’m here by seven or eight. Most days, anyway.” I unlocked the door and the detective followed me inside, where I punched in the alarm code and switched on some lights. “There’s a lot to do in the brewery even when the pub is closed.”

  “I have a few questions for you.”

  “Of course,” I said, although I couldn’t imagine what he needed to ask. Anything he needed to know about me he could just ask my dad. I’d given more than a full report yesterday and I was sure I hadn’t left anything out. I put my purse and keys on top of the bar. “I’m going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”

  “That would be great.”

  I led the way across the pub and through the swinging door into the kitchen. I pointed to a metal stool beside the stainless steel counter. “Have a seat.” I watched the detective out of the corner of my eye while I measured coffee grounds into the paper filter. His gaze seemed to take in everything in the room. After I poured the water into the machine and turned it on, I took the seat next to him. “Coffee shouldn’t take long.”

  Vincent Falk retrieved a small notebook and a silver pen from his shirt pocket and opened the pad to a blank page. “Tell me again what happened yesterday.”

  I went through the events exactly as I’d told my dad the day before. By the time I finished, the coffee was done and I poured us each a cup. I added cream and sugar to mine. Vince took his black.

  He sipped his coffee, then set the mug down and picked up his pen again. “How long have you known Jake Lambert?”

  “Almost my entire life. I was three or four years old when he and my brother Mike became friends.”

  “And what is your relationship now?”

  I wasn’t sure that was any of his business. “Why do you need to know that?”

  “For the investigation,” he said. “What is your current relationship with Lambert?”

  “We’re friends and he works for me.” I didn’t add which you already know.

  “Just friends?”

  For some reason the scene from the movie Young Frankenstein where Frau Blücher dramatically declared Victor was her boyfriend flashed through my mind. Although I thought of him as my boyfriend, to say the word aloud sounded juvenile to me. When I introduced Jake to anyone, I didn’t use the word. I just said This is Jake. “We’re . . . dating,” I told the detective. Even that sounded juvenile to me.

  “I see.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He took another drink before he answered. “It means I can’t believe anything you tell me about him.”

  I didn’t like his attitude. “I don’t lie, Detective.”

  Vince gave me a half smile. “Everyone lies, Miss O’Hara.”

  “I don’t.”

  “If I had a quarter for every time someone said they were telling the truth when it was a blatant lie, I’d be a very rich man. I expect to be lied to.”

  “That’s a very cynical thing to say.”

  “More like realistic.”

  “Not in my experience.” I drained my mug and pushed it aside. He’d decided I was a liar when he didn’t know a thing about me, and most likely didn’t want to know anything that might change his mind. This whole line of questioning was ridiculous. I got to my feet. “Are we finished here? I have a busy day ahead.”

  “Almost.” The detective stood and flipped his notebook closed. “I have one last question. How far would you go to protect your boyfriend?”

  My jaw about dropped to the floor. I couldn’t believe he’d just asked me that. “Are you serious?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

  “You can’t possibly think Jake had anything to do with this.”

  Vince slipped his notebook and pen back into his pocket. “Oh, I’m sure of it. It’s not a coincidence the victim died while eating Lambert’s food the day after you both had a run-in with him, and the same day he published that article about this place.”

  I jammed my hands into the front pockets of my shorts so I wouldn’t be tempted to slug him. “Have you even bothered to check how many others had run-ins with him? Or would that be too much work for you?” My face grew hot with anger. “Jake did CPR on Mobley, for heaven’s sake. Do you really think if Jake wanted him dead, he’d try to revive him?” I had a sneaking suspicion my dad had no idea his new partner was here and making accusations. “Have you talked to my father about your theory?”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “And I’m not going to,” I snapped. “If you want to know anything else, talk to my father. I highly suggest you mention this little talk to him before I do, because he’s not going to be happy with you going behind his back.” I stalked to the swinging door to the pub and held it open. He took the hint.

  At the front door of the brew house, Vince turned around. “I should have figured you’d go running to Daddy. Don’t think that just because he’s a homicide detective, he can protect you from justice. You and your boyfriend aren’t going to get away with murder. I plan on making sure of that.”

  * * *

  I hauled the fifty-pound bags of Munich two-row barley malt up the steel steps to the mash tun in record time. My anger at Vincent Falk had tempered a bit by the time I dumped the contents into the tank and switched it on. The rake in the bottom cut into the grain and I breathed deeply at the aroma rising from the mixture of malt and hot water. Just being in the brewery improved my mood. The sight of the five gleaming stainless steel fermentation tanks always made me feel better.

  While I worked, I tried not to jump to conclusions about my dad’s new partner, although he certainly was jumping to conclusions about Jake. It was obvious he hadn’t talked to Dad about his theory—if you could even call it that. Wild speculation was more like it. I knew enough about police work from my father to know he was going about it all wrong. No wonder the department had Dad showing him the ropes.

