Tangled Up in a Brew

by Joyce Tremel

  But what about Randy Gregory? I needed to hear his story as well. Unfortunately, his brewery was a good thirty to forty-five minutes away. It was too late in the day to pay him a visit and after the way he’d badgered me at the meeting last night, I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to him alone. He would be at the festival over the weekend. I’d just wait until then.

  * * *

  That evening, I was surprised to see Ginger Alvarado and her husband, Edward, waiting for a table. It was five o’clock and especially busy for some reason. Every seat was occupied, including those at the bar. Nicole was helping me at the taps when I spotted the Alvarados. I told her there was someone I needed to see and I’d be back as soon as I could.

  “Take your time,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Welcome to the Allegheny Brew House,” I said when I reached the couple.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t stopped in before this,” Ginger said. “It looks fabulous.” She introduced me to her husband. Edward was a few inches taller than Ginger’s five foot six. His black hair was short and cut in a JFK style with an odd white streak in the front. He was dressed casually in khakis and a polo shirt like he’d just stepped off the golf course.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said.

  Edward shook my hand. “Likewise. I’ve never met a lady brewer before.”

  “I’ve never met a city councilman before, so I guess we’re even.”

  He laughed. “Good point.” His laugh was hearty, like I’d just told the best joke in the world.

  “Your wife is doing a great job with the festival.”

  “Yes, she is.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “As she does with most things.”

  Ginger smiled at her husband. It was clear that they adored each other. “You give me too much credit. There are dozens of people who have pitched in to make it a success.”

  By this time a table had opened up and I bussed it myself, then grabbed two menus and led them to their seats. I told them about the specials and the beer and said their server would be right with them. After they’d placed their orders, Ginger waved me over and asked me to sit for a moment.

  “I wanted to fill you in on a couple of things for this weekend,” she said.

  “Nothing bad, I hope.”

  Ginger shook her head. “On the contrary. It’s great news. We’ll have three judges again and the burger competition final will definitely proceed as planned.”

  “That is good news,” I said. “Is it anyone I’m familiar with?”

  “Actually, you met her last Friday. It’s Phoebe Atwell.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “That’s a surprise,” I said. “She was willing to come back after what happened to her replacement?”

  “More than willing. Phoebe called me yesterday and offered her services again,” Ginger said. “It took me by surprise, too. I had planned to just make do with two judges.” She smiled at her husband. “Edward offered to be number three, but he knows nothing about food.”

  He laughed. “I know plenty about eating food—just not how to cook it. I would have been a great judge.”

  She patted his arm. “It wouldn’t have looked right having my husband as a judge.” She returned to the subject at hand. “Anyway, I asked Phoebe about the emergency that made her bow out last weekend and she assured me it had all been taken care of. Frankly, it’s a relief she’s coming back.”

  I agreed. I didn’t know all that much about Phoebe, but the most important thing was that she wasn’t anything like Reginald Mobley. I’d read a few of her articles and reviews when I began preparing for the festival, and she seemed fair. And having three judges instead of two would make for a better competition—especially in case of a tie between two contestants.

  Ginger continued. “It will be good for the future of the festival to be able to put last weekend’s incident behind us.”

  As much as I liked Ginger, her statement was a little off-putting. It seemed a bit euphemistic to call a murder an incident, almost as if it were in the same category as a purse snatching. I didn’t like the next thought that popped into my head. The publicity hadn’t hurt the attendance at the festival one bit. As a matter of fact, the turnout after the murder had far exceeded everyone’s expectations. What was the saying? “There’s no such thing as bad publicity”? It looked like my suspect list had just grown a little longer.

  Edward interrupted my thoughts. “Ginger tells me that young detective has been harassing you.”

  His statement took me by surprise and I paused before answering. “Not exactly. I don’t think he likes me much, though.”

  “I can talk to some people and have him removed from the case.”

  “That’s not necessary.” If he’d said that before I talked to Dad last night, I might have taken him up on it. With Dad in control, I didn’t need Edward’s help. I doubted that a lone city councilman had that kind of power anyway—especially since the detective was related to the governor.

  “I imagine it’s difficult for your father,” he said.

  “Not really.”

  “It must be frustrating for him, then.”

  I was glad that Cassie, their server, brought their meals just then so I didn’t have to listen to any more of Edward’s assumptions. I excused myself and told them to enjoy their meals. Nicole had things under control at the bar, so I went back to my office and closed the door. I needed to think.

  The conversation had made a definite awkward turn. From Ginger downplaying that a murder had occurred by calling it an “incident,” to her husband asking about Vince and my dad. It seemed like he was fishing for information, but I didn’t know why. And why would he care if Vince was harassing me? If Ginger told him Vince was harassing her, I could see why he’d care about that. But me? It didn’t make any sense. Unless . . .

