"Doesn't seem that way at all," Molly replied, biting her lip and looking concerned. "They really seemed like they were at an impasse."
"I'm sure they'll figure it out," I said, although I hoped I was right.
"What's Brewlific, anyway?" Molly asked.
"I don't know, but it sounds like Simon doesn't want the brewery to be quite as independent anymore." I'd never considered it, but I could see the benefit of banding with other farmers... that way, not all of us would lose our cucurbit crops to melon worms at the same time.
"Let's hope they work it out," Molly said doubtfully. As she spoke, the loudspeaker crackled.
"The first tasting of our special recipe seasonal brew, Dubbel Trouble, will start in five minutes in the beer tent."
I looked at Molly. "Dubbel Trouble, eh?"
"Aptly named," she grimaced. Together, we walked over to the tent, where a line was already forming.
"What is it, anyway?" I asked.
"Whatever it is, it looks like it's in barrels," she said.
"Oh, it is," said a familiar voice at my elbow. I turned to see one of my favorite people, looking handsome in jeans, boots, and an "Everybody's Somebody in Luckenbach" T-shirt stretched over a chest that (to my eye) had benefited greatly from the strenuous life of a country vet.
"Tobias!" I said, as my heart picked up the pace a few notches. He enveloped me in a hug and kissed me lightly before turning to greet Molly, who, although happily married to Alfie Kramer, seemed a little wistful as she smiled at him.
"So, what do you know about Dubbel Trouble?" she asked teasingly.
"It's aged in whiskey barrels," he said. "Dubbel is a Belgian-style beer; that’s why it’s spelled Dubbel, D-u-b-b-e-l, not Double as in two of something. It should be good; I'm looking forward to trying it."
"I'm not sure I've had Belgian-style beer," Molly said.
"Me neither," I added.
"Well, I'm sure this one will be good," Tobias said. "Felix really knows what he's doing."
"I hope they don't run out," I said. "There's only one barrel, and that's an awfully long line."
"I'm sure they have more in the back," he said as Felix stepped up to the barrel. At some point, someone had put a tap in it.
"Thanks so much for coming out for our tasting of Dubbel Trouble," Felix said into the cordless microphone in his hand. "As I'm sure many of you know, Dubbel beer was first brewed by Trappist monks in Westmalle Abbey in Belgium in 1856. It's a dark-brown beer with a lovely, deep flavor...you'll taste raisins, prunes, and dates. In fact, I like to think of it as a drinkable, alcoholic sticky toffee pudding," He flashed his teeth in what I presumed was a grin. It was hard to tell through the facial shrubbery. "We achieved the deep flavor with caramelized beet sugar, special yeast, and a few delicate spices. We then went the extra step and aged our special brew in whiskey barrels to accentuate that autumn flavor."
Mandy Vargas from the Buttercup Zephyr was a few feet to the side, taking notes, and a young woman in a Sweetwater Brewery T-shirt, was busy snapping pictures as he spoke. I looked for Simon; he was over in the corner of the tent with the woman I'd seen him talking with earlier; they were deep in conversation. Felix noticed him, too. "If my brother would be kind enough to come join me, we'll toast the first taste of Sweetwater's special seasonal brew."
Simon beamed, excusing himself from his conversation, and strode to the makeshift wooden stage where his brother stood beside the barrel.
"Ready?" Felix asked as his brother arrived.
"Ready," Simon said, taking the microphone as Felix reached for a small glass from a table to the right of the barrel. "Thanks so much for coming out to our Oktoberfest opening celebration. We're so grateful to Buttercup for being such a big part of our success... we hope to have more big news to share soon!"
As he spoke, Felix's head jerked around, and his eyebrows drew down into a frown. "This is supposed to be about the beer!" he hissed.
"It's always about the beer," Simon replied, his rather sales-y smile not faltering. Molly and I exchanged glances.
Felix muttered something inaudible in response and put the first glass under the tap. Dubbel Trouble looked delicious, I had to admit; it was a dark, rich brown that glowed in the lights, with a creamy head that was the color of browned butter. I wasn't usually much of a beer drinker, but after that delightful description, my mouth was watering as Felix handed the first glass to his brother and poured another for himself.
