by L. M. Fortin
She was surprised at the lack of questions, but realized that was because the brewers were wanting to get on to the next agenda item.
The guild president came up to the podium. “Our next guest is a program coordinator with the Brewer’s Association. I know there are some pretty strong feelings amongst our current membership of the role of brewery consolidations or buy-outs at the national level. Karl is going to talk with us a little about that and then we’ll open the floor to questions. It’s great to have an expert on the subject with us, so please take advantage of it.”
Karl Redding came up to the podium, but stood beside it instead of behind it. “As you may know, the Brewer’s Association exists to celebrate and promote craft brewing. I’m happy to be here today in a room with folks who have those same ideals.” Karl wore a denim blue button down shirt and dark brown khaki pants. He had sandy blond hair and a short goatee.
Callie’s eyes wandered the room as Karl went into a short presentation about brewery consolidation and its impact on smaller breweries. Callie thought his presentation was lacking a conclusion though, especially from an organization whose lifeblood was small craft breweries.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one who thought that. Zeke spoke up. “Karl, although your presentation does a good job talking about the different sides of the issue, where does the Brewer’s Association stand on the topic?”
Karl smiled. “I knew that was coming. The Brewer’s Association definitely supports the continued existence of the smaller breweries and we certainly don’t see the number of those declining. However, it would be ignorant of us to put our heads in the sand and not acknowledge larger breweries. In general, beer sales continue to increase at both levels and that’s good for all of us. There’s no point in bashing the larger breweries or saying it’s wrong for a small brewery to take an offer to consolidate with a larger one.”
“Consolidation is just another word for selling out. Which takes all the point out of making small batch artisanal beers,” said a man next to Zeke. Callie couldn’t see the brewery logo on his shirt, but she thought he was one of the people who raised his hand to be on the Bru-topia committee. “I have yet to see a buy-out where the brewery’s original customer base didn’t feel betrayed when the small guy sells out.”
Before Karl could reply, Ethan spoke. “So what? Although I value the local customer who drinks our beer regionally, increasing the customer base more than makes up for any lost sales. And I’m not convinced sales are lost. People drink what they like and I don’t think it matters who owns the brewery.”
Several others started to speak at the same time and the guild president had to return to the podium and hit the bell several times to restore order. “This is an issue that has come up many times and we’re never all going to hold the same opinion on this. Let’s agree to disagree and move on.” He turned to Karl. “Anything else for us tonight?”
Karl shook his head. “No. I’ll be available after the meeting, but I’m also in town for another day and I’d love to check out some local brews. Let me know if I can stop by any of your breweries.”
Mark closed the meeting and people started getting up in a buzz of conversation.
Callie walked around the room gathering up the flyers that had been left on the tables. One of the brewers, wearing a brown t-shirt with a Machine Brewing logo, introduced himself. “I’m Charles Schmitt. I volunteered to be on the Bru-topia committee.”
“It’s nice to meet you, and thanks for volunteering.” Charles had short blond hair so pale colored that at first she had taken it for white. The color contrasted with his bright blue eyes. “I think we’re going to do some good things this year.”
“Do you have an idea of the time commitment for the committee? I mean, all of us have breweries to run and I think some folks may be involved with other groups.”
Callie nodded. “That’s a valid concern. For this one, as your role is mostly advisory, I don’t see us meeting more than once or twice a month and I don’t expect you’ll do much actual work, just help guide us in the right direction. I can’t imagine we’d do more than that unless there’s some great emergency.”
“Sounds like something most of us could manage.”
“Before you leave tonight, could you stop by and see Walt to make sure he has all your contact information?”
Several other brewers stopped by to check in with her. Only one other, Malachite Ales, was interested in the sponsorship of the glasses and she told him it was already reserved for Magic Waters.
“Hmph,” he said. “Ethan got to you first, I guess.”
She smiled ruefully. “There are still other really great opportunities. The signage sponsorship gets you a lot of attention during the event itself and we put your logo on the t-shirt, so there’s a post event effect as well.”
“And that’s only half the cost of the glassware,” he said. “Sounds like a deal. Sign me up.”
The room had partially emptied out. As Callie looked around to find Walt to say goodbye, she saw Ethan was having a heated discussion with Zeke Sherman. “All this talk about artisanal beers, is nonsense. We’re all in it for the money. You can paint it all rosy if you like, but no one would do this just for the taste of some fancy-schmancy beer.”
Zeke said, “Stu was right when he used the word sell-out. It’s all about profit to you, Ethan, and nothing more. I can’t believe your dad stands for this!”
If Callie had thought Ethan looked angry before that was nothing compared to what he looked like now and it almost seemed as if the two of them were going to come to blows. “You leave my dad out of this!”
Callie stepped over to the group. “Ethan, I have a few questions about your sponsorship if you have a minute.”
Behind Ethan, Callie could see the man who had sat next to him, Chris Ashton, was also ready to intervene. He gave a smile to Callie as if thanking her for peacefully interrupting the discussion.
Now that she could see him in the light, Callie realized he was stunningly good looking. Ethan was a tall man, but Chris topped him by half a head. His hair was a brown with coppery highlights and he had piercing dark brown eyes.