  After an hour had passed, I drained the liquid from the tank and recirculated it back to the top, where it filtered through the grain again. Then I added more heated water to be sure all of the sugars were removed, and transferred the liquid to the brew kettle. I was brewing a German Oktoberfest, so I added Hallertau Mittelfrüh and Tettnanger hops at the appropriate intervals.

  I thought about my assistant Kurt—who had died right here two months ago—every time I brewed, but this batch had a special significance. He had really looked forward to this particular brew. The fact that it was Kurt’s recipe made it all the more special to me. I’d have to find a way to commemorate it during our celebration in September, although I was sure he would have complained about my making a big fuss.

  While the wort boiled, I pulled out the hose and began the cleaning process. Most people don’t realize that a good part of a brewer’s day is spent cleaning. The tanks and hoses must be immaculate. A batch of beer will quickly be ruined by contaminated equipment. By the time I finished with the mash tun, the wort was ready to move to the fermentation tank, where I added the yeast. Since Oktoberfest was a lager, I’d let it ferment about six to eight weeks.

  I made one last check of all the tanks, then headed back home to shower. I’d have just enough time to make it to Mass before the festival, which would make my brother Sean happy.

  * * *

  When I drove up to our festival booth in Jake’s truck, I noticed the crime scene tape still surrounded the area around the judging table. I shivered at the sight. It was a reminder a man had died here and no matter how despicable he was, someone had taken his life. And Detective Vincent Falk thought Jake and I had something to do with it. Last night when Kristie, Candy, and Elmer tried to tell me I had something to worry about, I hadn’t really believed them. Now I wasn’t so sure. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to my dad yet about Vincent’s little visit this morning.

  I hadn’t spoken to Jake yet, either. He was probably on t
he way to the airport to pick up his parents. Although they’d made the move to Florida last year, they kept their house here. It was where Jake was living now. A win-win situation for all of them. Jake planned on bringing them down to the festival later today to meet up with my family; then when the festival was over at five, we would all meet for dinner at my parents’ house.

  In the meantime, I was on my own.

  When I got out of the truck, the other brewers were in varying stages of preparation for the crowds that hopefully would descend on us today. I climbed into the truck bed and rolled one of the stainless steel half barrels to the edge. This was when it came in handy to have some muscle around. Fortunately, I was stronger than I looked. By the time Dave Shipley noticed I was lugging kegs by myself, I had just lifted the last one to the ground.

  “I didn’t realize you were by yourself,” Dave said. “Where’s Jake?”

  I filled him in.

  “Well, let me help you get these on ice, then.”

  Dave retrieved the tubs and ice from the back of the truck. While we worked, he asked, “Have you heard any more about what happened yesterday?”

  I dumped some ice around one of the barrels. “Nothing, other than my dad’s new partner asking me a bunch of questions this morning.”

  “What kind of questions? Like who do you think killed the guy?”

  I shook my head. “Not exactly. He seems to think Jake and I did it.”

  “He can’t be serious,” Dave said. “You and Jake. Your dad’s a cop for crying out loud.”

  “He was serious all right, although he did stop short of telling me not to leave town.”

  Dave put a barrel in place behind the table in my tent. “What did your dad say about it?”

  “I haven’t talked to him yet.” I poured ice over another keg. “I expect he’ll be here today. There will be people he’ll want to question—plus my whole family is coming down later. When Vinnie the Viper left this morning—”

  “Vinnie the Viper?”

  “That’s my name for Detective Falk.”

  Dave laughed heartily. “I like that.” He put the next barrel in place. “Your dad will straighten him out.”

  “That’s the thing,” I said. “My first thought was to tell my dad, but now I’m not so sure. He has to work with the guy and I don’t want to cause trouble between the two of them. I got the feeling there’s enough tension there already. Vinnie’s attitude might just be because he’s inexperienced.”

  “Or maybe he’s just a jackass.” Dave lifted the last barrel into place. “I hope you don’t mind a little advice, ’cause I’m gonna give it to you anyway. I’ve seen guys like Falk before. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. You were right with the viper description. He’s got higher aspirations than being a junior detective. I’ll bet you anything he thinks this case is his ticket to a promotion and he’ll step on anyone and everyone to get what he wants.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” I let out a sigh. “I have to give him the benefit of the doubt, though, because of my dad. Even if he’s sure we had something to do with Mobley’s murder, the truth will come out and he’ll see he’s wrong.”

  “I hope you’re right and I’m wrong about the guy.” He gave my arm a quick squeeze. “In the meantime, watch your step with him.”

  “I plan on it.”

  “Plan on what?” Dwayne Tunstall’s voice came from behind me. I hadn’t seen him walk up.

  “Crawl back in your hole, Tunstall,” Dave said.

  Dwayne wasn’t deterred. “You’re talking about Reggie, aren’t you?”

  “This is a private conversation,” Dave said. “It’s none of your business.” He looked at me. “You okay now?”

  I could tell he was itching to get away from Dwayne. I nodded. “Thanks for the help.”

  As Dave walked back to his tent, Dwayne turned to me. “Were you talking about Reggie?”

  “No, it was somebody else,” I said, and left it at that. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about the visit from the detective this morning. It would be all over the festival grounds in a matter of minutes.

