The Malt in Our Stars

by Sarah Fox

  I decided to make two lists to start: one of possible red ingredients and the other of white or clear ingredients. Under the red column, I added raspberry liqueur, cranberry juice, and grenadine. I tapped my pen against the page, my mind wandering.

  Had Marcie really been up on the third floor of the manor to meet a man? And could that man have been Brad Honeywell?

  I refocused on my notebook, writing gin, vodka, white crème de cacao, and cream of coconut in the white/clear column. I stared at what I had on the page so far, without feeling a single spark of inspiration. Shoving the book aside, I decided it was pointless to work on creating a drink while I was so distracted.

  Maybe I could make another trip to Shady Creek Manor and find out more about Brad. Then again, maybe I could find out more about him from the comfort of home.

  I spent the next while looking up Brad Honeywell on the Internet. By the time my eyes started to hurt from staring at the screen of my phone for so long, I hadn’t found anything particularly interesting. I’d learned that Brad had worked for a large medical equipment sales company for fifteen years before he and Gemma bought the Vallencourt estate and turned it into the Shady Creek Manor. Prior to his time at the large corporation, he worked for two smaller companies and had received a business degree from George Mason University in Virginia. I also learned that he enjoyed playing squash and golf, but since Marcie hadn’t been killed with a golf club or squash racquet, I didn’t think that helped my investigation at all.

  I did some cleaning to give my eyes a rest, making sure the pub was ready for customers. Then I returned to my phone and did another search, this time using Marcie’s name. I didn’t find anything different from the last time I’d looked her up. From what I could see online, Marcie had been a much-loved young woman with a passion for books and her job as Linnea’s assistant.

  Reading about Marcie online and seeing so many pictures of her made my chest ache with sadness. The tributes on her social media profiles were a testament to how much she was missed by so many. I put away my phone and blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill onto my cheeks. Whatever Eleanor knew about Marcie’s past, the young woman hadn’t deserved to be murdered, and I wished I could do something to help put her killer behind bars.

  Any further investigating would have to wait, however. It was time to open the pub, and work kept me busy for the next several hours.

  By late afternoon, I couldn’t ignore the bursts of nervousness and excitement that skittered through me as the clock ticked closer to six. Damien already knew I’d be taking the evening off, and Mel had offered to come in during the evening if the pub got extra busy and he needed a hand.

  I gave myself enough time to get ready for my date, but not enough time to change my mind multiple times about my outfit. I stuck to my plan to wear my blue wrap dress, remembering to use a lint roller to remove the long white cat hairs that had a way of always finding my clothes.

  I called Wimsey inside and fed him his dinner. He was contentedly gobbling up his food when I headed downstairs to wait for Grayson. Instead of cutting through the pub, I left through the back door. I didn’t need the town gossiping about my date already. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

  Grayson pulled up to the curb in his black sports car just as I rounded the corner of the gristmill. He climbed out of the car as I crossed the footbridge, and my heart gave a giddy skip in my chest when I took in the sight of him. He wore dark jeans and a blue button-down shirt that matched the color of his eyes. When he smiled at me, my heart skipped again.

  “You look beautiful,” he said as he opened the passenger door for me.

  “Thank you. You look great too.” I ducked into the car, hoping he wouldn’t notice how my cheeks had turned pink at his compliment.

  He rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat. “I need to make a quick stop to pick up our food.”

  “Where are we taking it to?” I asked, curious.

  He gave me the familiar smile that told me he wasn’t going to give away all his secrets. “There’s a place I like to go for quiet time. I want to show it to you.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  He pulled the car to a stop outside of Lumière. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

  He left the car idling and disappeared into the restaurant. True to his word, he wasn’t gone long at all. When he returned, he tucked a large paper bag of food behind the seats before fastening his seat belt.

  “The food smells amazing,” I said as the delicious aromas filled the car.

  My stomach rumbled. Quietly, thank goodness. I glanced Grayson’s way, but he didn’t seem to have noticed.

  He turned into the brewery’s driveway a few seconds later, surprising me. I didn’t know where he planned to take me, but for some reason I’d thought it would be away from his property. We drove past his house and continued on to the parking lot by the brewery’s buildings.

  “You come to your brewery for quiet time?” I asked, puzzled. I wouldn’t have thought he’d get any peace in the middle of his business.

  “You’ll see in a minute,” he said, his enigmatic grin making a comeback.

  When he parked the car, he hurried around it to offer me a hand as I climbed out of the passenger seat. We’d parked right next to one of the buildings, and Grayson opened a large door and held it for me. I stepped inside and found myself in a cavernous room with lots of stainless steel equipment. I thought I recognized a mash tun, but I couldn’t put a name to anything else.

  “I’ve been meaning to come for one of the tours of the brewery,” I said, gazing around.

  “I’m happy to give you one,” Grayson offered. “Maybe after dinner?”

  I caught another whiff of the food he held and agreed enthusiastically.

  He led me to a set of metal stairs. “Careful on the steps,” he cautioned.