Zeke Sherman turned and walked away, but Ethan’s eyes followed him across the room.
As Floyd left the tasting room and headed into the main warehouse, he thought he was the only person remaining in the building. The dog at his side knew differently and began to bark. “Hops, what has gotten into you?” The small Brittany spaniel ignored the question and continuing to bark, ran ahead of Floyd to the door at the back of the brewery. Floyd caught up with him and opened the door, surprised that it was unlocked. “See? No one out here.” The dog sniffed around the back porch, and then slowly walked inside, looking back once. Floyd closed the door, securing the chain lock and deadbolt.
Active brewing operations had ceased for the day, which suited Floyd perfectly. There would be no one around to comment, deride, or otherwise criticize his newest project. He smiled. It wasn’t every day he came up with an idea as brilliant as this one.
Floyd walked through the main portion of the warehouse filled with silver sided fermentation tanks. His batch of beer would only brew a few kegs, not the dozens that these would produce. He was unaware of the figure hidden behind those tanks, away from the lights and not even casting a shadow. The figure was silent enough that even the sharp ears of the dog heard no footsteps.
The room Floyd used for special projects was large enough to fit several sets of shelves opposite a six foot countertop. He went to the cupboards above the countertop and pulled out a wide mouth gallon jar. Inside the jar was a clear liquid with chunks of a brownish material floating in it. He opened the jar and took out some of the liquid using a small measuring cup. He took a sip of the liquid, unaware that with each drink, he was courting death. The shadowy figure outside the room couldn’t see what Floyd was doing, but the sounds told him all he needed to know. If there had been anyone around to see, they might have noticed the
dark silhouette sagging slightly against the wall, as if acknowledging there were actions that could no longer be stopped, reaching a point of no return.
“You know what, Hops?” asked Floyd. “I think we need to add a few more mushrooms to this. It’s still pretty blah. If you’re going to go to the trouble of making a mushroom beer, you’d better be able to taste the mushrooms.”
He took several handfuls of mushrooms from a bag on a nearby counter and put them in the liquid. Screwing the lid on tight, he placed it back on the shelf. “We’ll let that sit a while longer.”
His cellphone rang and he grabbed it from his pocket. “Yes? Oh, I was just finishing up. I’ll be home in a few minutes.” Floyd locked the front door of the brewery as he left. When silence had settled inside the building, the hidden figure appeared from behind the fermentation vats and exited the building using the back door.
Chapter Three
Callie went directly to the bar when she arrived at the Barley and Sheaf for the Bru-topia committee meeting. As usual, she was a few minutes early.
“Callie, good to see you. Can I get you something to drink?” Yuki was at a table rolling silverware into napkins.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” said Callie.
“This is one of those tasks I do when I have nothing better to do. It’s not an interruption, so much as a relief,” she said, getting up and heading to the bar. “What would you like?”
“I’ll have a glass of the Forever Filbert, but only if you join me,” said Callie. Yuki was still a mystery to her as most of her time working on Bru-topia was spent with Walt.
Yuki poured two glasses of beer. “This is one of my favorites as well,” she said. “I don’t like many of the darker beers.”
She came around to the front of the bar and sat next to Callie. “How’s the planning going?”
Callie gave a sigh. “We’re sort of in the crazy time right now. Once we get everything we need ordered and the marketing laid out, it will quiet down. That’s what I’m hoping to talk with the committee about today. I want to get a list of good places to advertise and create a viral marketing plan for the participating breweries to put out to their customers.”
The door opened and Zeke Sherman came in. Callie noticed his limp was worse than it had been when she had seen him at the Brewer’s Guild meeting. He was leaning heavily on a wooden cane.
Yuki raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Hey, Zeke. Are you limping again? I thought you were better.”
He grimaced. “I was. There was a break-in at the pub and I tripped chasing the thieves out the basement door. Banged up my hip pretty bad.”
“That’s terrible,” said Callie, getting up and pulling out a chair for him. “Did they take anything?”
“That’s the weird thing about it,” he said as he sat. “I must have surprised them too early for them to grab anything. Instead, it looked as if they just wanted to come in and wreck things. They broke a bunch of bottles and tore apart some of the brewing equipment. It was a mess.”
“I would think they’d want to steal the beer,” said Callie.
“Me, too. I guess I’m just happy it wasn’t any worse. We didn’t have that particular door wired into our security system, so it was lucky I was there to hear them break-in.”
“Did you reinjure your legs?” asked Yuki.
“No. I mean, I’m not totally healed yet, so my legs weren’t helping me out. I just tripped and fell on my hip. Could you make me more of that tea you made when I broke my legs?”
“Most certainly,” said Yuki. “I’m glad it helped last time.” She turned to Callie. “It is a mix of poppy and St. John’s Wort. Very calming and can relieve pain.”
“I’m not sure if it’s the tea that works, or the fact that I have to sit down and relax to drink it when I brew a pot,” said Zeke. “Either way, it provides me some relief.”
“How often do people come to you for tea?” Callie asked Yuki.
