To Brew or Not to Brew (7 page)

“That would be great,” I said.

The door opened just then and Kristie got up. “We can talk about it tonight—if you're still coming.”

I'd almost forgotten. Thursday was our monthly book club meeting at the Lawrenceville branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh. The group included Candy, who always supplied the goodies; Kristie's mother, Pearl; Amanda Morgan, the children's librarian; and Elmer Fairbanks, the only male in the group. I wasn't quite sure how Elmer had gotten involved other than that he was ninety-two years old and practically lived at the library. He'd attached himself somehow.

On the way to the counter, Kristie turned back and grinned. “If worse comes to worst, we can always stake out your place. I'm always up for an adventure.”

I finished my mocha thinking about her suggestion. It wasn't a bad idea at all. As a matter of fact, it might be just the thing. The more I considered it, the more I liked it. I left the coffee shop with a plan in my head and a smile on my face.

The rest of the day passed quietly. The kitchen staff interviews went well. Jake seemed to know the right questions to ask and in the end decided to hire one of the two candidates. The other one had no cooking experience at all—I was reasonably sure he was just hoping for free beer. He smelled like he'd already had more than his share.

After that, I checked the beer I had fermenting but put off starting a new batch of anything. I couldn't delay it much longer, but I still couldn't bring myself to use the mash tun. I told myself I'd brew tomorrow. Back in my office, I sorted
through some waitstaff applications and made a few phone calls to schedule interviews. We'd hired a few people already, but we needed to hire more. I couldn't put it off any longer.

I'd just finished up when Jake poked his head into my office. “How about we both call it a night and I take you out to dinner to celebrate my first full day as a chef?”

The idea was tempting, even if it did sound too much like a date and Jake didn't mean it that way. If I didn't have book club, I'd probably have taken him up on it. “Can I take a rain check? I already have plans tonight.”

“Hot date?”

“No such luck, unless your idea of hot is an evening at the library with four other women and a ninety-year-old man.”

“Well, now. That would depend on the women.”

I laughed. “I guess it would.”

Jake perched on the edge of my battered desk. “What about tomorrow night? I'd really like to celebrate.”

In all the conversations we'd had, he hadn't once mentioned his fiancée in New York. I leaned back in my chair. “You mean you don't have a hot date on a Friday night? I thought you were engaged.”

The smile left his face. “Not anymore.”

Nothing like putting your foot in your mouth, Max. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“So was I.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yikes. Now I sounded like Kristie.

“Not really. Let's just say it didn't work out, like a lot of other things.”

Like hockey?

Jake stood. “You didn't answer my question. How about tomorrow night?”

I didn't have any reason to turn him down, so I said okay. After he left, I tried to push my second thoughts away. Just because Jake had no romantic interest in me was no reason not to go out with him. We were friends and coworkers. People who worked together went out all the time. We were just two friends having dinner.

By the time I got home, I had almost convinced myself. Almost.

“T
he football players today are a bunch of babies,” Elmer Fairbanks said. “Back in my day, they didn't have all the fancy pads and hard helmets like they do now. Bunch of sissies, if you ask me.”

“Well, we didn't ask you,” Candy said. “And Terry Bradshaw isn't exactly one of today's players.”

It had been Candy's turn to choose the book for discussion this month, so her choice had been a biography of Terry Bradshaw, who had been a Steelers quarterback in the seventies. I hoped Candy didn't ask me any questions, because I hadn't read the book. I scanned the dust jacket five minutes before the meeting. The discussion had barely begun when Elmer made his comment. Every month he had some complaint about the book, except when it was his turn, of course. I'd only been with the group for a few months, but I'd heard
his picks varied between Zane Grey or Louis L'Amour and anything about World War II. I had a feeling he was a cowboy at heart. When he wasn't wearing his 101st Airborne ball cap, he wore a Stetson.

I liked the variety of genres. I'd been an avid reader as a child, but I'd had so much academic reading to do throughout college and grad school, I'd set pleasure reading aside. It was fun to get back to it. Ordinarily, I would have read this month's book, even though it wasn't a topic I was interested in. I had just gotten busy and forgotten about it until Kristie reminded me about the meeting. I was slowly learning the participants' tastes in reading. Since I joined the group, Kristie picked the latest women's fiction. Her mother, Pearl, liked historical fiction. Amanda, the children's librarian, had chosen a young adult novel. It would be my turn next month—my first time—and I had no idea what to have everyone read. I did know, however, that whatever the book was, Elmer would be sure to complain.

“I learned a lot, Candy,” Pearl said. “I didn't know anything about Mr. Bradshaw before I read the book.”

