by Joyce Tremel
“Have you told Candy yet?”
“No, and I’m not sure what to tell her. I have a feeling even though we planned otherwise, she’ll show up at Hartwood Acres anyway. I know it’s a big estate, but there are plenty of places he’d be able to corner her—especially if he’s able to get her into the mansion.”
“The festival is outdoors, though, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “But the house could still be open.”
“We’ll just have to make sure Tommy knows all this as well. Maybe he’ll be able to keep her away from Felix.”
“I don’t envy him. When Candy sets her mind on something, there’s no stopping her.”
“What were Doodle’s sisters like?” he asked.
I told him that Rhonda seemed to be a bit of a snob. “She wanted to know if I was one of Doodle’s bimbos.”
Jake laughed. “Seriously? Knowing you, that’s pretty funny.”
“You don’t think I could be a bimbo?”
“Not on your life, O’Hara.”
I tried giving him a sultry look but a pickle slice fell from the last piece of my sandwich and landed on my desk. “Looks like you’re right.” I picked up the pickle and wiped my hands with a napkin.
Jake gathered up our debris and tossed it in the trash then pulled me to my feet. “You’ll never be a bimbo, but you’ve got that sexy look down pat.”
The heat in the room jumped up a couple of notches. “Oh, really.”
He pulled me closer. “Definitely. Now what should we do about that?”
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I have a pretty good idea.”
• • •
I spent most of the afternoon in the brewery. I had planned on brewing the India pale ale the same way I always did but decided at the last minute to change the recipe a bit. I switched around some of the hops I usually used and changed some of the amounts. Because I wasn’t a big fan of the bitterness of most IPAs, I was always cautious not to overdo it with the hops. I’d been told more than once that my IPA wasn’t “hoppy” enough. This time, I decided to throw caution to the wind. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to dump the whole batch down the drain. I’d know in about two weeks.
Nicole went off duty at five since she had a class that evening, so I took over at the bar. It was slow enough that I had time to think in between drawing drafts and seating and chatting with customers. My thoughts went back to the funeral that morning and how different Doodle’s sisters were from each other. What had Manny Levin said about Rhonda? She was angry that her brother hadn’t left her anything. From the way she was dressed and the car she drove, it seemed to me that she was the one with money, not her brother. I had seen Doodle’s house, and it certainly wasn’t the home of anyone who was well off. Plus, how much could he possibly make performing with the Deutschmen? Maybe he had another source of income I didn’t know about. If he had, it sure wasn’t obvious.
Then there was Paisley. Where Rhonda seemed to be hard and unemotional, I got the opposite impression of Paisley. I could imagine Doodle and Paisley getting along just fine. Doodle and Rhonda—not so much. I tried to remember what Paisley had said about her brother. Something about Doodle promising to take care of her. I wondered what that meant. I didn’t have any more time to ponder that because Marcus Crawford and Philip Rittenhouse entered the pub and were heading my way.
I gave them a big smile. “Welcome to the Allegheny Brew House.”
“I came down to drag Marcus out of his shop,” Philip said, “and we were both hungry, so . . .” He shrugged.
Marcus grinned. “Philip knew I’d be there all night if he left it up to me.”
“Let me get you a table,” I said. I grabbed a couple of menus and led them to a table near one of the front windows.
They asked about the beers and I gave them the rundown. Marcus chose an IPA and Philip a brown ale. When I returned with them, Philip asked if I had a minute.
“Sure,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Philip said. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be unveiling the Vermeer at the gallery tomorrow evening since my client is coming to town and I’d like to invite you and Jake.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “I’d love to, but I don’t think I can make it. My manager is off again tomorrow night.”
“That’s disappointing,” Philip said. “You seemed to be so interested in it.”
Marcus asked, “Can you get someone to cover for you?”
“Maybe. I can talk to Mike. He covers for me sometimes. I’d really love to see that painting.”
“If you miss the unveiling, you’ll still have a chance to see it. The owner has granted permission for me to display it for the next month.”
“I take it that it’s been authenticated,” I said.
Philip nodded. “I’m waiting for a chemical analysis yet, but the three experts who have examined it believe that it is most likely a Vermeer. That’s good enough for my buyer.”
“And for you, too?”
“I’d rather wait until I have the results of the analysis, but my client doesn’t. Besides, I have no reason to doubt the experts.”
More customers entered the pub and headed for the bar. “I’ve got to get back to work. If I don’t make it tomorrow night, I will definitely stop in as soon as I can,” I said.
There was a steady crowd over the next few hours, and I didn’t get a chance to talk to Philip or Marcus again. They stopped briefly on the way out to say that they loved the place and would be back soon. It began to slow down around nine, and shortly after that, Candy and Tommy stopped in.
