To Brew or Not to Brew (5 page)

“Hey, you were the one who said you wanted to be awed. I took you at your word.”

No wonder it had smelled so good in the brew house. I removed the covers one by one. The first dish held a juicy hamburger with the works on a pretzel bun with a side of some of the best-looking fries I'd ever seen. The next plate had a club sandwich made with marble rye and more fries. Three different sausages and a large mound of German potato salad rested on the third plate. The others contained
a grilled chicken sandwich, a steak hoagie, and the ever-popular Pittsburgh staple—the fried fish sandwich.

“How did you manage all this in a little more than an hour?”

He stood back, looking very proud of himself. “I made some of this at home. After I left you last night, I asked myself,
What would Max have on her menu?
I came up with a list of meals—which was much longer than this, by the way—went to the grocery store, then went home and started cooking.”

“In other words, you cheated.”

“I'd call it being prepared. Just like when I was a Boy Scout.”

“You were never a Boy Scout.”

“Okay. Just like hockey, then. There was a big opening up ice and I went for it. He shoots! He scores!”

I had to laugh. “You're really something, Jake Lambert.”

He winked. “That's what all the ladies tell me.”

The heat level in the room went up a notch, and not because of the cooking. That was not good if we were going to be working together. I couldn't let an old crush interfere with our working relationship. After all, I wasn't a teenager anymore. Far from it.

I didn't have time to ponder that any further, because I heard Candy calling my name. I poked my head into the pub. “In here.”

Candy pushed through the door. “Are you cooking? I smell something heavenly.” She stopped when she spotted Jake. “I didn't know you weren't alone, Max. I'll come back later.” She turned to go and I stopped her.

“You're actually just in time. You can help me sample these dishes.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude.”

“I'm sure. There's no way I can eat all this.” I took her by the arm and led her to the table where Jake was standing and watching our exchange. “Candy, meet my new chef, Jake Lambert.”

He reached out his hand. Candy took it, then dropped it like it was a hot potato. “Oh, my gawd!” she squealed. “You're—you're—”

Jake bowed. “The new chef.”

“No!” Candy said. “You're that hockey player! For the Rangers!” She fanned her face and turned to me. “Max, do you know who this is?”

“Of course I do. Jake and I grew up together.”

“I can't believe it.” She fanned herself again. “This is almost as good as meeting Troy.”

“Troy?” Jake seemed completely puzzled.

“I'll explain it later,” I said, knowing Candy meant her beloved Steeler.

Candy grabbed Jake's hand and pressed it to her face. “Mr. Lambert, I am so pleased to meet you.”

Jake's face was as red as the tomato on the hamburger. “Jake, please. My dad is Mr. Lambert.” He managed to disentangle his hand and took a step backward.

I probably should have warned him about Candy but, truthfully, I didn't realize she'd be so gaga over a hockey player, especially one who didn't play for the Penguins, let alone the dreaded Rangers. I was under the impression she was all Steelers, all the time. Come to think of it, though, I
vaguely remembered her wearing a Pirates cap at one point. She must be an equal opportunity sports fanatic. Before she went after Jake again, I steered her over to the door. “Why don't you have a seat in the pub and we can try some of this food?”

She took one last adoring glance at Jake and disappeared into the pub.

Jake started laughing. “Who—or better yet—what the heck was that?”

“Shh! She'll hear you,” I said, but I couldn't help laughing, too. I explained my next-door neighbor as best I could while I helped him re-cover the plates and put them on a tray, which Jake carried into the pub. I followed him through the door, fingers crossed that it all tasted as good as it looked.

T
he food was as good as I'd hoped. After we'd put a pretty good dent in the six dishes Jake had made, Candy reluctantly went back to the bakery, but only after Jake promised her an autographed hockey puck. We cleaned up while I filled him in on exactly what his duties would be. Before he left, I gave him all of Kurt's paperwork, which included information regarding the kitchen staff he'd been interviewing and training. I told him if he had any questions, we could talk about it tomorrow.

Five minutes after he left, my phone rang. It was my brother, Mike. “Jake just told me the good news,” he said.

“That was fast.”

“He wanted to thank me for giving him the heads-up about the job,” Mike said. “He couldn't say enough nice things about you.”

I felt myself blushing. “Well, that's good, since we'll be seeing each other every day.”

“Uh-huh.”

I'd never told him, but I had a sneaking suspicion he knew I'd always had a thing for Jake.

“How's the repair I made?” he asked.

Happy he changed the subject, I filled him in. He told me if I needed anything else to give him a call.

After I hung up, I checked the tanks. Everything was in order, and for once I didn't have anything pressing that needed attending to. Figuring this might be a good time to talk to some of the neighbors, I made sure the kitchen door to the alley was locked, then grabbed my purse and headed for the main entrance. Before I reached it, the door opened and Adam Greeley stepped inside. I set my purse on the bar. This would be one neighbor I wouldn't have to visit. It was definitely better on my pocketbook—I wouldn't be tempted to buy anything.