The other comments were more of the same. Needless to say, I didn't add much to the discussion. When it seemed like we were winding down, I excused myself to use the restroom, and when I got back, Candy and Kristie were standing in the corner, deep in conversation. Everyone else was digging into the cupcakes Candy had brought. I grabbed one for myself and sat down beside Amanda.

“These are delicious,” Amanda said. “And so cute with those little footballs. I should get some of these for next week's story time. The children would love them.”

Elmer made a face. “In my day we weren't allowed to eat in the library. These kids today—”

“We know, Elmer,” Candy said, returning to the table with Kristie. She shoved another cupcake at him. “Stick this in your yap. The rest of us have something important to talk about.”

“We sure do.” Kristie tapped me on the arm. “You've been holding out on us, Max.”

I had no idea what she meant.

“Why didn't you tell us Kurt was murdered?” Kristie said.

So that's what they'd been talking about. I'd figured Candy would spill the beans eventually. Actually, I was surprised she'd kept it to herself this long. The problem was, I didn't want everyone in Lawrenceville to know—at least not yet. Not until I had some proof to show my dad. I put my cupcake down on my napkin. “The medical examiner said Kurt's death was likely accidental.”

“I take it you don't believe that,” Pearl said.

Candy spoke up. “Of course she doesn't. Tell them what you told me, Max.”

“I don't think—”

“Oh, no you don't,” Kristie said. “You're not getting out of it now. You told me your place was getting vandalized. You didn't say anything about murder. Spill it, girl.”

“It's true someone has been vandalizing the brewery. I didn't believe Kurt at first, but now . . .” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. I should have been used to telling the story by now, but I wasn't. “There were a few minor things that were more annoying than anything.”

“Like what?” Kristie asked.

“One morning, the mirror behind the bar was cracked when I arrived. Another time, some of the lights wouldn't turn on and Kurt found a problem with one of the breakers. Just the other day, a water line had been cut. Things like that.”

“They don't sound minor to me,” Pearl said. “Couldn't that breaker have started a fire?”

“That would depend,” Elmer said. “But, yeah, it could.”

I continued my story. “On Monday night, Kurt stayed late to work on a cake recipe that he didn't think was perfect yet. He called me and said he knew who had been causing the problems. He'd found something but wouldn't tell me what it was. He thought it was better to show me.” My voice shook and I paused.

Candy patted my arm. “You're doing fine.”

“When I got there, I didn't see Kurt anywhere. I thought he'd left for some reason. I should have known something was wrong when I found cherries and whipped cream sitting out on the counter. Kurt would have put them in the refrigerator if he'd gone anywhere. I finally called his cell phone and heard it ringing in the brewery. I followed the sound and found him.”

The room was quiet when I finished. Elmer was the first to speak up. “Yep. Sounds like murder to me. If you need a bodyguard, young lady, I'm available.”

It was the nicest thing I'd ever heard him say. “Thank you, Elmer. I appreciate the offer. I'll keep it in mind.”

“What about suspects?” Elmer asked. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“There's a bar owner who thinks I'll run him out of
business.” I was surprised that Candy only made a face at this and didn't jump to his defense. “Other than that, I'm at a loss. Everyone else in the neighborhood seems to like the idea of the pub. It'll bring more traffic to their stores.”

Kristie agreed. “The busier the street is, the more business I get.”

“Same here,” Candy said. “It could be someone who doesn't want the extra traffic, or someone who plain just doesn't want a pub in there.”

Pearl drummed her fingers on the table. “The killer doesn't necessarily have to be someone from the neighborhood. Your father is a police officer, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Perhaps someone has a grudge against him and is taking it out on you,” Pearl said.

“I don't buy it,” Elmer said. “If someone had a grudge against her pop, he'd come after Max. He wouldn't waste his time messing with the pub.”

We went through a few more options but didn't come up with a thing.

One of the librarians opened the door and motioned for Amanda. She excused herself and said she'd be right back.

“I'm sorry we weren't more help,” Pearl said. “Is there anything else we can do?”

I was out of ideas. “Just keep your eyes and ears open, I guess.”

“I still think we should stake out your place,” Kristie said.

“Ooh,” Candy said. “That's a great idea. We'd be just like Charlie's Angels.”

“The Three Stooges would be more like it,” Elmer said.

I had to agree with him. The last thing I wanted was help to stake out my own pub. If I came right out and told them no, they'd try to talk me into it, so I just said, “Let me think about it.”

“What's to think about?” Kristie asked.

“I have to check my schedule,” I lied. We went back and forth a couple of times, with both Kristie and Candy insisting I never did anything but work.

