"We'll be back out tomorrow to do some more work," he said.
"Still on track for spring?"
"That's the plan," he said.
"Terrific. Can I get you a drink?"
"No, ma'am," he said. "Got to get back to that other job. Nick here is just going to finish up a few things and we'll be back tomorrow."
"Thanks again for coming out," I told him.
"Of course," he said, tipping an imaginary hat and giving Nick a few instructions before heading back to his truck.
"Your boss is a good man," I told Nick. "You're lucky."
He gave me a funny look, then dipped his head in something approximating a nod. "I'll just finish up, if that's okay with you, ma'am."
"Of course," I said. "Need another ginger beer?"
"Nah. I'm good," he said.
"I'm probably going to get cleaned up, myself," I said. "I'll see you at the Oktoberfest later on then?"
"Probably," he said with a grin that said "yes," and then headed back to the little house.
I worked for a few more minutes, then gave up and headed in for a shower. A good portion of my harvest might be toast, but at least the little house was still standing, and I had a fun party to go to that night. All in all, not such a bad day after all, I told myself as I stowed the shovel in the shed and walked back up to the farmhouse.
Boy, was I wrong.
* * *
When I pulled up at the Sweetwater Brewery at seven o'clock, the grassy parking area was already full of trucks and cars, and the oaks of the brewery's beer garden were strung with sparkling fairy lights and colorful ribbons. Felix and Simon Gustafson, two brothers, had started the business mere months ago, and I was happy to see it seemed to be thriving. A blue-and-white-checked banner with the words "Frisch Auf for Oktoberfest" stretched over the entrance, and the smell of bratwurst and something sweet and fried drifted on the cool breeze. My stomach rumbled as I stepped out of my truck onto the soft (and slightly muddy) grass.
Teena Marburger, the object of Nick's affections, was selling tickets at the gate. She was dressed fetchingly in a dirndl, her long hair braided into a plait that wrapped around her head. Although she was still in high school, she'd had a crush on local farmer Peter Swenson since he'd moved to town in his fry-oil-powered van a couple of years ago and started Green Haven Farm. So far, despite the fact that Peter was dating my best friend Quinn, she seemed undeterred, but I was hoping Nick might be able to persuade her to broaden her horizons. Teena was a good person; she also had an uncanny knack for predicting the future. As I handed over my money, I hoped she wouldn't have any grim prognostications to share today. Fortunately, she seemed to have nothing but a big smile tonight. "Pretty big turnout!" I said. "I'm impressed."
"The PR campaign I tried seemed to work," Teena said excitedly. "I'm so excited about Felix's ideas; he's a genius. He was so smart to use the area's German history and heritage."
"Is that what the Frisch Auf is about?" I asked, glancing up at the banner.
"Exactly," she said. "One of the oldest breweries in Texas was located just a few miles from here. It was owned by a German immigrant who brewed the first lager in the area—he called it Bluff Beer. It has to be cool to make it, so he devised this crazy tunnel system to keep it cool enough so he could brew it."
"I had no idea," I said, impressed by her knowledge.
"Of course, there's been a bit of a legal issue with the name," she said, and her face darkened a little.
"What do you mean?"
"Max Pfeiffer is a descendant of the original brewer... it was called Bluff Springs Brewery, and he recently started a new brewery with that name. He's claiming the 'Frisch Auf' is proprietary, and threatened to sue... but I'm sure that'll get worked out."
"There's always something, isn't there?"
"Isn't that the truth?" she asked.
"You've learned so much. I had no idea beer had such a history in the area."
"I know... me neither! Felix has taught me so much," she said, her eyes sparkling. It looked like Teena might have switched horses from Peter. Beside the fact that Felix was at least a decade her senior, it wasn't looking good for Nick. "Anyway," she continued, "the tradition does come from the original brewery in the area. Every time a new batch of beer was ready, the brewer hung a banner with Frisch Auf on it to invite the community to come and celebrate. Since we recently launched an updated version of the original Bluff Springs lager, we decided to bring back the banner. We're even going to use local barley, just like he did!"