  He waited for me to precede him, so I held onto the railing and heeded his advice, taking care to stay steady on my high heels as I made my way up. The stairway led right up to the rafters and beyond. I paused on a landing and Grayson took the lead from there, ascending a narrow set of stairs that led up into a small hut-like structure that rose up higher than the rest of the roof.

  When he opened the door at the top of the stairs, daylight filled the narrow space.

  Grayson held the door open and offered me a hand up the last couple of steps. I took it without hesitation, trying not to be too distracted by the way my hand seemed to fit perfectly in his.

  When I first stepped out onto the roof, all I saw were the treetops of the surrounding woodland. Then Grayson put a hand to my back and guided me around the hut we’d emerged from. As soon as we moved around the corner, my breath caught in my throat.

  Ahead of us was a spectacular view of Shady Creek. The brewery’s position on a hill gave us an incredible vantage point. I could see the village green, the shops that lined it, and much of the rest of the town as it spread out in three directions. The sun was just starting to get low in the western sky, but there was still plenty of daylight, allowing us to enjoy the view to its fullest.

  “Wow! This is amazing,” I said once I’d had a chance to take in the sight of the town below us.

  “I was hoping you’d like it.”

  “I definitely do,” I assured him.

  Now that my initial surprise had worn off, I became more aware of our immediate surroundings. A table and two chairs had been set up on the roof, situated so we could enjoy the view while eating. Plates, cutlery, and glasses sat on the white tablecloth.

  Grayson pulled out one of the chairs for me and I sat down, noticing a cooler next to the table. When Grayson lifted the lid, I saw that he’d stocked the cooler with ice, a bottle of wine, a bottle of water, and an opaque container.

  He set to work unpacking the food while I poured us each a glass of white wine. My mouth watered when I caught a glimpse of the dishes he’d ordered.

  “Those are my favorite,” I said when
he opened a carton of crispy shrimp.

  Zucchini strips with dipping sauce followed, and then Grayson opened a container of seafood linguine and another of roasted vegetables.

  “These are all my favorite dishes from Lumière,” I said, my stomach threatening to let out a loud rumble.

  Grayson smiled. “I know.”

  “But how . . .” I guessed the answer before I got the rest of the question out. “Gilda told you, didn’t she?”

  “She was very helpful.”

  I couldn’t withstand the temptation of the delicious smells any longer. We both doled out food onto our plates, some from each dish, and I savored the crispy deliciousness of one shrimp before my mind kicked back in.

  “That must have been when you got your hair cut,” I said. “Was that all she told you about me? My favorite foods?”

  I hoped that was the case. Unfortunately, that hope was dashed a second later when Grayson chuckled.

  “No, that was only one small part of the conversation.”

  I speared a piece of zucchini with my fork. “And the rest?”

  Grayson twirled linguine around his fork, his grin both charming and somewhat maddening. “She told me a couple of stories about your childhood.”

  I set down my fork. “Oh, Jeeves, help me.” I took a drink of wine.

  Grayson laughed again. “Don’t worry. She just told me about how you always had your nose in a book when you were a kid.”

  “That’s true.” I set down my wineglass with a hint of relief.

  “And that you never liked to be outdone by your brothers.”

  “Also true.” I enjoyed a heavenly bite of linguine, feeling more at ease now.

  “And then she showed me some pictures.”

  I nearly choked and had to take a big sip of wine before I could speak. “What pictures?” My voice came out sounding panicked.

  Grayson’s grin was definitely maddening this time. “Some of you and your brothers on family vacations.”

  Maybe that wasn’t so bad.

  “And one of you and your date for your senior prom,” he added.

  My stomach dropped. “She didn’t.”

  “Was that dress seafoam green?” He tried to contain his grin, but failed miserably.

  “She did,” I said weakly. I rallied enough to attempt to defend myself. “I had a very short-lived fascination with seafoam green at that age. Don’t we all have misguided phases as teens?”

  “She couldn’t remember the name of your date,” he continued, ignoring my question and clearly enjoying the conversation far too much.

  “It wasn’t worth remembering,” I said, cringing inwardly at the memory.

  Wesley Lambert flirted with other girls at the prom, drank from a flask hidden inside his suit jacket, and then vomited on the gym floor, narrowly missing my shoes. We’d never spoken again after that night.

  I was tempted to slide out of sight underneath the table. “What was Gilda thinking?”

  “Don’t be mad at her,” Grayson said. “She likes talking about you because she loves you. And don’t be embarrassed. You looked cute in all the pictures.”

  “I don’t think anyone could look cute in that dress.” I really didn’t know what I’d been thinking back then.

  “You did. Trust me.”

  Our gazes locked for a second before I averted my eyes, focusing on my plate.

  “Wesley Lambert didn’t seem to notice,” I said, to break the charged silence that had fallen between us.

  “I thought it wasn’t worth remembering his name.”

  “It’s not,” I said emphatically. “I wish I could forget.”

  “For what it’s worth, he must have been an idiot if he didn’t appreciate you.”

  “He was an idiot,” I said. “And thank you.” I was about to dig my fork into my linguine when I paused. “Are we done with the teasing?”

  “For now.”

  This time when Grayson grinned, I smiled back, suddenly not quite so bothered by his glimpse into my past.