The photographer was snapping pictures in a frenzy as Felix and Simon raised their beers for a toast. "Prosit!" Felix said as the glasses clinked, and as they raised them to their lips, the whole tent burst into applause.
A moment later, both men were spewing beer onto the wooden stage.
"What did you do to my beer?" Felix barked at his brother, looking like a wounded child.
"I didn't do anything to it," Simon shot back, then recovered himself. "Sorry, folks. Must have been a problem with the barrel. We'll get another one up here and tap it..."
"I tested it earlier though," Felix said. "Someone must have done something to it."
"We'll talk about it later," Simon interjected. "Let's get this one out of here and get a new one, shall we? Sorry about this, folks; it happens sometimes! Just usually not on stage!" His apologetic tone won him a few chuckles.
There was a flurry of activity as a few employees rolled the offending barrel away. A few minutes later, two young men in blue shirts—one of whom I recognized as the offensive Billy—carried in another one.
"Let's hope we have better luck with this one, eh?" Simon said lightly as his brother set about tapping the new barrel, this time taking a small sip before doing anything further. "All good?" Simon asked.
"All good," his brother replied. A moment later, they repeated the toast to scattered applause, but the line had diminished, and the enthusiasm was definitely lower than it had been. I glanced over to where I'd seen the blazer-clad woman chatting with Simon before the ill-fated toast, but she was gone.
"Folks, we're going to go check on the other barrels now, but please, enjoy some Dubbel Trouble... and thanks so much for coming!" More scattered applause, and then the two men exited the back of the tent, Simon staring at his phone with a brittle smile, and Felix talking to him in what looked like a very emphatic manner. I could only imagine that the barrel issue had thrown fuel on the fire. I wondered what had happened to the beer. If the second barrel was okay, it must have been a problem with just that barrel.
"Do you think it was just a bad barrel?" Tobias asked, echoing my thoughts as we walked over to the line.
"I don't know," I said. "I'm wondering if someone tampered with it."
"Why would they do that?" Molly asked.
I shrugged. "I know someone who would."
Tobias gave me a sharp look. "Who?"
"Max Pfeiffer, for one," I suggested. "I heard he was here today."
"Oh, Max." Tobias grimaced. "He opened that tiny brewery a couple of years ago off SH 71, didn't he? I tried his beer once. It was like... well..."
"Yellow water?" I supplied.
"Exactly," Tobias concurred. "Only with a little bit of fizz."
"You're selling it hard, my friend," Molly said.
"Well," Tobias said, "it's not exactly something you want to buy by the keg. Anyway, there was some rumor about a lawsuit."
"That's what Teena and Molly were just telling me. That Max is angry about all the buzz they're getting, trading on his family's ideas."
"Well, then, he should have thought about that when he opened his own brewery," Tobias said.
"I guess by the time he did think of it, it was too late."
"Sour grapes," Molly said.
"Or sour beer," said Bubba Allen, who was standing just next to us in line.
"Hey, Bubba!" I said, turning to the tall, stocky man. Bubba ran Bubba's Barbecue, which had terrific sausage, including venison sausage made to order for local hunters. He had a few recipes his grandparents
had brought over when they emigrated from Bamberg, Germany, and he made the best bratwurst I'd had on this side of the Atlantic. It was definitely on the menu for tonight. "Taking a break from the bratwurst to grab a beer?"
"Felix has been going on about this new Dubbel for a month now," he said. "I got someone to cover the booth for a few while I sample it. At least that bad first barrel shortened the line some."
"What do you think it was?"
"I don't know," Bubba said. "But it's not like Felix. He always samples things in advance. If they were all like that, I'd think it was something wrong with the whole batch, although he's such a chemist he would have picked up on that long before today."
"I'm sure he samples along the way, too."
Bubba nodded. "I always fry up a little bit before I finish mixing up the sausage, just in case. My bet is that someone tampered with that barrel to make them look bad, what with the paper bein' here and all." He lowered his voice. "And I'd put my money on Max Pfeiffer."
"Is he still here?"