“I help out occasionally at the alternative medicine clinic on McKenzie Street. I do not want to waste all the knowledge my mother passed down to me,” she said.
The door opened again, and Walt, Ethan Fillmer and several other members of the Bru-topia committee came it.
Yuki stood up. “Back to work, I guess.” She went to Walt and they began moving a few tables together to make one large table. Yuki took drink orders from almost everyone in the group. However, Callie noticed that she didn’t speak to Ethan and Walt poured his drink.
Callie and Zeke got up and walked over to the others, Zeke moving slowly. She saw Ethan smirk. “What’s up old timer? You look like my granddad.”
“Just a small accident. I’ll be better in no time,” said Zeke, not looking at Ethan.
Charles, from Machine Brewing said, “Zeke I heard about your break-in. Was anything stolen?”
“No, they just made a mess of my brewing area. I’ve already cleaned it up and started some new batches.”
“They didn’t even take any beer, did they?” asked Ethan.
“How did you know that?” asked Zeke, looking at Ethan suspiciously. Callie could feel the tension between the two.
Ethan shrugged. “I guessed. I can’t imagine anybody risking that just to get a taste of your beer.”
“Ethan, that’s enough,” said Walt sharply before Zeke could reply.
Ethan didn’t make any more comments, but Callie wondered if he had something to do with the break-in at Barton’s Pub just to create mischief for Zeke.
After the meeting, Callie left the Barley and Sheaf and headed a few blocks along McKenzie Street. There was a pizza place Coral loved because all it served was vegetarian and vegan pizzas. Leave it to Skinner to lead the way in meatless pizza. She stood outside the restaurant reading the menu. Mushrooms and Kalamata olives? Spinach and Gorgonzola? Granny Smith apple and Gouda? Callie pulled her phone out of her purse. She would call home to tell them she was getting dinner and see if her mother and Grandma Minnie wanted something standard or exotic.
She was looking at her phone, but hadn’t dialed yet, when a hand reached out to cover hers. She looked up and saw Scott McMillan.
Although she had felt a closeness to him the past summer, events after the Skinner Celebration had pushed them in directions where their paths had not crossed. She wanted to get to know him better, but held back. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to pursue a relationship with him, but she felt a reticence on his part and knew it was due to Audrey. Callie didn’t want to compete with the past.
The former Audrey McMillan, now back to using her maiden name of Wolcott, had been Callie’s best friend during high school and they had been an inseparable pair in the old days. After high school, as Callie had moved to New York and Audrey had stayed in Skinner, they had grown apart. Sometimes though, the days of their friendship and all the high school drama felt like it had happened yesterday. Callie assumed Scott felt the same.
Although Audrey had divorced him, Callie knew Scott was conscious of the fact that if and when he resumed dating and Audrey heard about it, there would be some sort of payment rendered out of his flesh. Dating Audrey’s high school best friend would only intensify that payment.
So Callie hadn’t pushed him or pursued him. Their one date, if you could call it that, had been with a group of Scott’s work friends and an entirely casual affair at the Cloudburst Pub. The evening had ended at a decent hour and they had parted ways with a kiss on the cheek. Then her life got busy.
He wore his usual dark suit jacket, white collared shirt and no tie. His black hair was as ruffled as always and she could see the pleasure in his blue-gray eyes. “Callie, it’s good to see you,” he said, giving her a short hug.
“And you as well,” she said, realizing it was the truth. Although she had thought of calling him several times after her return to town, some impulse within her wanted him to make the next move. Now that she was standing and looking at him, she wished she had phoned. It was as if she hadn’t known she was missing anyth
ing, but his presence filled some absence in her mind. She felt an almost electric connection where his hand remained on her arm.
“What are you doing here? I heard you were traveling to New York,” he said.
“Only for a couple of weeks. My home is Skinner now,” she said.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, smiling at her. “Are you on your way someplace? Are you free to get a drink or something? I’m done with work for the day and I was thinking of getting dinner.”
Callie put away her phone. Her mother and grandma could fend for themselves. “My evening is entirely at your disposal,” she said, smiling.
He grabbed her hand and again, she felt a jolt of energy travel to her toes and back. “Is Thai good?” he asked. She nodded and off they went.
In Skinner, a Thai restaurant was always just around the corner, so they didn’t have far to walk. After they had sat and ordered, Scott asked about her trip from New York. “Any regrets leaving the big city?”
“Not as many as I thought there would be,” she said. “It’s not as if it won’t be there if I ever decide to go back.” She had been surprised at the relief she felt when she saw the skyscrapers of NYC in her rear view mirror. “I really did want to come back to Skinner. I think I was a little, I don’t know, bored?”
“Bored? With all that travel and a job with a bunch of great events?”
“Bored in metaphysical sense, maybe. My days were packed, you’re right. I think I was just going through the motions though. The chance to come back here came at a good time. I was ready to move on, I just didn’t know it.”
“Did you drive all the way?” he asked.
“Yes. I didn’t have a car in New York, so I rented a small moving truck and drove my stuff out here. I only had a one-bedroom apartment, so there wasn’t a lot of stuff to bring. My mom has most of the furniture I need for now, so I left anything bulky behind.”
