To Brew or Not to Brew (13 page)

“Oh, really?”

I tried to hold back a grin. “Especially if you play hockey
like you play football. As I recall, I pretty much kicked your butt.”

“Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy,” Jake said with a laugh. “I think I'd better go see Mike before you damage my ego any further.”

I stood for a moment and watched him walk to the bar, then finally headed to the table where Candy was holding court. I took a seat in the empty chair next to Ken Butterfield and thanked him for coming.

“I wouldn't have missed it,” he said. “Kurt was a good guy.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Amen,” Kristie said.

Ken waved an arm. “Your place is fabulous. Looking at it now, it's hard to believe it was just an empty run-down shell. I'm so glad you decided to stay.”

I wasn't sure what he meant. “Of course I'm staying. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Right around the time Kurt died, I heard you were putting the place up for sale.”

Candy chimed in. “That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Max isn't going anywhere.”

“Where in the world did you hear that?” I asked. Daisy had mentioned something similar when I'd gone to see her last week. I glanced across the table at her and she was texting furiously on her cell phone.

Ken thought for a moment. “To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure where I heard it. It was probably someone talking about it in the deli.” He smiled. “I hear a lot of things that way.”

The first person I thought of was Dominic Costello, but
I didn't think he'd say I was putting the brew house up for sale. His method was more hands-on than that. Then the lightbulb came on—Fran Donovan. She'd never wanted me to buy the building in the first place. If she started a rumor I was leaving, she'd be able to drum up support for her museum idea. “If you happen to remember,” I said to Ken, “would you let me know? I'd kind of like to set them straight.”

“Will do.” He stood. “I really have to get going.” I thanked him again and he promised me he'd be back for the opening.

Things wound down after that. Mom and Kate helped Jake clean up in the kitchen while Dad watched the kids. Mike and I put the pub and bar area back in order. Between the growlers I'd taken to my parents' house and the popularity of the stout tonight, I needed to switch out the barrel. It could wait until tomorrow, but I figured I may as well get it over with. Especially since Mike offered to help me.

I pushed through the door into the brewery with Mike right behind me and switched on the light. I stopped so quickly he ran into me.

“Hey, next time warn me when you put the brakes on like that.”

I couldn't answer. My heart was in my throat. Someone was lying on the concrete floor beside one of the fermentation tanks. That someone was a very dead Dominic
Costello.

M
ike spotted him a second later. He stepped in front of me, and said, “Go get Dad.”

I was frozen in place. A hundred thoughts ping-ponged through my head, but none of them made any sense. Dominic was dead. In my brewery.

“Max!”

Mike's tone was sharp enough to snap me out of my daze. “I'm going.” I went back through the door we just entered. Dad sat with a grandchild on each knee and looked up when he heard me come in.

“Can you get Kate to take the girls?” I sounded calmer than I felt. “We need you in the brewery.”

Dad studied my face. “Is something wrong?”

“You could say that.”

He seemed to know I didn't want to say anything in front
of Maire and Fiona. “Something to do with your latest issues?”

“Yep.”

Dad slipped the girls off his lap, took them by the hand, and led them to the kitchen. He returned seconds later. “Want to tell me what's going on?” He fell into step beside me.

“Dominic Costello . . .” My voice caught.

“Honey, we had this conversation already.”

“Not this one, we haven't.” I pushed open the door and pointed to where Mike stood near the body. “It's Dominic Costello.”

Dad went into what can only be called
cop mode
. He ordered both Mike and me out of the brewing area, and told Mike to ask Mom to take Kate and the kids home. While my brother did as ordered, I considered it a mere suggestion. I hovered just inside the brewery door. Dad pulled out his cell phone and called it in.

“White male, approximately sixty to sixty-five years of age. Blunt force trauma to the head.”

To hear it described that way made my stomach lurch. No one deserved to have that happen to them. He requested the medical examiner and also asked dispatch not to send it out over the radio. I knew the reason for that was to keep the media away for as long as possible. It also kept all the neb-noses with scanners from listening in. Then he disconnected and made another call.

“Hey, Rich.” Richard Bailey was one of the other homicide detectives. He and Dad went back a long way. “Dispatch will be calling you.” As he explained what we'd found, he looked my way and spotted me. “I'll fill you in on the rest
when you get here.” He slipped the phone into his pocket and came toward me. “I thought I told you to wait in the pub.”

“You did. But this is my brewery and I need to know what's going on.” My voice was steady. “I can't do that from the other room.”

Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “I'm not trying to banish you. Like it or not, this is a crime scene.”