Kristie attempted to get in the last word. “I say we meet at eleven tomorrow night. We can sit in the coffee shop and watch the front of the building.”

“What about the back?” Candy asked. “Someone needs to watch the alley.”

“You may as well count me in,” Elmer said. “I'll keep an eye on the back door.”

This was ridiculous. I jumped up. “No. Absolutely not. I appreciate the offer, and I appreciate you wanting to help, but I can't allow it. You're forgetting that Kurt was murdered in cold blood. I am not going to put any of you in danger just so you can play detective.”

Amanda took that moment to come back to the room. “I'm sorry about that. Someone had a question about a new children's book.” No one said anything, and she looked at me. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing important,” I said.

“Max is being a spoilsport, that's all,” Kristie said to Amanda. She turned to me. “I still think it's a good idea.”

Maybe it was, but every word I'd said was true. I couldn't risk anyone else getting hurt. Or worse. If anyone was going to stake out the pub, it would be me. Alone.

*   *   *

I
went right home from the library. I planned to take a two-hour nap, then head to the brewery. Other than last night when the alarm had gone off, I had no idea what time the break-ins had occurred. Whoever it was seemed to know my schedule—or at least when the brewery was empty. Except for the night Kurt was killed, that is. Had the killer expected it to be empty? Or had he gone after Kurt because Kurt had figured out his identity?

I changed into old jeans and a T-shirt, stretched out on my bed, and closed my eyes, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. I tried some deep breathing but I was still wired and couldn't fall asleep. Thirty minutes later, I gave up. I guessed I'd start my stakeout early.

Butler Street was busy no matter the time of day or night. It was one of the main arteries through Lawrenceville and eventually merged with Penn Avenue, which ran into downtown Pittsburgh. Between the cars driving by and those that were parked, my car wouldn't be the only one on the street. Not that my old Corolla was all that recognizable. I just didn't want Kurt's killer to see it. If he knew it was my car, he might change his mind. I didn't want to park in the lot beside the pub because it would be too obvious, even though that would be the best vantage point to see both the front and back of the building. Parking on the street would limit me to watching the front of the pub only. If I couldn't find anything on the street, my default plan was to park in the lot across the street beside the deli. I drove around the block once before choosing a spot three storefronts up on
the opposite side of the street. It was late, so the deli, as well as Adam's boutiques next to it, was closed.

I could see the front door and windows easily from my vantage point. If the killer had stolen Kurt's keys and tried using them on the front door, he'd have a surprise coming. I realized then I should have brought a camera with me. I could always use the one on my phone, but there was no zoom feature on it. I made a mental note to bring the camera next time. If there was a next time.

Shortly after eleven, a police car drove by and slowed as it passed the pub. I slid down in my seat, even though I was on the opposite side of the street and the officer was looking in the other direction. The last thing I needed was for my dad to discover what I was doing. By midnight traffic had dwindled a bit, and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. Not to mention the fact that I'd forgotten to bring a jacket and I was shivering because the temperature had dropped into the fifties. I didn't want to call it a night just yet, so I decided to spend the next hour inside the pub. I'd have to keep the alarm off, but I could always use the panic-alarm button if I had to. Or I could lock myself in my office and call 911.

Inside, I locked the door behind me and took a quick walk-through. Finding everything in order, I went to my office. I flipped through the bills that were due and put them in the order I wanted to pay them. I jotted down some notes for what I needed to do over the weekend and soon found myself nodding off. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. I'd just rest them for a few minutes.

When I opened my eyes again, it took a few seconds to
remember where I was. I glanced at the clock on the wall—two o'clock. I'd been asleep for an hour. Sheesh. Time to go home. I gathered up my purse and keys, then went to make sure the back door was locked. I rattled the knob, and as I turned away I thought I heard a scratching sound outside the door. I shook the knob again and the sound repeated. I did so once more, but this time the sound was accompanied by a faint mew.

“What the heck?” I said out loud. There was a dusk-to-dawn light outside the door, but I flicked on another light anyway, then unlocked the door and eased it open a few inches. A cat—really just a kitten—sat outside. It let out the most pitiful mew I'd ever heard, and my heart melted. We'd had various dogs growing up and I'd always wanted a cat, but my mother had insisted a dog was more than enough. With the large household she had to take care of, she was probably right.

The kitten meowed again. It was holding one front paw up and the leg didn't look quite right to me. I reached down and scooped him up. “Well, hello, little fella.” I turned him over on his back and held him like a baby. “Make that hello, little girl. You're a girl kitty, aren't you?”