Tangled Up in a Brew

by Joyce Tremel

  That would have to do. For now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Unlike Dwayne, I didn’t have to think about it. I called my dad’s cell phone as soon as I got in the car. His voice mail picked up, so I left a message that I had some important information for him. It was likely Dwayne would be angry with me, but so be it. Before I left him, I tried to convince him to skip the festival today. It was the last day and he’d only be putting himself in danger. Despite everything that had happened, he refused to miss it. He was still determined to win the Golden Stein. I’d practically forgotten about it. He could have it as far as I was concerned.

  Even though it was Sunday and the brew house was closed, I headed there anyway. I liked to check the tanks at least daily and the brewery was a good place to think. I could let my mind wander, and more than once, I’d come to conclusions about things that I hadn’t considered before.

  After depositing my purse and keys in my office, I went to the storeroom and lugged the ingredients for a brown ale into the brewery. It was only eight thirty, and since Nicole and Jake were going to open up our booth when the festival began, I had just enough time to start a new batch. I would head down to the festival this afternoon and take over for Jake so he could get ready for the burger competition final. The scent of malt grain and hot water coming together in the mash tun was just what I needed to organize my thoughts.

  I’d learned an awful lot that morning—not only that Reginald Mobley was indeed Ronald Moore, but someone besides Dwayne knew it and had targeted him. The big question was why. From one of the notes Dwayne had received, it definitely had something to do with what had happened at Mobley’s restaurant fifteen years ago. Someone still blamed him for the food poisoning death of the woman who’d eaten there. My guess was that it was a close relative or friend. Maybe even the woman’s husband.

  As soon as I transferred the wort to the brew kettle and added the hops, I called Candy and told her about my visit with Dwayne.

  “You’ve had a busy morning already,” she said. “Do you think he was telling the truth that he wasn’t blackmailing his brother-in-law?”

  “I didn’t until he showed me the threats he’d received. They’re the reason he was so frightened every time I asked him why he hadn’t wanted anyone to know that Melody was his sister.”

  “I hope Dwayne has enough sense to stay away from the festival today.”

  I sighed. “He doesn’t. I tried to talk him into staying home, but he has his heart set on winning the competition. I’ll just have to keep an eye on him.” Maybe if I didn’t let him out of my sight, the killer wouldn’t attempt anything.

  Candy told me she was going to call a friend of hers who worked at the paper and have her search the archives for any articles about Ronald Moore and his restaurant, and she’d meet me at the festival later. When we were finished talking, I went back to my office and booted up my computer.

  Dwayne had said he thought someone at the casino had overheard him call Mobley by his former name, because the threats began shortly after that. I typed in Melody Tunstall like I had earlier and began looking through the dozens of photos she had posted. The background images were blurry in most of them, so I wasn’t able to make out many faces. I didn’t recognize any of the people who weren’t blurry. I thought I spotted the back of Reginald Mobley in one, but I couldn’t be sure. It had been a long shot that I’d find the killer this way, but I was disappointed anyway. After that, I Googled Ronald Moore, but there were too many people with that name, and I didn’t have time to scroll through everything. I’d have to rely on what Candy came up with.

  Nicole came in as I headed back to the brewery to move the wort from the kettle to the fermentation tank. “Are you sure you don’t mind working on your day off?” I asked her.

  “Are you kidding?” Her light brown hair was in a ponytail and it swayed back and forth as she shook her head. “You’re paying me to hang out at a festival all day talking to people about beer. That’s not exactly work to me.” She followed me through the swinging door into the brewery. “You started a new batch?”

  “Yep. I figured I had time. It’s a brown ale.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you brew one of those yet,” she said. “Can I help? Or at least watch what you do?”

  “Of course.” The process is more complicated than most people think. You don’t just pump the wort to the tank. The liquids have to be separated from any solids, which is done by pumping the wort out and then forcing it back in through a jet nozzle. The hops and any other solids will move to the center and the liquid is drained out. Then it must be cooled quickly, the yeast is added, and the specific gravity is measured. It will be measured again later, which is what determines the ABV, or alcohol by volume. It also tells us when to stop fermentation.

  Since Nicole was a chemistry major, I let her figure the specific gravity. “Too bad some of my chem classes aren’t this much fun. If they had a brewing class, they’d have to turn people away. Everyone would want to take it. You should teach one.”

  I laughed. “I think I’ll settle for leading brewery tours.” That was something I planned on doing eventually once the brew house was well established.

  “So, since this is an ale, it ferments for about two weeks. Right?” Nicole asked.

  Before I could see if she remembered at what temperature ale fermented, Jake breezed through the door. “Just what I like to see,” he said. “My two favorite ladies hard at work.” He crossed the room and kissed me on the forehead.

  “Don’t let your mother hear you say she’s not your favorite,” I said, grinning.

  He made a face. “My favorites after her, of course.”

  I helped them load the kegs onto Jake’s truck, then headed back inside to tackle every brewer’s least favorite job—the cleanup.