“I won't touch anything.”

“That's not the point. I can't do my job if I'm looking over here every two minutes to see if you're all right. I don't want to be distracted.” He pushed the swinging door and held it open. “Go. I promise I'll keep you posted.”

I was tempted to stomp out like I had when I was sent to my room as a kid. Deep down, I knew being mad was dumb, but it was better than focusing on Dominic Costello lying on the floor. Mike sat at the bar and I crossed the room and took the stool beside him.

“Jake's making coffee,” he said.

“Good.”

“You okay, sis?”

“Okay? There's a dead person—the second one in a week, I might add—in my brewery and you ask me if I'm okay? I am definitely not okay.”

Mike stared at me. “Why are you so mad?”

“I have to be.”

“That makes no sense at all.”

“I'll tell you what doesn't make sense. Someone breaking in here and killing people. This is my brewery. My life. I don't understand why this is happening. . . .” My voice cracked. “If I'm not angry, I'm going to fall apart.” I burst into tears.

Mike slid off his stool and folded me into his arms. It seemed like I cried for a long time, but it was probably only a few minutes. I was pulling myself back together when the front door opened and Rich Bailey entered, followed by a crew from the medical examiner's office. I wiped my eyes with a paper napkin, and Mike and I went to greet them. Mike showed them to the brewing area while I went back to my seat at the bar.

Jake came in carrying a stack of take-out cups and a stainless steel pump pot that I assumed was filled with coffee and set them on the bar.

“I should have helped you with that,” I said.

“No way.” He poured coffee into two paper cups and passed one to me.

My hand shook when I took the cup from him. “Thanks.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “What else can I do?”

I liked that he didn't ask me if I was okay. I couldn't have handled it. “Nothing,” I said. “You've done enough. More than enough. You can go if you want.”

He slid onto the stool beside me. “I'll stick around if you don't mind.”

I nodded. We sat in silence sipping our coffee until Mike came back. He told us he'd given Rich his statement and he was officially dismissed. I assured him I'd be fine, so he went to check on Mom and Kate. They were probably worried, and Mike could let them know what was going on.

I only wish I knew what was going on. How had Dominic Costello ended up murdered—and I was sure he was—in my brewery? “It doesn't make any sense.”

“No, it doesn't,” Jake said.

I didn't realize I'd spoken the words aloud.

“Want to talk about it?”

I wasn't sure I did. I hadn't told Jake my theory that Dominic had been the one behind the vandalism and the one who'd killed Kurt. The only one I'd mentioned it to was my father. Not that my theory mattered anymore.

“Then let me start,” Jake said. “There's a dead guy in the brewery. I have no idea who he is or why he was back there, or even how he got there.”

I let out a sigh. “And you work here and have a right to know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shut you out like that. It's Dominic Costello. He owns a bar up the street.”

“What was he doing in the brewery?”

“I don't know.” I told him how Dominic thought I was trying to run him out of business, and that he'd threatened to stop me. I didn't tell Jake that Dominic had gotten physical with me. There was no point to it now. “I was so sure he was the one breaking in here, but obviously I was wrong.”

Jake shifted to face me. “Maybe not.”

“How do you figure that?” I said. “If he was the one breaking in, and the one who killed Kurt, he wouldn't be lying back there dead.”

“What if he wasn't alone? He could have had an accomplice.”

I immediately thought of Ralph Meehan, but he didn't strike me as the violent type. As disagreeable as he'd been when I'd spoken to him, he'd seemed almost protective of Dominic. Meehan thought I had been the one making threats to Dominic, not the other way around. I mentioned this to Jake.

“Do you think someone was really threatening Costello, or that he only told Meehan that?”

“I don't know,” I said. “But what if someone really was? That person could be our killer.”

“Our killer?”

“You know what I mean.” I didn't get a chance to tell Jake what I was thinking. My dad and Rich Bailey came through the door from the brewery. Dad talked to Jake and asked him a few questions while I went to my office with Rich and gave him my statement. I told him about everything—the vandalism, Kurt, the threats from Dominic, and even Ralph Meehan saying Dom had been threatened. By the time we finished, mostly everyone had cleared out except for a few forensic techs who were still doing their thing in the brewery.

Dad and Rich headed to the station while I waited for the others to finish up. Jake insisted on staying with me even though I told him I was fine by myself. It wasn't that I didn't want his company—on the contrary—but I didn't want him to think I was some helpless female.