  Chapter 18

  We spent the rest of dinner talking about less embarrassing subjects, like the pub and the brewery. When we’d cleared our plates of food and Grayson produced a covered dish, I assumed he’d bought dessert from Lumière as well as dinner. I soon saw that I was wrong.

  “It might not be the right season for pumpkin pie,” Grayson said as he uncovered a scrumptious-looking pie with a perfect golden crust. “But I know you enjoy it, so I thought I’d make one.”

  “It’s always the right season for your pumpkin pie,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the gorgeous dessert.

  Grayson cut generous slices and topped them with whipped cream he’d stored in the cooler. We lapsed into comfortable silence as we started in on our desserts, and I savored every bite, enjoying the way the pumpkin filling and the whipped cream blended together perfectly. This was the third time I’d had a chance to sample Grayson’s award-winning pumpkin pie, and I still couldn’t get over how delicious it was. I didn’t bother to ask him his secret this time. I knew from past experience that he wouldn’t share his recipe with anyone. I didn’t mind so much now, since he’d baked one for me twice.

  We were halfway through our slices when Grayson spoke. “I looked into Marcie Kent’s background last night.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d temporarily forgotten about my request, but it only took a split second for my curiosity to reawaken. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “Not really. It seemed she was an upstanding citizen, save for one incident.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “She was charged and convicted of trespassing six years ago. She’d broken up with her boyfriend and went back to his place to retrieve some belongings. They got into an argument and he called the police.”

  “That’s all there was to it?”

  “From what I can tell.”

  “Not exactly a dark, criminal past.”

  “No,” Grayson agreed. “But it could be what Eleanor was hinting at.”

  “I can picture her blowing it out of proportion,” I said. “But how can we be sure it wasn’t something else?”

  “We could ask Eleanor.”

  I set down my fork with a sigh, my plate now empty. “I doubt she’ll talk to me. I think she believes I’m an undesirable addition to the town because I run a pub and she’d reinstate Prohibition if she could.”

  Grayson had finished his pie now as well. “She might talk to me.”

  “You brew beer,” I pointed out. “Why would she like you any more than me?”

  His easy smile sped up my heart rate. “I think I can win her over.”

  I reached for my nearly empty wineglass. “This I’ve got to see.”

  * * *

  We stayed up on the roof long enough to watch streaks of orange and pink color the sky as the sun disappeared below the horizon. Grayson assured me that he’d clean everything up later, so we left our dishes behind and strolled down his driveway and into town. We’d decided to leave the brewery tour for another time so we could seek out Eleanor instead. Although the museum would have closed hours earlier, Grayson said that Eleanor was known for spending the vast majority of her time either in her garden or at the museum. Since dusk was falling over the town, she wasn’t likely to be in her garden, but we decided to walk past her house to see if the lights were on. If they weren’t, we’d swing by the museum to see if she was there.

  Eleanor’s front garden was as immaculately tidy as the last time I’d been past her house, but there was no sign of the woman herself and no lights shone through the front windows. We continued on toward the museum, talking about my other suspects.

  “I’m sure Brad and Marcie had met before she and Linnea arrived at the manor,” I said, after telling Grayson about the argument I’d overheard. “But I don’t know how they knew each other.”

  “I could look into Brad’s background, if you’d like,” Grayson offered.

  “Really?
That would be great. I looked him up online, but all I really found was a bit about his education and employment history.” An idea struck me. “Maybe you could teach me how to do your fancy background checks.”

  “Share all my secrets?” Grayson asked with a smile. “Then you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

  I held my breath for a second, worried I might say something embarrassing like, “I’ll always need you.”

  I was a little concerned that the thought had run through my head. It was far too early for any declarations of that sort, even if voiced only in my mind.

  Well on my way to getting flustered, I switched my focus to my other suspect. “Do you know Jan Finch?”

  “The plumber? She fixed a problem with my furnace last winter, but I haven’t exchanged more than half a dozen words with her at any other time.”

  We stopped at a corner to wait for a car to drive past before we stepped into the intersection.

  “Why?” Grayson asked. “Is she connected to Marcie somehow?”

  “Not that I know of, but there’s something odd about her.” I told him how she’d seemed spooked when I saw her at the manor the other day. “And she was there the day Marcie died.”

  Grayson didn’t give me his opinion on Jan as a potential suspect because we’d arrived at the museum. As we’d hoped, a light was on, although no one was visible through the front window.

  I knocked on the door, without any real hope that Eleanor would tell us anything useful. I could admit—to myself, at least—that Grayson could be charming, but I wasn’t sure Eleanor would be susceptible to anyone’s charm.

  Nobody responded to my knock. Maybe he wouldn’t even get a chance to try to work his magic on her.

  Grayson rapped on the door this time, announcing our presence more loudly. Several seconds passed, and I was about to give up when I spotted movement at the window. Eleanor peered out at us, her typical sour expression firmly in place. I smiled back at her, but her expression only grew more dour. She disappeared from sight, and for a moment I thought she’d leave us standing there on the doorstep, but then a lock clicked and the door opened a crack.