  Ginger certainly had the opportunity to kill Mobley. No one would think twice, or even notice, if she had been the one to place the poisoned bottle of water at Mobley’s spot. She had every reason to be there. Come to think of it, when Mobley bellowed for water, Ginger was the one who picked up the bottle by his chair and handed it to him. But what about a motive—or her husband’s if he was involved as well? Ginger wanted the festival to succeed. In order to make it an annual event and recoup the cost of planning and executing it, she’d need a large turnout. There would have been no guarantee that murdering Mobley would increase attendance. If anything, it could have done the opposite. The festival could have been a huge flop. And what about Edward Alvarado? I couldn’t think of any reason why he’d be involved in murder. But he could be protecting his wife. His fishing expedition could be to find out what my dad knew.

  I didn’t quite buy that Ginger would kill someone on the off chance it would boost the festival. If she murdered the critic—and I wasn’t convinced she did—there had to be more to it than that. I needed to find out whether she’d known Mobley before the festival.

  There was a knock on my door and Cassie poked her head in and told me the Alvarados were ready to leave and wanted to say good-bye. I pushed my suspicions aside for the moment and headed back out to the pub.

  * * *

  I had planned on skipping our monthly book club meeting and making an early night of it, since I’d been at the brew house since six that morning, but I was still full of energy by seven o’clock. Jake had gone home earlier. Since his mom was spending the evening with her old bridge club, he and Mike had taken Jake’s dad to the Pirates game. I was invited to both, but begged off, thinking I’d be too tired. Plus, I had no idea how to play bridge, and it would be a nice men’s night out for the guys. Since I wasn’t tired, I grabbed the book I’d made it only halfway through and headed to the library.

  I’d always liked to read but had gotten sidetracked when I went to grad school. I joined the book club thinking I’d have more time since I didn’t have textbooks to st
udy, but the only book I’d managed to read all the way through was the one I’d chosen last month. And I kind of cheated because I’d chosen To Kill a Mockingbird, which I’d read several times over the years.

  Kristie looked up in surprise when I walked into the conference room where we held our meetings. “Max! I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

  “I didn’t, either,” I said.

  “I told you she’d be here,” Elmer said. “Max has a sense of duty. She’s a paratrooper at heart.”

  Candy snorted. “Hardly. Max is afraid of heights. And she’d have too much sense to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.”

  I felt like my smile went from ear to ear. It seemed like forever since I’d seen my friends, even though it had been only days. I took a seat beside Amanda, who was the children’s librarian here at the Lawrenceville branch. This month’s book—one of the latest young adult novels—had been her choice.

  “I’m glad you came,” Amanda whispered to me. “Elmer has already said he hated the book.” Elmer griped about most of the books we read unless it was one he picked. We were used to it by now.

  I noticed Kristie’s mother was absent tonight. “Pearl couldn’t make it?” I said to Kristie.

  “She wanted to, but she has a bit of a cold and didn’t want to pass it on to anyone,” she said.

  We chitchatted for a few minutes, then discussed the book. It wasn’t long, however, before the conversation veered to the investigation into Reginald Mobley’s murder. Candy had already told Kristie about the funeral home visit, but she repeated it for Amanda’s sake.

  “Oh my,” Amanda said. “The wife really pushed the ex-wife into a vase of flowers? It’s just like a soap opera.”

  “That’s not all, either,” Candy said. “Max talked to the ex and got an earful.”

  I told them about meeting with Linda Mobley.

  Kristie shook her head. “So that Dwayne guy and Melody are brother and sister. Throw Mobley in the mix and it kind of makes sense in a weird sort of way.”

  “How do you figure?” Elmer asked.

  “They’re all the same type,” she said. “And that type sticks together.”

  Elmer made a face. “And how would you know that, missy?”

  “I see all kinds of people in the coffee shop. I can tell the type of person just by how they order their java and how they treat the baristas. I have a hunch those three would order something off-the-wall just to trip me up and then berate me if I didn’t get it right.”

  “You might have something there,” Candy said.

  The wheels were turning in my head. In addition to being a great barista, Kristie actually had a master’s in psychology. She could read behavior as well as—or better than—some practicing psychologists. Actually, being a barista, or even a bartender, wasn’t all that different from being a psychologist. The venue was different. And the pay scale, of course. I told them about the brewers’ meeting and how Randy wouldn’t let up with the questions, my visit to Cory’s brewery, and this evening with the Alvarados. I asked Kristie what she thought.

  “I think you have a boatload of suspects,” she said. “Melody, Dwayne, the ex-wife, those brewers, Ginger and her husband. I’d have to see them in action to give you any more than that.”

  “My money’s on that politician,” Elmer said. “Can’t trust any of them.”

  Candy shook her head. “It’s not him. No motive. He was just being nosy. Don’t forget—he’s planning on running for county executive, so he’s collecting information he might be able to use later to his advantage. The killer has to be someone with a personal connection, like Melody.”

  “Or Dwayne,” I added.

  Candy gave me a look for interrupting, then continued. “Melody seems to think she’s the center of the universe. She wants all the attention, which was pretty apparent at the funeral home. She didn’t like it when Mobley’s ex-wife showed up and the focus moved away from her.”

  “Yes!” Kristie sounded excited. “That’s exactly it. Maybe you should have been a psychologist.”