"I saw him earlier," he said, "talking to someone about how the brewery 'stole' his name."
"Since he was here, he must have had an opportunity to mess with the barrel," I said.
"You ain't wrong," Bubba said.
"How well do you know Felix and Simon?" I asked.
"Oh, they talked to me a bit before they set up shop in town, askin' for business advice. I told 'em what I could, but brewin's a different business from makin' sausage. They're good boys, though. Hard-workin'."
"I get the feeling they have different views of where they want to take things," I said.
"Isn't that normal for family? Don't always agree on everything, but they manage to make it work." As he spoke, we reached the front of the line, and a young man poured him a glass of dark Dubbel Trouble, with a creamy head.
"Thank you kindly, sir," Bubba said, and tipped his hat to us. "Nice talkin' to you, but I got to get back to work."
"We'll see you there shortly," I said. A moment later, one of the brewery employees handed me a glass of Dubbel Trouble, and I took an appreciative sip before moving out of the way. It did taste a little like a liquid sticky toffee pudding, and it was absolutely delicious. I was glad they only made it for special occasions, or I'd probably drink far too much of it. I took a few more sips, and a few minutes later, Tobias, Molly and I drifted out of the tent, all with full glasses in hand.
"Ready to get a bratwurst?" Tobias asked.
"Absolutely," I said. "And then I want to take the brewery tour."
"I should probably go find Alfie," Molly said. "And I need to make sure the kids eat something other than funnel cake."
"There's funnel cake?" I asked.
Tobias laughed. "There's funnel cake. And ice cream, and bratwurst, and Quinn's got some lebkuchen at the Blue Onion booth..."
"Lebkuchen?" Lebkuchen was a kind of German gingerbread that was soft and often dipped in chocolate; my mouth watered just thinking about it. "I love that stuff."
"Well, she's got a bunch of it. Plus pretzels, and even some Texas Sheet Cake."
"I wish you hadn't told me. Now I'm going to have to sample all of them."
"We've got plenty of time," Tobias said. "Let's go get some dinner, and then we'll check out the brewery."
We spent the next twenty minutes strolling through the beer garden, chatting with friends and admiring the offerings at the artisans' booths. I was sorely tempted by a beautiful cream pitcher with hand-painted blue flowers that I knew would look beautiful in my kitchen, but decided against it; money was still tight on my fledgling farm.
Whether Sweetwater signed on with Brewlific or not, they seemed to be doing a booming business. The beer was flowing copiously, along with the root beer and ginger beer, and it seemed that half of not just Buttercup, but a good portion of Austin and Houston had showed up for the event. The weather, fortunately, had cooperated; despite the moist heat we'd had recently, it was a cooler day, and I could feel just a hint of fall in the air. The band was taking a break, but two older couples in dirndls and lederhosen were doing the polka to piped oompah music, to the applause of onlookers. I grinned; they looked happy. I hoped Tobias and I would be like that in a few decades. I glanced up at my handsome boyfriend. What was he thinking for the future? I wondered, as I had increasingly lately. We hadn't really discussed where we were going with things, and I was starting to think about it more and more. Would I want to live in the same house with someone else? I enjoyed my independence, but it was nice to wake up next to someone, too... particularly someone like Tobias. Did I want to get married? Did Tobias? And what about kids?
I bit into a bratwurst and took another swig of beer, banishing those thoughts from my head. I was eyeing the funnel cakes when they announced the brewery tour over the loudspeaker.
"Funnel cake, or tour?" Tobias asked, tearing off a piece of pretzel.
"I don't want to get powdered sugar all over the brewery," I said, although I wanted a funnel cake more than just about anything.
"Let's do the tour, and then we'll get funnel cake. And ice cream."
"It's a deal," I said, and together we headed over to the tent where the beer tasting had been.
There was a bit of confusion when we arrived. "Have you seen Felix anywhere?" asked Teena, who had moved from the front gate to the tour section. "He was supposed to do the opening talk." Nick was nearby, I noticed, looking at Teena with barely veiled longing. To which she appeared completely oblivious. I would have loved to encourage him, but I was beginning to think it might be a hopeless cause.
