by Joyce Tremel
After I finished my sandwich, I walked around the festival grounds and spotted Ginger Alvarado stuffing the last of the crime scene tape into the pocket of her turquoise slacks. I said hello and she jumped.
“Oh!” She spun around. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No problem.” She reached up and smoothed her already perfect ponytail. “Did you need something?”
“No. I was just stretching my legs and ended up here. I take it the police released the scene.”
Ginger crossed her arms. “More or less. I told that young detective if the tape wasn’t down this afternoon, I was taking it down.”
Uh-oh. Vinnie the Viper wasn’t going to like that.
“He even wanted me to cancel the festival,” she said. “Can you believe that?” It must have been a rhetorical question, because she didn’t wait for an answer. “I explained that a number of people had invested a lot of time and money in this event and it would go on. He didn’t like that much. I told him my husband was on the city council and do you know what he said to me?”
I shook my head. “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘I don’t care if your husband is president of the United States.’ When I told my husband about that last night, he was not happy. At all.”
Score one for the Alvarados. “What happened after the detective told you that?”
“Nothing. He strutted away. I haven’t seen him since.”
Lucky for her.
Ginger was quiet for a moment, then said, “This is going to sound horrible, but I’m glad that awful man is gone.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. There were many others here who felt the same way.
She blushed. “Not that I wanted him dead. I just wanted him gone. I made a huge mistake listening to Phoebe Atwell when she said I needed a third judge and he’d be a great replacement for her. It’s just that . . . I was desperate. I didn’t have anyone else.”
“I understand,” I said. “You were in a bind and did what you thought was best.”
“Exactly,” she said. “I—oh crap.”
Her eyes widened at something she saw over my shoulder. I turned around. Vincent Falk was marching our way. Oh crap was right. I was about to make a hasty exit, but Ginger grabbed my arm.
“Stay here and back me up,” she said. “Please?”
It would have been hard to leave with the grip she had on my wrist. For all her talk, Ginger was chicken.
By the time she released me, Vincent had reached us. He was as stiffly starched as he had been this morning. I didn’t know how he managed it in this heat. If my dad had been working today, he’d have had his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up.
“Mrs. Alvarado, I could have you arrested,” Vince said. “That tape was to stay up until I said it could come down.”
Ginger took a deep breath, then straightened and lifted her chin. It gave her a regal appearance, like she was gazing down her nose at an undeserving subject. She might have been quaking inside, but she sure didn’t show it. “I will not have you disrupting this festival, Detective,” she said. “There was no reason for you to keep this roped off.”
“That is not for you to decide.”
“Yes, it is. Mine and my husband’s.”
They stared at each other for what seemed like five minutes although in reality it was more like ten or fifteen seconds. Vincent must have realized he wasn’t going to win that round, so he turned to me. “I should have known you two would be in cahoots. You haven’t heard the last of this. Neither one of you.” With that, he turned on his expensive Italian leather heel and strode off.
When he was out of sight, Ginger said, “What does he mean ‘in cahoots’?”
Did I really want to tell her Jake and I were at the top of the detective’s suspect list? I decided it was best not to mention that. “He doesn’t like me.”
“Why?”
“You know the older detective who was here yesterday?”
Ginger nodded. “Detective O’Hara.” The lightbulb went on. “Your name’s O’Hara, isn’t it? Is he a relative?”
“He’s my father. Detective Falk is his partner.”
She smiled and clapped her hands together. “That’s wonderful news! I won’t have to talk to that twit anymore. I can go straight to your father.” Her cell phone rang just then. She squeezed my arm before she answered. “If you need anything—anything at all—you come right to me. I’ll take care of it.”
I watched her walk away. If Edward Alvarado decided to run for county executive and won the election, Ginger was going to make a great politician’s wife.
* * *
Jake had been joined by Nicole by the time I returned to our tent. The line for tasting was three deep again and she was helping him draw samples. “I didn’t expect you to work today,” I said to her. I reached under the table for the plastic bottle of hand sanitizer and squirted a dollop onto my palm.
“I don’t mind. Our esteemed chef here looked like he needed some help. I was here, so . . .” She shrugged.
Jake passed a sample across the table to the next person in line. “I didn’t need any help. At least not until a couple guys asked me to sign their cups.”
Nicole grinned. “Don’t forget the five women holding up the line because they were sipping their beer too slowly so they could gawk at you.”
“What can I say?” Jake said, winking at me. “I’m eye candy.”
I laughed. “Maybe I should have you cook in the window of the brew house. Although then I’d probably get cited for blocking the sidewalk because of the throngs of admirers.”
“Maybe even shirtless,” Nicole chimed in.
Jake shook his head, laughing. “No can do. I think cooking without a shirt is some kind of health code violation.”
“Ooh, Jake’s cooking without a shirt.” Kristie’s voice came from beside our tent. “Sign me up.”
He looked at me. “See what you started?”