"There's local barley now?" I asked. Clearly I was behind the times.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Adriana Janacek grew the first batch last winter, although it didn't work out too well." She made a face, then brightened. "Anyway, I hear Peter's going to try experimenting with growing some this coming season." Her eyes did still sparkle a bit when she mentioned the young farmer's name, and I stifled a sigh, but Teena didn't seem to notice. "We've got local wines in Texas—at least in the Hill Country, and out in West Texas, but until now, we haven't had true local beer. Ours is one of the first to source most of its products locally. There's even a farmer in Round Top who's starting to grow hops hydroponically!"
"Huh," I said. "Maybe I should check that out. I don't have hydroponic equipment, but I could try a few plants this fall. They're perennials, so it may take a while for them to produce, but it's worth a shot."
"I'll get you her name if you want to talk to her," Teena said, pulling out her cell phone. "I'll text you her contact."
"Wow. Thanks. You really have a passion for this stuff, Teena. And you're good at it, too!"
"Thanks," she said with a grin. "I'm definitely going to see if I can go to school to study communications; it's so much fun!"
"Maybe you can help me out at the farm next summer," I said.
"Sure! Do you have a web site or any social media presence?" she asked.
I'd started a Twitter account a few years back, and I'd heard that an online presence was important for small businesses, but updating my web site and Twitter had dropped to the bottom of the list of chores. In fact, if I was being honest, it had completely fallen off the list of chores. "Not much of one," I admitted, feeling sheepish. "To be honest, I really could use some help."
"I'd be happy to do that," she said. "As long as you can wait till June!"
"I've waited this long," I said with a grin and more than a little bit of relief that I'd be off the hook for while yet. "But you just graduated, didn't you?"
She nodded excitedly. "I'm taking a year off to do this internship. I'm already looking at programs at UT and A&M."
"That's terrific," I said. As I spoke, a young man I didn't recognize came up behind Teena and put his hands on her bare shoulders. She flinched a little, but he didn't move his hands. He was good-looking, probably in his early twenties, a bit burly, with a tattoo of a wolf on his neck.
"Hey, beautiful," he said. "I've been looking for you."
"Hi, Billy," she said, her smile gone.
"Who's this?" he asked, fixing me with sharp brown eyes.
"I'm Lucy Resnick," I said, proffering a hand. He shook it hard, squeezing so much that my knuckles hurt.
"I'm Billy Brindle," he said. "I'm one of the brewers here."
"I thought that was Felix's department," I said.
"Too much for one person," he said with a self-satisfied smile. "And I'm teaching him a few tricks, too," he added, puffing himself up a little bit. Teena rolled her eyes and pulled away; as she did, I noticed Nick about ten yards away, watching the whole thing with a scowl on his face. Something about the way he was watching Teena was unsettling; there was a menacing look in his eyes that unnerved me.
"I think Felix was looking for you a few minutes ago," Teena said in a clipped voice, distracting me from Nick.
"Really? What did he want?"
"I don't know, but you might want to go find him," she suggested.
"You're just playing hard to get, aren't you?"
he asked in a voice that made my skin crawl. "You should try hanging out with someone your own age sometime. I think you'll like it."
"Leave me alone," she said in a firm voice, shrugging him off and stepping away.
"What?" he asked, blinking innocently. "I'm just playing around."
I felt the urge to punch the cocky young man, who clearly couldn't take no for an answer.
"We're done here," she said. "Goodbye."
"You don't have to be such a goody two-shoes, you know," he said in a hurt voice. "I'll let you play hard to get, for now. But I'll see you around." He paused, and then, in a silky but menacing tone, added, "Promise."
With that veiled threat still dangling in the air, he swaggered away. Nick had melted into the crowd, but something told me he'd seen what had happened.
"He's a real creep," I told Teena.
"I know," she said, looking miserable, "but Felix says he's talented. So I put up with it."
"You shouldn't have to," I said.
She sighed and looked away; I could tell she was uncomfortable, so I changed topics—for now, anyway. "Hey... by the way, have you seen Dr. Brandt?" I asked. Tobias Brandt was Buttercup's resident vet; we'd been seeing each other since not long after I moved to town. He'd told me he'd meet me after he finished with his calls, and I'd hoped he'd gotten done early.