After the forensic crew left, I helped Jake gather up the empty coffeepot, sugar, cream, and unused cups and took them back to the kitchen. He was rinsing out the pump pot when his phone, which he'd set on the counter, rang. “Can you see who that is?” he said. “My hands are wet.”

I peeked at the display. “It says it's unregistered.”

“Ignore it, then. There's no one I want to talk to this late, anyway.”

By the time he'd finished cleaning the pot and dried his hands, the phone rang again and once again he didn't answer. When it happened a third time, he snatched the phone off the counter and snapped, “Who the hell is this?”

His fingers tightened on the phone and he jammed his
other hand into the pocket of his pants. He wasn't happy about whoever was calling him. I didn't think it was merely a telemarketer, especially this late at night.

“Victoria. This isn't a good time.”

Definitely not a telemarketer. I motioned to Jake that I'd be in the pub and left him to talk to his ex in peace. Not that I wanted to. I'd rather have listened in to the conversation, but it really wasn't any of my business. Jake had made it clear it was over. If he wanted me to know why she was calling, he'd tell me.

And I didn't believe a word of that. She'd broken it off with him. Not the other way around. What if he still had feelings for her? She could have been calling to say she was sorry and she wanted him back.

Jake pushed through the kitchen door. “Sorry about that.”

“That's all right.”

He sat on the chair beside me. “That was Victoria.”

“So I heard.”

“She called from a friend's phone since I wasn't taking her calls. If I'd have known it was her, I wouldn't have answered.”

“You can't avoid her forever.”

“I can try,” Jake said. “Don't you want to know what she wanted?”

I was dying to know. “It's none of my business.”

“Someone she knows owns an upscale restaurant in Manhattan and is looking for a chef. She told him I'd be perfect for the job.”

I didn't think it was possible for this night to get any worse, but it just had. Jake was leaving. Going back to New York, and probably back to Ms. Supermodel. At that
moment, I wished he'd never come back to Pittsburgh, because it was going to hurt too much when he left. I'd gotten by for years keeping my feelings for him at bay. I should have kept it up. I never should have hired him knowing how I felt. I should have known this would happen. “That's great news,” I managed to say. “You deserve a place like that.”

“I turned her down.”

I'd been staring at a spot on the wall across the room so he wouldn't see what was written all over my face. I turned to look at him. “You what?”

“I told her I have no interest in going back to New York.”

I couldn't believe it. “But it's a great opportunity. A fancy Manhattan restaurant? You could really make a name for yourself there.”

“I don't need any of that.”

“Maybe you should think about it.”

“Why?”

“Would you consider it if Victoria hadn't been involved?” I asked. “Would you be interested if the restaurant manager didn't know her and had called you directly?”

“No. Maybe. I don't know.” He got up and went over to the front window. “I can't see me being anywhere but here, but you're right. I should think about it.” He walked back over to me. “How about we call it a night?”

I felt sick. I didn't actually want him to consider the job. I wanted him to say he was staying in Pittsburgh and had no intention of leaving. Ever. That he didn't need to think about it at all. That he'd told Victoria to take a flying leap. Why had I opened my big mouth? I mentally kicked myself while I locked up.

It was only after Jake walked me to my car that it dawned
on me that neither the alarm nor the motion detectors had gone off while we were at the memorial service. Could I have forgotten to arm the system when I went home at five? It had become second nature to set it, but for the life of me I couldn't remember one way or the other. Jake and Mom had been the first to arrive after the service. I'd have to ask Jake if it had been on. Even if it had been activated, it wouldn't have been the first time someone had broken in and not set it off. But the motion sensors should have worked. I made a mental note to call the alarm company to check the system.

Dad hadn't said it, but Dominic had to have been killed sometime between when I'd closed up at five and the end of the service at eight. I was still bewildered as to why he had been in the brew house. I had been so sure he was behind everything that had happened. Maybe Jake was right that he had an accomplice. And if he had, it had to be Ralph Meehan. But why would Ralph kill Dominic? It didn't make any sense.

Until we'd been interrupted first by my dad and Rich, and then by Victoria, I'd meant to tell Jake that if someone really had been threatening Dominic, that person had to be the killer. If Dominic thought I had been the one making the threats like Ralph Meehan said, he may have gone to the brew house to see me. But I didn't get why he'd do that after he'd warned me to stay away from him. I thought about that for a while. Maybe the killer had lured him there somehow. But surely Dominic would have seen that no one was there and left. It was possible he'd never gotten a chance to leave. He went to look for me in the brewery and then . . . I shuddered, picturing him lying on the floor. That
must have been it. He'd never gotten the chance to leave. The killer struck first.