Adam owned three boutiques on the other side of the street. Handbag Heaven sold designer handbags—everything from Vera Bradley to Coach. Fleet of Foot sold—no surprise—designer shoes. His third store, This and That, carried a little of everything.

“I heard about the accident and wanted to offer my condolences,” he said.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I pulled out a bar stool and motioned for him to sit.

He shook his head. “I can't stay. I don't like to be away for too long. Can't trust anyone nowadays. My employees will steal me blind.”

Every time I talked to Adam, he seemed to get more
cynical. He was friendly to his customers, less so to his clerks. He'd always been cordial to me and to his other neighbors. I watched him as his gaze roamed the room. It was hard to guess his age, but I'd put him at mid-fifties. He was pencil slim, and he wore his steel gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was dressed in black pants, a red shirt, and a black tie, loosened at the neck. Very befitting a boutique owner.

“I see you finally got an alarm system,” Adam said. “Very wise move—especially the motion detectors. I don't see any cameras, though. I keep mine running whenever I'm not there.”

Considering his previous comment about his employees, it didn't surprise me.

The front door opened just then and my dad came in. “Am I interrupting?” he said.

“Not at all.” I made the usual introductions and the men shook hands.

“I'd best be going,” Adam said. “If you need anything, remember I'm right across the street.”

Dad and I sat down at the bar. “I stopped to make sure you were doing all right,” he said, “and to tell you Mr. Schmidt has arranged to have Kurt returned to Germany.”

I assumed that was what Kurt's father would do. I wouldn't get to attend his funeral, but maybe I could do some kind of memorial here. I liked that idea. “Have you heard anything from the medical examiner yet?”

He didn't answer right away, and I knew he was trying to decide how much to tell me.

“Dad, I'm not a child.”

“I know that. But you're still my little girl.” He patted
my hand. “We got the preliminary findings from the medical examiner.”

“And?”

“The ME said Kurt had some slight trauma to his head.”

“I was right.” I put my hands in my lap so my dad wouldn't see them shaking. “He was murdered.”

“That's not likely.”

“But you just said—”

Dad held up his hand. “Let me finish. The ME said the wound on his head could have occurred any number of ways, that, in his opinion, it was likely Kurt hit his head when he fell into the tank.”

I shook my head. No way. Not super-careful Kurt. “That's not possible.”

“We didn't find anything that someone could have hit Kurt with, and there was nothing to indicate that anyone else was even there.”

“That doesn't mean no one was.” Dad was silent, and I didn't like the expression on his face. There was something else. “What aren't you telling me?”

“Kurt hitting his head wasn't the cause of death,” he said finally. “The ME thought it was hard enough to daze him, though.”

My stomach lurched. He didn't have to spell it out for me.

“I'm sorry, Max.”

I tried to wrap my mind around what Dad had just told me. It didn't fit the events of that night. Kurt was in the kitchen making his torte. Why would he leave perishable cherries and whipped cream out on the counter, go into the brewery, and climb the steps to look into the mash tun? The answer was that he wouldn't. I didn't care what the
medical examiner thought. His conclusion was wrong. Kurt had been murdered. I couldn't sit any longer. I slid off the stool and paced back and forth. “What about Kurt's phone call to me?” I said. “It's too much of a coincidence that he said he found something and knew who was out to get us, and an hour later he's dead.”

“Do you know what that something was?” Dad asked.

“No. Kurt wanted to show it to me.”

“Do you know for sure someone was sabotaging the pub?”

“Not exactly, no. But Kurt did. He was sure of it, and I believe him.”

My dad sighed. “I know you don't like it, but unless I discover otherwise—or find some new evidence—it will be ruled an accident.” He got up and hugged me. “I'm sorry, sweetie. It's not what you wanted to hear. But if there's any new evidence, or something else comes up, we'll take another look. And definitely let me know if you have any more problems with vandalism.”

After he left, I collapsed into a chair. I was stunned. Not to mention angry. There was no way Kurt had fallen into the mash tun. Even if he hadn't been hit over the head, someone had pushed him into that tank. I just had to prove it.

*   *   *

T
he flower shop, Beautiful Blooms, was next door to Cupcakes N'at, so I decided to start there. I liked flowers, of course, but didn't buy them all that often. Usually, I'd drop a bouquet into a vase and promptly forget all about it until all that was left were sticks and wilted petals. The shop was owned by Daisy Hart, who was outgoing and
friendly and always had a smile on her face. I was sure she wasn't the one resorting to sabotage and murder, but she might have known something. I needed to order plants and flowers before the opening anyway, and this was as good a time as any to do it.