"Not yet," she said, shaking her head.
"Ah, well. I'll just have to start without him, won't I?"
"I suppose I should take your money and let you in," Teena said. "They're doing the special Dubbel Trouble tasting in a bit; it's Felix's pride and joy. They're tapping the first keg in an hour."
"Thanks for the tip," I said as she took my money and stamped the back of my hand.
"Have fun!" she told me.
"You too." I grinned as I drifted into the throng of the Oktoberfest opening celebration.
It smelled amazing... not just like beer, but also bratwurst sizzling over a brazier, and candied almonds from a stall near the beer tent. Several local craftsmen had booths with beautiful objects in wood and pottery, along with a few early Christmas ornaments I did my best to ignore. Serafine Alexandre was there, too, offering bottles of mead for those who weren't keen on beer; I was happy to see that the Gustafson brothers had extended an invitation to the meadery, whose product could have been viewed as competition. I was surprised to see short, stout Max Pfeiffer at the bratwurst booth, if there was bad blood between Max and the Gustafsons. I was thankful I didn't have that kind of relationship with the local farmers; we all helped each other out instead of tearing each other down.
I'd chosen to dress casually, in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but a lot of the folks with German heritage—and some who just liked to dress up—had gone all out for the occasion. I wasn't surprised to see Flora Kocurek dressed in a dirndl; she'd recently discovered her heritage was not just Czech, as she'd grown up thinking, but also included a hefty dose of German. Based on the fluffy green skirt and bodice, she had evidently embraced this new part of herself. Her boyfriend, Gus, was rather more restrained in his typical white button-down shirt, jeans, and boots; his only concession to the festivities was a blue and white button on his shirt pocket, which I had no doubt had been put there by Flora.
"Lucy!" Flora beamed when she spotted me. "Where's Tobias?"
"He's not here yet," I said. "I like your outfit!"
"Thank you," she said. "I tried to get Gus here interested in a pair of Lederhosen, but..."
"Nothin' doin'," he said succinctly, but he looked at Flora fondly. "She does turn out nice, though, doesn't she?"
"She does," I agreed. Since she'd lost her domineering mother a while back, after fifty-plus years of being under Nettie Kocurek's thumb, Flora had slowly been coming into her own. It was a delight to watch her blossom, and she was looking happier every day. Since Opal Gruber down at the sheriff's office had been giving her some tips on make-up, she'd toned down the bright red lipstick and pancake make-up for a more subtle color palette that made her glow. I could see why Gus was enamored. I glanced down at the beer mug in Flora's hand. "What are you drinking?"
"The Bluff lager," she said. "Gus likes the oatmeal stout, but it's kind of heavy for me; I prefer the lager. It's really good with the bratwurst; you should get some!"
"I will in a minute," I said. "Did you try the candied almonds?"
"They're to die for," Flora confessed. As she spoke, Molly and Alfie strolled up; Molly was carrying a paper cone of almonds, and Alfie had a giant glass mug of beer.
"You made it!" Molly said, grinning, as I hugged both of them.
"I did," I said, "but I haven't had a chance to get a beer yet."
"Well, let's fix that," she said. "I could use something to wet my whistle, too." Molly smiled at Flora. "Mind if I steal Lucy away for a minute?"
"No problem," Gus said. "Line's short right now; best go get one while you can!"
As Molly and I headed over to the beer tent, she said, "I was hoping I could get you alone for a few minutes."
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I have a bad feeling about tonight," she said. "I ran into Max Pfeiffer and Felix at the Red & White yesterday—I was down picking up some ground beef for chili—and Max and Felix were having a massive argument by the ice cream freezer."
"I heard there was some kind of lawsuit," I said.
"It sounds like more than a lawsuit," she said. "I've never seen Max so angry. He told Felix if he didn't close up shop and move out of Buttercup, he'd run him out of town himself."
"Felix and Simon seem to have been pretty successful," I said, looking around at the crowded festival. "They've done a much better job of promoting themselves than Max Pfeiffer has."