I still didn’t like the idea of telling Candy about the Deutschmen performing this weekend. Like I’d said to Jake, I knew her well enough that despite what she’d agreed to last night, she’d want to be in the thick of things. I’d just have to make sure she wasn’t.
“Any news?” Candy asked as she slid onto one of the oak bar stools. “Are they performing this weekend?”
“Hello to you, too,” I said.
Tommy smiled as he took the seat beside Candy. “So sorry, Maxine. Candace is a bit anxious.”
“I am not. I’m perfectly fine.”
“No, you’re not, love.”
Before it turned into a full-blown spat, I asked if I could get them something.
“I suppose you don’t have anything harder than ale?” Tommy asked.
“I’m afraid not.” I had no plans at the moment to add a full bar—after all, it was a brewpub. Brew being the operative word.
Tommy slipped a stainless steel flask from his pocket. “I believe I’ll just have some tea then.”
I laughed. “Are you always so prepared?”
“Of course I am, my dear.”
Candy’s fingernails had been doing a dance on the bar top and she stopped tapping. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can we get back to the subject at hand?”
“In a minute,” I said as I placed an iced tea in front of her, then got a mug of hot water and a tea bag for Tommy.
“If you don’t talk soon, I’ll have you banned from the bakery,” Candy said.
“You wouldn’t.”
She gave me her famous look. “Just try me.”
I didn’t think she really meant it, but I wasn’t going to chance it. “I went to Doodle’s funeral this morning.”
“And?” Candy said.
“I met Doodle’s sisters.”
“He had sisters?”
Now I knew why she didn’t like it when I kept interrupting her. It was annoying. I was going to have to remember that. “Two of them.” I told them about Rhonda and Paisley and my impressions of them. “The band members were also there—including Felix.”
Candy jabbed Tommy with her elbow. “I told you we should have gone to the funeral.”
“T
hat wouldn’t have accomplished anything, love,” he said.
“Yes, it would have,” she said. “He’d know we were on to him.”
Tommy sipped his doctored tea. “Which is exactly what we don’t want to do.”
I broke in. “I had a chance to talk to Felix as everyone was leaving. I’d planned on talking to Bruce, but he was busy consoling Paisley so I caught up to Felix right before he got into his car.”
“What did he say?” Candy asked.
I’d half expected her to berate me and tell me it was too dangerous for me to talk to him but she didn’t. “They’re playing on Saturday at Hartwood Acres’ fall festival. He suggested I come and see them, and he mentioned I should bring my friends. He didn’t come right out and say it, but I think he specifically meant you. I have the feeling he figured out how he knows you.”
“I’m not surprised,” Tommy said. “Josef was very astute. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to realize that.”
Candy tapped her nails on the bar top again. “This may require a change in plans. We had been counting on them being at a much smaller venue but since it’s a festival—”
“No,” I said. “You’re not going.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a switch—you telling me what to do.”
“It’s about time someone did.”
“Candace is right.” Tommy pushed his cup aside. “If this is a large festival with a crowd of people, it may be in our best interest to attend.”
I didn’t like the idea. Not at all. “What if Felix sees you?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Candy said. “He already knows who I am. He probably knows exactly where to find me. He hasn’t tried anything yet.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t,” I said.
“Max, I know you’re worried about me,” she said, “but there’s no need to be. I still know how to take care of myself.”
“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Tommy added. “A large venue is just the ticket. And he won’t expect to see me.” He grinned. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”
It was a bad idea. Very, very bad. Felix had once tried to kill Candy and Tommy, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t try it again. I reminded them of this, and that he was most likely the person who killed Doodle. But as hard as I tried, I wasn’t able to talk them out of attending the festival.
I had a feeling something terrible was going to happen and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jake and I were the last to leave the brew house that night. Since I had walked to work, he offered to drive me home, and I accepted. We hadn’t had much time to talk since we’d had lunch together so I filled him in on Candy’s and Tommy’s latest idea. “I really don’t think she should go,” I said when I’d finished.
“I’m not so sure,” Jake said. “Do you really think Felix would try anything in a public place with hundreds of people around?”
“Maybe not, but look what happened at the brews and burgers festival this summer. That was a public place and it didn’t deter that killer. Why take the chance?”
He reached over and squeezed my hand. “We can make sure she’s safe. If one of us has eyes on her the whole time, it will be fine.”
We’d reached my parking lot by then and I asked him if he wanted to come in.
“Not tonight,” he said. “I forgot to tell you earlier, but remember the high school practice I told you about the other day?”
I said I did.
“I got a call from the coach and he asked if I’d be interested in helping them out temporarily with practices. The assistant coach just had emergency surgery to have his appendix removed and they’re kind of stuck.”
“That sounds like fun—and something you’d enjoy. I hope you told him yes.”
“I’m glad you think that, because I told him I’d be happy to help. It won’t interfere with work at all since it’s just for practices. I wouldn’t have to go to the games unless I wasn’t working then. The only bad thing is that the practices are at four in the morning.”