  I had no doubt that Candy had used a lot of psychology in whatever her former career had been. I kept going back and forth between some kind of law enforcement or government work. Right now I was thinking profiler. I wondered if she’d ever tell me. Probably not. She enjoyed keeping me guessing too much.

  “My career choice is not the topic right now,” Candy said.

  Or maybe she’d been a teacher. She had that correctional voice down pat.

  “As I was saying, Melody wants the focus on her. What if, for some reason, she felt like her husband was overshadowing her? You put two narcissists together like that and something’s got to give. Both of them can’t come out on top.”

  “How does Dwayne fit into that picture?” I asked.

  Amanda had been silent, but finally spoke up. “Maybe he’s in love with his sister.”

  We all stared at her. I couldn’t believe the idea had come out of the mouth of a children’s librarian. “That’s really creepy,” I said.

  Candy said, “Creepy or not, we should consider it.”

  Elmer agreed. “You can’t get much creepier than poisoning a guy in front of hundreds of people. Those two could be in it together.”

  We tossed some more ideas back and forth, but didn’t come up with anything concrete. Melody and Dwayne were at the top of my suspect list. If Ginger had killed Mobley, there had to have been more to it than publicity for the festival. I moved her—and Cory, too—to the bottom of my mental list. For now, I’d focus on the two I would see at the festival this weekend—Dwayne and Randy—and somehow find a way to talk to Melody. I was more glad than ever I had decided to show up for book club. Sometimes brainstorming with Candy, Elmer, and Kristie was more frustrating than helpful, but tonight it left me energized. And hopeful I’d figure it all out.

  * * *

  When I got home, I fed Hops, then fixed a sandwich for myself. I retrieved my laptop from my bedroom, then settled on the sofa and ate my very late dinner while the computer booted up. Hops soon joined me, but she seemed more interested in the chipped ham on my sandwich than anything else. I gave her a small piece and after she gobbled it down, she circled a few times, then snuggled up beside me.

  I wasn’t sure what I was even looking for, but I hoped Google would lead me in the right direction. I had too many suspects and I didn’t want to make the mistake of being sure a certain person was the killer when it was someone else entirely. Been there, done that. There was also a little voice in my head telling me I should just forget the whole thing and let the police handle it. If Vincent Falk hadn’t been involved, I would do just that. I knew my dad said he had everything under control, but it couldn’t hurt if I helped him out a little. With the second weekend of the festival coming up, I worried about the possibility the killer would strike again. If Mobley had truly been the target, I knew that would be unlikely. Maybe my curiosity had just gotten the best of me, but I couldn’t stop now.

  I began my search with the obvious—Reginald Mobley. I scanned some of his reviews and was sickened by his vitriol. I didn’t understand how someone could possibly hate everything and everybody. Supposedly everyone had some redeeming quality, but in his case there didn’t seem to be one. I couldn’t find anything that showed his financial status. There was also nothing to show a connection to any high-ranking state officials, but that wasn’t altogether surprising. If there was something shady going on, neither party would want it made public.

  Hops opened one eye when I said aloud, “Next up is the wife.” I typed Melody Mobley. I felt a bit like a ghoul when the first item listed was her husband’s obituary. There wasn’t much information on her other than some mentions at a few charity events around Pittsburgh. I tried her maiden name next and hit the jackpot—so to speak. Apparently Melody Tunstall had been a frequent visitor to the North Shor
e Casino, evidenced by the number of photos she’d taken of herself and posted online. Her selfies weren’t at slot machines, either. She seemed to have an affinity for certain table games. The kind where you can win—or most likely lose—a lot of money.

  “So Melody likes to gamble,” I said.

  Hops opened both eyes this time. “Murp.”

  I took that to mean she agreed with me. Either that or she was telling me to be quiet. I stared at the wall and stroked Hops on her head while I thought about what I’d found. If Melody had gambled a lot before she married Mobley, had she kept it up? She hadn’t posted any pictures under her married name, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. If she was losing money, it might have made her husband angry. He demanded she stop going to the casino, so she killed him. It was possible, but I wasn’t all that thrilled with the theory. That alone didn’t seem like a strong enough motive. They could have just split up. Unless Mobley had her sign a prenuptial agreement, that is. From the little I knew about him, I was sure he would have left her with nothing, which gave her a much stronger motive for murder. But what about her brother?

  I yawned and glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven o’clock. I’d do one more search, then go to bed. I typed in Dwayne’s name. I half expected to find pictures of him at the casino, but there weren’t any. I found a few mentions of his brewery and was glad most of them weren’t very complimentary. I yawned again. Any more searching would have to wait. I closed my laptop, picked up the kitten, and headed to bed.

  * * *

  If it hadn’t been for the steady rain and the fact that we all seemed to know what we were doing, Friday morning would have been a repeat from the previous week. By the time Jake and I got our canopy up, we were both soaked. And of course, as soon as we were under cover, the rain stopped and the sun came out. A typical July day in Pittsburgh.