"Last time I saw him was at the Dubbel Trouble tapping," replied Billy, who—predictably—couldn't seem to leave Teena alone. "I told him we should have checked that barrel right before the tasting, but he wouldn't listen. Good thing I've got copies of his recipes now; he's so disorganized he'll probably lose them. Must be old age."
Teena checked her phone, ignoring Billy's prattle and leering stare. "The tour's supposed to start in two minutes; what do I do?"
"Don't be a wuss," Billy said. "I thought you were a big, strong woman."
Teena looked up, and a shadow crossed her face. "Oh, no," she said.
I hurried up to her, my stomach clenching. Teena had a pretty good track record when it came to premonitions, and I had a feeling this was one of them.
"What's going on?" I asked, inserting myself between her and Billy. "Are you okay?"
"I just... I don't want to go in there," she said, looking at the big double doors that led to the working part of the brewery.
"What's the big deal?" Billy said. "It's time. I'm going to start the tour." Without consulting her further, he pushed open the double doors. I was still watching Teena, who had turned white; around me, the crowd gasped. A second later, Teena turned and screamed, then crumpled to the floor. I turned to look at what everyone else was seeing, and my stomach dropped.
Felix Gustafson —or what I could see of him—was lying on the concrete floor, in a pool of what appeared to be blood. On top of him was a gigantic white bag, with something that looked like barley spilling out the top.
4
Tobias dropped his pretzel and ran over to Felix. He tried to push the giant bag off of him, but it was too heavy. I ran to join him, as did about four men, including Alfie Kramer; together, we managed to shift it enough so that it was no longer crushing him. As I stepped away, I accidentally kicked a red and white beer can that had been spilled a few feet from the body.
"I'm calling 911," I said, dialing the number as Tobias crouched beside the burly brewer. A moment later he was joined by Linda Fernandez, who I knew was a nurse. She felt for Felix’s pulse while Tobias inspected the damage. After only a few seconds, they exchanged looks, and I could tell by their grim faces that any ambulance would be too late.
As I relayed information to the dispatcher, I hurried over to Teena, who was sprawled on the ground. Simon was standing nearby white-faced and apparently incapacitated. As I took her wrist to c
heck her pulse, Nick appeared beside me, alarm written on his chiseled features. "Is she okay?"
Linda hurried over to us as he spoke. "I'm going to defer to the expert," I told him, nodding toward Linda. She checked Teena’s breathing and pulse, then opened the girl’s mouth to make sure she wasn't choking on anything. "She's going to have a goose egg, I think," she said, "but her vitals look good from what I can see. I can't get blood pressure, but pulse and respiration are okay. I'm guessing she just fainted, but I can't be sure."
"I told the dispatcher we'd need paramedics," I said. "What should we do for now?"
"Do we have anything we can use to elevate her feet a bit?" she asked. I handed over my bag, and she placed it under Teena's small feet. "We need to keep her from moving if we can," she said. "Let's just monitor her till they get here."
As she spoke, Teena's eyelids twitched. "It's repeating," she murmured, and opened her eyes.
"Just stay put, darlin'," Linda said in a soothing voice. "We're here with you."
"The history. It's repeating itself..."
"Just worry about you right now," she said in a soothing voice. She was about to say something else when a loud, instantly recognizable voice boomed out behind us.
"What's all this about a dead body? Opal just called sayin' somethin' about someone gettin' crushed under a load of grain?"
Teena let out a low moan and attempted to crane her head to see. Linda glared at Rooster Kocurek, our local sheriff, who was waddling up to the crime scene with a huge mug of beer in one hand and a bratwurst in the other. He was evidently off-duty, as he wore a bright orange 'Gone Fishin'' T-shirt stretched over his ample girth, paired with khaki cargo shorts that looked like they were straining at the seams. "What's goin' on here?" he asked as Linda moved to position herself between Teena and Felix's body and again told Teena not to move.
"Let's close these doors," Tobias suggested, just as Simon stumbled up to the front of the brewery, looking shocked. "Felix," he said. "Where's Felix?"
Wicked Harvest Page 3