Candy stood beside Kristie, and I did a double take when I saw her. Candy wore black pants with a metallic gold stripe down the leg, her favorite Steelers shirt with letters sewn in gold sequins, and a large handbag with a Steelers logo. None of that was out of the ordinary for her. What she had on her head was another story altogether. The tall hat she sported was black and gold (of course), but it was made of felt sewn into the shape of a beer mug. The top of the hat—where the foam would be on an actual beer—was some kind of cream-colored fuzzy material. When Kristie reached up and grabbed the handle on the side, I lost it. Jake and Nicole followed and by the time our laughter subsided, we were all wiping tears from our eyes. Candy took a bow and everyone waiting in line applauded. Several people wanted to know where they could buy one of the hats and were disappointed to learn they weren’t for sale at the festival. I made a mental note to mention it to Ginger for next year. Judging by everyone’s reaction, they’d be very popular.
Once the excitement abated, we chatted for a few minutes; then Candy asked, “Any news about the murder victim?”
“Nothing.” Which was true. Other than Jake and me being Vincent Falk’s prime suspects, there was nothing new, and even that really wasn’t new. It did remind me that I still needed to talk to Jake about it, but I didn’t see that happening until the festival was over for the day.
“We’re going to take a stroll and see what we can find out,” Candy said.
I pointed to her hat. “Wearing that?”
“Of course. It’s a conversation piece. It will get people talking.”
“It’ll get them talking all right,” Jake said.
Candy stuck her tongue out at Jake and turned to Kristie. “Let’s go, Watson. There’s no time to lose. We have a crime to solve.”
* * *
I emptied the last keg about fifte
en minutes before the five o’clock close of the festival. We took down the tent and packed everything up. Then Jake loaded the empty barrels onto his truck and headed back to the brewery. After that, he was going home to shower, then take his mom and dad over to my parents’ house. Mom, along with Mike and his family, had stopped at our booth earlier, but it was too busy to do more than say hi. Dad had been called out on another case and I hoped that meant his partner would have someone new to harass.
Before I left, I headed across the makeshift aisle to Cory Dixon’s tent, where he was packing up and loading things onto his truck.
“Hey, Max,” he said. “How’d you make out today? You looked pretty busy over there.”
“Good, I think. I guess we’ll find out next week when the winner is revealed. How about you?”
“Same here. I didn’t expect so many people after yesterday. I thought they’d be spooked and stay away.”
“I did, too,” I said. “I’m glad I was wrong.”
“The scuttlebutt is Mobley was poisoned.”
He looked to me for confirmation, but at this point, I wasn’t sure what information had been released to the public. I hadn’t had a chance to listen to any news reports or read the paper. “Where did you hear that?” I asked.
Cory shrugged. “That’s what everyone is saying.”
“Everyone?”
“And that detective—what’s his name. Falk. Asked me if cyanide was used in brewing beer. If that’s not a clue, I don’t know what is.”
Vinnie the Viper strikes again.
“He asked a lot of questions about you. And Jake.” He lifted one of his empty barrels onto his truck bed. “It kind of rubbed me the wrong way.”
I let out a sigh. “Detective Falk thinks Jake and I killed Mobley.”
Cory laughed. “You? You’re the last person who’d off anyone. And isn’t your dad the guy’s partner?”
“Yep.” I passed a stack of plastic cups to Cory and he tossed them into his truck. “That doesn’t seem to matter to him.”
“What’s your dad think?”
“I’m not sure he knows. Hopefully I’ll get to talk to Dad tonight and find out what’s going on.”
“Well, good luck. Personally, I think it’s a tragedy they’re even investigating. Whoever killed Mobley did the world a favor.”
I bade Cory good-bye and invited him to stop by the pub when he got a chance. As I walked to where Jake had parked my car, I couldn’t help thinking about what Cory had said. That whoever killed Mobley had done the world a favor. Dave felt the same way, and probably Randy Gregory and Brandon Long did, too. Maybe I was just naive, but that mind-set didn’t sit well with me. As despicable as he’d been, it wasn’t right his life was taken from him. I didn’t like the next thing that went through my mind. They’d all voiced what could be considered threats against the dead critic. Had one of them taken that a step further?
I’d reached my car by this time. I unlocked my door, tossed my bag inside, then stood beside the open door to let some of the hot air out. I looked around the almost empty lot and stopped when I spotted Dwayne Tunstall’s van three rows over. It wasn’t the van that halted my gaze, though. It was another sight altogether. Dwayne stood beside it, but he wasn’t alone. He had his arms around a tall blonde in a red dress. Just then she lifted her head and I was able to see her face. It was Melody Mobley—the brand-new widow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’d gotten only a brief look at Melody yesterday, but I was sure it was her. And she was with Dwayne. I was thankful I was short and most likely couldn’t be seen by either one of them. As I peered over the roof of my car, I tried to decide whether to approach them. I took too long to make up my mind. Dwayne stepped back, squeezed Melody’s shoulder, and got into his van. Melody entered a red Miata that was parked beside the van and sped away. Dwayne left seconds later. I got in my Corolla, started it, and rolled down the window until the air-conditioning kicked in, thinking about what I just saw.