  “Well, you should be,” he said. “Everyone should be talking about Reggie. He was such a wonderful person and the best food critic that ever walked the face of the earth. At the very least, he was the best we ever had in Pittsburgh. The others can’t hold a candle to him.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Why are you so enamored with the man? I don’t understand. From what I saw, he wasn’t a nice person.”

  Dwayne sniffed. “He was nice to me.”

  I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Why?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  I opened one of the cardboard cartons I’d tucked under the table and took out a stack of small plastic cups. “He seemed like an equal-opportunity hater. Why would he treat you differently than everyone else?”

  “Maybe because I deserve it. He saw the genius in me.”

  Genius? Oh, brother.

  “The rest of you are just jealous. You can’t stand the fact that I’m the best and Reggie recognized that. And now he’s gone and I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.” He actually wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ll never get a fair shake now.”

  I might have felt sorry for him if I hadn’t known his history. “You’ll have the same chance as everyone else here. A fair chance.”

  He snorted. “Right. All you brewers are out to get me. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of yinz paid off those other two critics to make sure I don’t win. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of you poisoned Reggie.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not. It makes perfect sense. It’s the only way any of you—especially you—could win.” He pointed a finger at me. “Don’t think you’ll get away with it, either. I heard all those threats. I’m going to have a talk with those detectives.” With that, he turned and marched off.

  Great. Detective Falk was going to love that. I finished setting up, all the while thinking about the strange conversation I’d just engaged in. Dwayne had to be wrong that Reginald Mobley had truly liked his brews, not to mention liking Dwayne himself. I’d seen the way Mobley looked at him yesterday—like he wanted to squash him like a bug. Mobley’s words didn’t match what I’d seen in his eyes. He’d felt the same about Dwayne as everyone else. So why had he offered such effusive praise about Dwayne? It didn’t make sense.

  Unless Dwayne had something on him. That was a possibility. But what could it be? When Mobley had that run-in with one of his ex-wives, Dwayne knew all about her and their divorce. So either Dwayne was right and Mobley really was close to him, or Dwayne had somehow discovered something that Mobley didn’t want revealed. I was betting on the latter.

  CHAPTER SIX

  During the first hour of the festival I barely had time to breathe, let alone think much about what Dwayne might have had on Reginald Mobley. The crowds were much heavier than the previous day. I hoped it was because word got around about the great beer and not because everyone wanted to see where a man was murdered.

  I talked to Jake briefly when he called to say he was on his way after getting his mom and dad settled at home. His parents were tired, so instead of Jake bringing them to the festival, they were going to rest for a while and join us at my parents’ house later. Nicole called me right after that to see if I needed her to pick anything up. I told her we had plenty of beer at the moment, but we were running short on plastic cups for the samples. She really was a gem and once again I felt extremely lucky to have her working for me.

  As busy as I was, I was enjoying myself. It was fun to interact with the public and teach them a bit about craft beer. Everyone seemed happy to be there and I’d gotten many compliments on my offerings—especially my citrus ale. Maybe it was because of the hot sunny day, but
it was the number one beer everyone who stopped at my booth wanted to sample. I’d run into only one surly person so far. He was underage and loudly voiced his displeasure when I refused to serve him. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t have “just a little.” When I mentioned that maybe one of the off-duty officers might be able to explain it to him, he stalked off.

  I was tapping another keg of citrus ale when Jake arrived at two. He kissed me on the cheek and said, “Hi, beautiful.”

  He needed to have his eyes examined. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  Jake grinned. “How did you guess?” He held up a paper bag. “But I don’t bring any of them a sandwich.”

  I hadn’t even thought about eating, but now my stomach growled as I peeked into the bag. Turkey on whole wheat. Yum.

  “It looks like it’s been busy,” Jake said.

  “And this is a lull. For a while, the lines were three deep.” At the moment there were only a few people sipping their samples.

  “I’ll take over for a while,” he said. “Why don’t you take a break? Go find a nice quiet spot to eat your lunch.”

  I took him up on his offer. He’d learned a lot about brewing in the last two months, so he’d be fine explaining the brews. I made sure all my staff—Jake included—knew enough about our offerings that they could answer any questions customers threw at them. I did want to tell him about my visitor at the pub that morning, but now wasn’t the time. It wasn’t exactly a good idea to mention we were suspects in a poisoning when we were pouring beer samples and might be overheard. It could wait until later.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from our cooler, then wove through the crowd searching for a place to sit. Although some picnic tables and benches had been set up here and there, all of them were occupied. I finally settled for a concrete barrier at the edge of the parking lot. Not exactly comfy, but at least it was somewhat quiet. I could still hear the murmur of the crowd and the traffic on Penn Avenue, with the occasional honking horn. While I ate, I thought more about what Dwayne could possibly have had on Mobley. I discarded every idea I came up with. None of them seemed to fit. It had to be something big—otherwise the critic would have told Dwayne to go stick it. It had to be something big enough to ruin him. I just couldn’t figure out what.