  * * *

  Candy met me at the festival entrance at a little after noon. The Steelers logo on the folder she was carrying matched the logo on her sequined ball cap, without the sequins, of course. She was an equal-opportunity sports fan today. The Steelers cap was accompanied by yellow pants with the Pirates logo, and a commemorative Penguins T-shirt from their last Stanley Cup victory. I didn’t question it.

  I had a little time to spare before I had to get to my booth and relieve Jake, so Candy and I searched for a place to sit where we could go over what she’d found. We ended up at one of the makeshift cinder block and wood benches. Not exactly comfortable, but it would have to do. She put the folder down between us and opened it.

  The first article had the headline POSSIBLE FOOD POISONING AT LOCAL RESTAURANT. It was only a paragraph long and just said that several people were sickened and ended up in the emergency room a few hours after eating dinner at Le Meilleur. None of the victims’ names were listed.

  The second article was dated three days later. DEATH OF PERRYSVILLE WOMAN BLAMED ON FOOD POISONING AT DOWNTOWN RESTAURANT. This article had much more information than the first one did. It identified the dead woman as Darlene Nichols, forty-five years old. It stated her teenage daughter had been at the restaurant with her but hadn’t eaten the same meal. I scanned the rest of the article for the daughter’s name, but it was never mentioned. There was only an old, grainy photo of the two of them together. “That’s disappointing,” I said. “I hoped there’d be more to go on.”

  Candy picked up the next article. “Maybe this one will be better. It’s about a wrongful-death lawsuit brought on behalf of the minor daughter.” She skimmed the page. “It still doesn’t mention the daughter’s name—only the name of the law firm—Anson, Gregory and Powell. Maybe we can contact the lawyers.”

  “That’s a possibility,” I said, “but it doesn’t help find the killer now. There’s no way of knowing if it’s even one of Darlene Nichols’s family members. I could be way off and the murders have nothing to do with her.”

  “Nothing else fits. And we know th
e last name is Nichols, so that should help.”

  “Except the daughter is an adult now. She could have married. She might not even live in this area anymore.”

  Candy stared at me. “I’ve never known you to be so contrary about anything. What gives?”

  “Nothing.” I paused. “It’s just that this is the final day of the festival and Dwayne could be in real danger. Plus, there’s no telling what else this person has planned and is going to do. Maybe others here are targets, too.”

  She patted me on the leg. “Max, you’re doing your best. That’s all you can do. Keep your eyes open, and I’ll do the same. Call your dad again. Call that cute little Vince if you have to.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at her calling the detective cute. “Maybe you want to call him. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear from you.”

  She pushed herself up. “I’m sure. Tell him I said hello when you talk to him. In the meantime, read through these articles again and I’m going to make the rounds and see what I can find out.” She smiled. “All in the guise of talking up my bakery, of course.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  * * *

  Are you nervous?” I asked Jake fifteen minutes later.

  “

  He shrugged. “A little maybe. It’s not like playing for the Stanley Cup.”

  I put my arm around his waist and gave him a little hip bump. “I know. You can’t check anyone into the boards.”

  “Very funny, O’Hara.”

  “You’ll do fine. You’re a great cook.” I slipped my other arm around him. “You’ll always be in first place to me.”

  “Good to know.”

  I tilted my head up and Jake leaned down and kissed me.

  Nicole cleared her throat and we separated. She was grinning.

  Jake grabbed his cooler and cooking supplies and headed to the kitchen tent.

  The festival wasn’t as busy as it had been the day before, so Nicole and I had plenty of time to talk. I’d spoken to my dad after Candy and I parted, and both he and his partner planned on being here today. I hadn’t seen either of them yet, but I was sure they’d be watching the burger tasting very carefully. I still worried that whoever the killer was would attempt to get to Dwayne today. I kept glancing over at him, but so far, nothing was amiss.

  When I finished telling Nicole about my visit to Dwayne’s that morning, she asked, “Do you really think the killer will go after him today?”

  I told her I did. “Especially if it’s someone who has been here both weekends. I just wish there was a way to find out. The only ones we know for sure are the vendors, the judges, and the others working here.”

  “Maybe that’s where you should start, then,” Nicole said.

  “You’re right.” I’d already considered some of them and it wouldn’t hurt to do it again in light of everything I’d found out. “Let’s start with what I know so far. Whoever killed Mobley and Melody, and is now after Dwayne, most likely knew his previous identity. And is probably related to the woman who died fifteen years ago—possibly her daughter.”

  Nicole nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “The daughter was sixteen or seventeen when her mother died. That would put her in her early thirties now.”

  “Which is probably half of the women working here. Not to mention a good portion of the attendees.”

  “But it seems to eliminate one of my suspects—Ginger Alvarado. She’s in her fifties.”

  We stopped to pour samples to a group of three couples and answer their questions. They liked our offerings and promised to stop in to the brew house soon.

  “Back to what we were talking about,” Nicole began. “What if it’s not the daughter? Ginger could still be in the running. She could be the woman’s sister.”

  “I didn’t think of that. Maybe you should become a detective instead of a chemist.”