Was it possible they were lovers? I didn’t understand what she could possibly see in Dwayne, but then again, she had married a guy who looked like a cross between Danny DeVito and Albert Einstein. And now her husband was conveniently out of the way. In my mind, this meant there was a good chance that one or both of them had killed Reginald Mobley. The way Dwayne had fawned over the critic and sang his praises was all a big act. Given his reputation, it shouldn’t have surprised me.
What if I was thinking wrong, though? Dwayne’s embracing the widow might have been perfectly innocent. It was possible he had just been consoling her. There had to be more to it than that, though. It didn’t explain why Melody would have come to the very place—the parking lot beside it, anyway—where her husband had been killed the day before. She should have been home mourning her loss, not embracing another man in a parking lot. I drove home mentally kicking myself for not crossing the lot to talk to them. I’d have to come up with a way to see one or both of them before the festival resumed on Friday.
When I unlocked the door to my loft apartment, Hops greeted me with a meow that told me she was none too pleased she had been left alone all day. I scooped her up and scratched the white spot under her chin. “I’ll make it up to you,” I said.
“Murp.” Hops swatted my arm.
I laughed. “You really are mad, aren’t you?” I placed her back on the floor. “How about some dinner and a couple of treats for dessert?” She purred and coiled herself around my ankle. I quickly washed up and changed while she ate, then loaded Hops into her carrier and headed to my parents’ house in Highland Park.
Mom and Dad’s house was an eighty-year-old white brick two-story house on a double lot, not too far from the Pittsburgh Zoo. On occasion, if it was quiet enough, you could hear the lions roar. My four-year-old niece Maira charged out the front screen door when she saw me pull up in front of the house. Seconds later, she was followed by her two-year-old sister, Fiona, who was always trying to keep up with her. Both girls were spitting images of their mother, Kate, although Maira’s white blond hair was beginning to darken a little and take on some red highlights. I didn’t think it would ever be as red as Mike’s, though.
“You brought Hops!” Maira jumped up and down beside the car as I reached in for the carrier secured in the backseat.
“Hops!” Fiona bounced beside her sister.
I laughed at their excitement. “Hops will be glad to have playmates.” The girls walked beside me as I headed up the front walk. “Just remember to be gentle with her.”
“Is her leg still getting better?” Maira asked.
One of the kitten’s front legs had been broken when I’d taken her in. “It’s all healed now, but she’s a lot smaller than you, so you have to be careful.”
“Not a toy,” Fiona piped up, repeating what she’d been told when I first introduced her to the kitten.
I patted her on the head. “Exactly.”
Inside the house, I opened the carrier and Hops leaped out. She immediately gave Maira a head butt on the leg. A minute later, the three were happily playing with a toy mouse, so I headed down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Mom and Kate were standing at the island in the center of the room putting a salad together. My mother was coming up on her sixtieth birthday, but to me she looked younger than ever. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut in a short bob, which was a new style for her. She wore white capris and a royal blue sleeveless blouse that went really well with her hair. Kate wore her hair much like her young daughters—straight and halfway down her back. She was dressed for the heat in a brightly colored flowered sundress. For once, I wasn’t underdressed. I knew Jake’s parents were coming and even though I’d met them several times growing up, I wanted to make a good impression. I had donned a long, white gauzelike skirt and a mint green peasant top.
I greeted my sister-in-law, then kissed Mom on the cheek and asked i
f I could help.
“Definitely not,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”
“Not really,” I said. “I kind of got my second wind after a shower.”
Just then, Mike barged into the kitchen, carrying a football. His face fell when he saw me. “I guess that getup means you’re not my running back tonight.”
“Michael,” Mom said before I had a chance to open my mouth. “The last thing your sister wants to do is play football. She’s been working all day.”
“Sorry, brother,” I said. “You’ll have to play without me.”
Kate squeezed her husband’s arm. “You could skip the game for once, you know.”
Mike gave Kate a quick kiss. “Michael O’Hara has never missed a pickup game, and I’m not going to start now. I’ll just have to find someone else to fill in. Maybe I can talk Dad into it.” With that, he headed back out to the yard.
I had half expected Dad to still be working. I was glad he was home, because I wanted to talk to him. I was up in the air about what—or even if—I should tell him about his partner’s visit that morning. It was apparent there was some friction between them and I didn’t want to make it worse, or cause my dad to be any more overprotective than he already was. I’d play it by ear and see where things stood with the investigation.
Mom put the salad in the fridge and the three of us made our way to the patio that overlooked the large backyard. Dad was at the grill, and Mike and Sean were tossing the football back and forth. Mike wouldn’t have to worry about losing me as a teammate if no one else showed up to play. Tonight’s get-together was later than usual because of the festival. The football portion of Sunday—when there wasn’t a Steelers game on TV, that is—occurred in the afternoon. Any neighbor who would have participated was at home relaxing or eating dinner by now.