"Well, he's suing the Gustafsons for using 'Frisch Auf' and the 'Bluff' name. Those started with the Pfeiffer Brewery back in the 1800s, so he may have a case," she said.
"Sounds like it," I said. "Felix and Simon have done such a good job with the brewery, though, that I'll bet they'll get a good attorney and take care of things quickly."
"I hope so," she said.
"They've made a lot of this place in such a short time, haven't they?"
"Hard to believe that only two years ago this was a falling-down barn," I said, looking over at the freshly painted barn adorned with lights. The brothers had completely renovated it into a tasting room/brew pub, and turned the adjoining grove of live oaks into a beautiful beer garden, with swaths of fragrant rosemary, purple sage, yellow bells, and even a few vegetables tucked in here and there, including some beautiful butternut squash that had escaped the scourge of the melon worm. I was a little bit jealous.
"I just hope Max doesn't scuttle it," Molly said.
As she spoke, over the thrum of conversations and the oompah band that was warming up on the stage at the far end of the beer garden I heard raised voices.
"I told you I don't want him here," one voice said.
"I can't control who comes or who doesn't," the other voice responded.
"Maybe not, but you sure didn't have to invite him. I told you; I don't want anything to do with that outfit."
Molly and I glanced at each other; wordlessly, we edged closer to the argument. Whoever it was, they were standing behind a big rosemary bush by the corner of the barn. I peered through the branches: it was Simon and Felix Gustafson.
"It's good business," said Simon. The two brothers were about the same height and close in age, but other than that, the only thing they had in common was that they wore beards.
"It's selling out is what it is," Felix replied. He wore baggy jeans, a big Texas belt buckle, muddy boots, and a plaid flannel shirt that looked like it had been around at least as long as Felix himself. The general effect was Grizzly Adams Goes to Texas.
Simon, on the other hand, wore a blue button-down, shiny brown loafers, and khakis with creases you could cut yourself on. And while Felix's beard looked like it could comfortably house a family of wrens, Simon's was neatly trimmed... alm
ost vestigial, in fact. I wondered if the only reason he wasn't completely clean-shaven was that facial hair appeared to be a basic requirement for craft brewers... at least in my (admittedly limited) experience. "It's good business," he repeated. "We've had a good run, but if we want to grow, we need access to distributors to help get us on grocery store shelves."
"Why do we need to be on grocery store shelves?" Felix asked. "I don't want to be the next Budweiser. I thought when we went into this we agreed we'd stay true to our roots."
"We are staying true to our roots," Simon said. "We're just... joining up with other craft brewers. It'll help us."
"I don't want to make other people's beers," Felix said. "I want to make our beer."
"And we will!" Simon reassured him. "With more capital and better distribution, we'll get to expand. You can experiment all you like with new techniques. We can help invest in local products... like the barley we ordered from Adriana."
"Which was a total bust."
"This time," Simon said.
"This time? I heard her threaten you this morning. She says we bankrupted her."
"She'll bounce back," Simon said in a soothing voice. "I've been talking with her. It'll come around. I promise you."
"I know you think so," Felix said, "but you're wrong. And you can't do this without me."
There was an ominous silence before he continued. "I knew it was trouble to do the Bluff Lager, and to use the Frisch Auf banner, and now we're being sued. I saw him a few minutes ago, badmouthing us to a group of people by the bratwurst stand." He ran a hand through his hair. "I gave in on that, and look what happened? I won't give in on this."
"Felix..."
"That's my final word. Sweetwater will become a part of Brewlific over my dead body."
3
"Well, that was certainly interesting," Molly murmured after Felix stormed off.
"I didn't realize they were at such odds," I said, watching as Simon headed over and shook hands with a woman I didn't recognize. Her khaki slacks and blazer seemed out of place in the casual setting, and I wondered if she might be connected to whatever Brewlific was. "Business seems to be booming," I told Molly as I watched Simon chatting with the woman, a salesy smile on his face. "I just assumed that they were on the same page about running it."
Wicked Harvest Page 2