“Ugh. That’s early.”
“Yeah. But that’s why I’m not coming up tonight. First practice is tomorrow.” Jake grinned. “I’ve got to get my beauty sleep.”
Funny guy. “If you’re still awake by tomorrow night, I have a proposition for you.”
“Does it involve some lacy getup?”
“That depends on what you mean by lacy getup,” I said, although I knew perfectly well what was on his mind.
He put his arm around me and leaned closer. “Black lace, stockings, minimal coverage . . .” He pulled me closer. “Is that what you had in mind?”
“Well . . . not exactly.” I gave him an innocent grin. “Although the black and the stockings might work. But that minimal coverage thing is right out.”
“You’re killing me, O’Hara.”
I told him about the unveiling of the painting at Philip’s gallery. “If I can get Mike to cover the bar, I’d like to go.”
“I don’t need to be in the kitchen, so count me in. If I get bored, Marcus and I can talk sports.”
We chatted for another minute or two, then Jake kissed me good night and I headed inside.
• • •
I was in luck. As soon as I’d said good-bye to Jake, I’d texted Mike and he said he’d be available to cover for me. I was free to go to the unveiling of the Vermeer at Philip’s gallery. I’d never gone to an event like this before and had no idea of how to dress. The only time I’d seen anything like it was on TV. So instead of relying on some TV writer’s idea of what one should wear to a gallery, I did something better the first thing in the morning—I called my mother.
She was surprised to hear from me so early. “Is everything all right, sweetie?”
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “I just wanted to ask your advice. Philip invited Jake and me to the gallery tonight and I don’t know what to wear. How do people dress for these things?”
“I don’t think Philip will care what you wear,” she said. “That said, it’s likely to be very formal.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” I had some seldom-worn dresses in my closet, but none of them even came close to being formal.
“How busy are you today?” she asked.
“Not very. I’m not brewing today, and the pub is well staffed. I planned to lock myself in my office and do paperwork.”
“I know something that will be a lot more fun than doing paperwork.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’d say a mother-daughter shopping trip is in order. I need something to wear, too.”
• • •
By noon, we both had new dresses. And shoes. Mom found a sophisticated-looking black sheath with lace sleeves that reached to her elbow. I’d had a harder time picking something. Everything I tried on made me look like I was attending my high school prom. Our last stop was a boutique that sold vintage and vintage replica clothing. As soon as I saw the silver-beaded, 1920s-style dress, I knew that was the one. I tried it on and it fit like a dream. I felt like a flapper from the twenties. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the price, though. It was three times what I wanted to spend. I rationalized it by telling myself I hadn’t bought anything besides jeans, T-shirts, or sweaters for years. I deserved it. I picked up the matching T-strap shoes and handed over my credit card before common sense got the best of me.
We were both starving by that time, so we headed to a nearby Italian restaurant for lunch. Once we’d ordered, Mom said, “That was fun. We should do this more often.”
“I’m okay with going to lunch more often, but I can’t afford any more shopping,” I said. “I can’t believe I spent that much on a dress.”
“Do you like it, though?”
I gave her a big smile. “I love it.”
“That’s the important thing. You wouldn’t want to buy something you didn’t love just because it was cheaper. But you’re right—you don’t want to do it too often.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll bet Jake is going to like it.”
I felt my face turn fiery red. Not that it mattered to Mom—she knew how I felt about him. As a matter of fact, she’d known how I felt since I was about twelve years old. And she’d never once called it puppy love, or told me to get over it. She had always respected my feelings. Even when my crush made a reappearance when I hired Jake to be my chef, she supported me. She’d even encouraged me to tell him how I felt. Of course I ignored her, convinced that Jake couldn’t possibly feel the same way. I was wrong about that, thank goodness.
Just then, the waitress brought glasses of water with lemon to the table. We thanked her, and once she was gone, I said, “I’m not sure what he’ll think. We usually end up at casual places, so he’s never seen me dressed up before.”
She reached across the table and patted my hand. “You’re going to knock his socks off. He’ll love it.”
“I hope so. He’s wearing a suit. He doesn’t have to do that much anymore.” I hadn’t even had to suggest it to him, which was good. I would never tell him how to dress—he’d had enough of that from his ex-fiancée. She’d have had a hissy fit that he was wearing a suit from off the rack at Kohl’s and not a designer tuxedo.
While we ate, I filled my mom in on some things that had happened since I’d last seen her on Sunday. She already knew from my dad that I had found Doodle’s body on Monday, but the rest of the story was a big surprise.
“I can’t believe Candy kept all that to herself for so many years,” Mom said. “And to think she also had a husband no one knew about. Did she tell you why they broke up?”
I shook my head. “And I haven’t had the chance to ask her. It’s so apparent that they still care for each other. I don’t get why they’re not together.”