  Nicole smiled. “You mean future brewer. I think I’ve found my niche.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that.” I wouldn’t have to look anywhere else for the assistant that I was going to need soon. She was right in front of me. I gave her a hug. “This is great news. But you’d better finish school first.”

  “I plan to. Don’t worry,” she said. “Is Ginger a possibility?”

  “If it turns out she’s related to the dead woman, yes.”

  Another group came over and we had to end the discussion. We hadn’t had a chance to talk about my other suspects—Dave, Randy, and Cory. After we served this group, it was time for me to leave for the burger competition. I’d be gone only about an hour, but I asked Nicole if she’d be all right alone. She said she would.

  I stopped to check on Dwayne, since I had to pass that way. He told me everything was fine. I hoped it stayed that way. “If you need to take a break later, let me know,” I told him. “I can keep an eye on things.”

  “I appreciate it,” Dwayne said. “Cory is coming over in a bit to do that.” He shook his head. “Everyone is being so nice to me. I can’t get used to it.”

  I liked the change in his attitude, but I couldn’t help wondering how long it would last.

  When I reached the area where the competition had been set up, I spotted my dad talking to a uniformed officer. There was a much larger police presence than there had been last week. When they were finished talking and the officer left him, I wandered over.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Dad said, kissing me on the cheek. “All’s well so far.”

  “It would be nice if it stayed that way. Where’s your shadow?”

  “He’s watching the chefs.”

  “Great.” I felt my blood pressure rising.

  Dad knew what I was thinking. “Don’t worry. I spoke to Jake. He knows Vincent will be watching over his shoulder.”

  “That’s just what Jake needs. How is he supposed to cook with that jerk breathing down his neck? Can’t you call him off?”

  Dad put his arm around my shoulder. “No can do. Besides, that’s the best place for him. We had a little talk and went over everything, including what you told me earlier. Vincent knows he was on the wrong track. He just doesn’t want to admit it. I think he’s trying to save face right now by keeping his eye on Jake. Just in case.”

  “He should be watching Dwayne instead to make sure nothing happens to him.”

  “I got it covered. There are some plainclothes officers patrolling the grounds.”

  Just then, Ginger’s voice came over the loudspeaker announcing the competitors were ready to plate their creations and bring them to the judges. Dad squeezed my shoulder and said he’d talk to me later. He moved to the rear of the crowd as Marshall Babcock, Phoebe Atwell, and Leonard Wilson came forward and took their seats. I noticed each of them carried reusable water bottles that I imagined they’d brought from home. There were no disposable bottles anywhere.

  I had butterflies in my stomach as the finalists came forward and put their plates on a table in front of the food critics. Jake looked much calmer than I felt. I realized my fists were clenched because my fingers started cramping. I shook them out. Vince had followed the finalists out and he moved to stand behind the judges. With his dark sunglasses, starched white shirt, and tie, he could be mistaken for a Secret Service agent. Maybe I could suggest that to him.

  One by one the judges examined the offerings and gave their opinions on the presentation and appearance of each. I was disappointed that both Leonard and Marshall declared Jake’s “average.” Phoebe gave him a higher score, but I wasn’t sure if it was for the plate or for him personally.

  Jake’s burger was the second to last to be tasted. Marshall was impressed. “You’ve upped your game a bit since last week,” he said. “You added some jalapeños this time.” I crossed my fingers as the other two tasted it. Leonard liked it, but not as much as the previous contestant’s. Phoebe declared it should be
called the “Almost Better Than Sex Burger” to the hoots and hollers of the observers. When they’d finished, the judges left to compare notes and decide on the winner. The results of the burger competition, as well as the beer competition, would be declared at an awards ceremony that was planned for after the close of the festival. The vendors would be breaking down their booths and packing up at five, and the ceremony was scheduled for six.

  Jake and the other contestants went back to the kitchen area to pose for photos and be interviewed. While I waited outside the tent for them to finish, Vince found me. “I’m sure you’re happy your boyfriend is in the clear,” he said.

  “And I’m sure you’re happy he’s not.”

  He removed his sunglasses. “Miss O’Hara, going after a guilty party does not make me happy. It’s my job. It’s what I do. The investigation has gone in another direction, and that’s the one I’ll follow now.” He dropped his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and walked away.

  I picked my jaw up off the ground. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but I’d take it. Dad had been right. There was hope for him yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  After Jake finished in the kitchen tent, we headed back to our booth. I sent Nicole to enjoy the rest of the festival. She said she’d be back to hear the announcement of the contest winner. My mom was bringing Jake’s parents down shortly so they could be here if Jake won. Everything was calm and even Dwayne seemed more relaxed when we stopped to check on him on our way back.

  And the fact that everything seemed so normal made me nervous. Jake and I were discussing this when Dave stopped by a few minutes later.

  “How did the competition go?” he asked. “I figure since my kid was knocked out of it last week, I should probably root for you.”

  “Thanks a lot, pal,” Jake said with a laugh. “I think I did okay.”

  Dave tilted his head toward Dwayne’s tent. “Any word about that?”