Daisy looked up when the bell on the door rang as I entered. “Max!” She dropped the lily she'd been trimming and rushed over to me. I wasn't too surprised when she pulled me into a hug. “I am so sorry about Kurt. Candy told me all about it. Such a horrible thing to happen to someone. I just can't believe it.”

“Thanks. I can't, either.”

Daisy looked like her name implied. She had shoulder-length blond hair that she wore in pigtails today. Together with her denim overalls, she could have been twelve years old instead of thirty. She took my hand and pulled me over to the glass counter, where she practically sat me down on a vintage piano stool.

The shop was decorated in a hodgepodge of vintage and hand-me-down items that somehow looked as if they belonged. There was even an old 1930s refrigerator that Daisy had taken the door off and now used to display small knickknacks and tiny bud vases. She pulled out another stool and sat down.

“I wanted to come over to see you,” she said, “but I didn't want to get in the way, and I didn't want to bother you.”

“You wouldn't have been in the way. I spent yesterday cleaning and today hiring a new chef.”

“Really? You hired a new chef?”

“You seem surprised.”

“It's just that, well, I didn't expect it. Especially not so soon.”

“I didn't have any choice with the opening so close. Besides, my brother recommended the guy, and I've known him all my life. It just seemed to be the right thing to do.”

Daisy got up and went behind the glass counter. “So you'll be opening after all?” She picked up the lily she'd been holding when I came in. “I thought—I mean, I heard—” Her phone rang just then and she answered it.

While she took care of business, I walked around the shop looking at the plants and flowers and wondering why Daisy seemed to think I wouldn't be opening the brew house. Was that what everyone was thinking? It wouldn't have surprised me. In the months I'd been working on the brew house, I'd come across more than one person who thought Kurt was really in charge. A female brewmaster was as alien as, well, an alien. I wasn't going to let that bother me now.

Daisy finished her call. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. Business should come first.” I smiled. “Although I do plan on being a paying customer. I'm going to need to order some plants, and maybe some special arrangements, for the opening.”

“Wonderful!”

I told her what I had in mind, and she showed me what she thought would work. I was more than pleased there would be no ferns. Not that I had anything against them, but I didn't want the pub to be anything like the yuppie hangouts of the eighties and nineties. I had painstakingly gone for a traditional pub look with a bit of industrial thrown
in for good measure. I wanted it to feel like the Allegheny Brew House had always been there. With the plank floors, the oak tables, the brass foot rail on the bar, and the exposed brick and ductwork, I liked to think I'd accomplished it.

When we finished, Daisy said, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, there is.” If I was going to find out anything to solve Kurt's murder, now was the time. “Have you seen anything strange going on near the brewery lately?”

“Strange? I'm not sure what you mean by that.”

“I mean anyone hanging around who shouldn't be. Someone going in when no one is there. That sort of thing.”

Daisy chewed her lip. “I haven't noticed anything. Other than the workmen you've had going in and out. But that's when either you or Kurt were there. Why?”

I couldn't very well come out and say Kurt had been murdered, especially when the police were calling it an accident. “We've had a few instances of vandalism. I was just wondering.”

“Probably kids. Every time I put bouquets outside, some little brat will go by and grab one. I finally wised up and stopped putting them out.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a dented aluminum baseball bat. She grinned. “The last time one of them tried to lift something from in here, I brought this baby out. They haven't been back since. You should at least get yourself one of these.”

I laughed. “It's not quite as dramatic, but I did have an alarm system put in today.”

“Now, why didn't I think of that? Of course, watching them run when I lifted the bat was a lot more fun.”

*   *   *

A
fter I left Daisy, I went home and retrieved my old Corolla from the parking lot. The poor thing probably felt neglected, since I hadn't driven it much lately. The upside to living and working in the same neighborhood was that I could walk most days. Unfortunately, I still needed a vehicle for everything else. The city has public transportation, but it didn't always go where I wanted to go. A car was much more convenient, especially when I needed groceries, which was where I was headed now.

Two hours later, I had restocked my fridge and cupboards and fixed a salad for dinner. I had eaten way too much of Jake's offerings at lunch, so I needed to make up for the excess in calories. Every extra pound showed on my small frame.

I'd had time to do a lot of thinking since leaving the flower shop. Daisy's surprise that I was still planning to open the brew house continued to bother me. I tried to recall her exact words. If I remembered right, she said she
heard
something. From whom? Candy liked to gossip, but it wouldn't have been from her. She knew my plans. Adam Greeley was a possibility, but he was more likely to complain about his employees. Dominic Costello was a better choice, but unless Daisy stopped at the Galaxy for a shot and a beer, he was probably out. I hadn't had a chance to talk to the other store owners yet to have opinions about them. Now that I'd given it some thought, I wasn't sure it mattered. It wasn't going to get me any closer to finding out who had murdered Kurt.