“Yes. And believe me, it’s a much easier fit for someone your size than it is for me or Nan or Floyd.” He hitched his thumb toward the two assistant brewers who were now in conversation by the door to the large keg cooler room.
Great, Kate thought. She’d panicked in the walk-in a few weeks ago, and that room had nothing on this bomb-like capsule.
“I’m not a huge fan of dark, enclosed spaces,” she told Bart.
“Who is, other than bats and mushrooms? You’ll have a flashlight. And you won’t be in there long. It’s just a matter of doing a wipe-down to get rid of any leftover debris from the last batch before we quick-flush the system.”
“Right, then,” she said over the scared slamming of her heart.
“You’ll be fine. I promise. I’ve got to get a couple of things lined up for a meeting with Matt, but Floyd and Nan will get you set up and keep a good eye on you.”
He called them over, and Kate began to reconcile herself to this process. All the same, she was no longer impressed by the brewhouse’s shiny rivets and copper accents. And its pressure gauges, valves, and pipes freaked her out.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Nan said. “We’ll help you get in through that hatch at the top and then hand the supplies to you.”
“How about I just watch you this time and I do it the next?” she asked Nan.
The other woman grinned. “Let me think about it. No.”
It had been worth a shot.
“I’ll be right back with water, towels, and a flashlight,” Nan said. “Floyd, why don’t you grab the ladder?”
Floyd returned with the ladder, set it up, and climbed a couple of steps until he could reach the hatch at the top of the brewhouse. Once it was open, he scrambled back down.
“I’ve got it secured. Your turn now,” he said.
“Okay…”
Nan returned and handed her the flashlight. Kate jammed it into the back of her jeans, for lack of another secure location that would also keep her hands free.
“You’re a big, strong dog who can jump high,” she said to herself.
“What?” Nan asked.
“It works on my dog when she’s scared, so I thought I’d give it a try on me,” Kate said as she climbed the ladder. But the affirmation hadn’t helped. She peered into the darkness and then back at the assistant brewers. “So I just…”
“Climb in,” Nan said.
Kate took a deep breath and tried to maneuver her body down the hole. Coordination and grace were not going to be part of the equation. She slid through the hatch in the top of the brewhouse, dropping herself into the darkness.
Once there, she sat and assessed the situation. Except for the lingering, evil smell of hops, it could have been worse. Light shone in through the open hatch like a big, fat ray of hope, and the confines weren’t as tight as she’d thought they would be. She pulled the flashlight from the back of her jeans and switched it on. Nothing happened.
“Hey, the flashlight batteries are dead,” she called to Nan.
Nan’s face appeared in the hatchway. “I could look for more, but by the time I find them, you’ll be done.” She threw a roll of paper towels down to Kate, quickly followed by a spray bottle.
“Nan, Floyd, come on into my office. It’s time to meet with Matt,” Kate heard Bart saying.
Nan stuck her head in the hatch again. “Sounds like I have to take off.”
“Couldn’t you hang on a minute?” Kate asked. She liked knowing there was a lifeline outside her copper kettle.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re going to do great,” Nan said. “Be sure to pay attention to all the seams and outlets. That’s where the grunge sticks. Just throw the used paper towels out the top.”
“Okay,” Kate said. There was no answer. Nan had disappeared.
And the sooner Kate finished, the sooner she could stop being brave. She ripped a couple of paper towels off the roll and reached for the spray bottle. Taking a top-down approach, she began to wipe the tank’s interior and hum a little vintage Eric Carmen, which she knew courtesy of her parents’ ancient stereo. When she reached the chorus, she burst into full song.
“All by myyyyy-self…”
The tank’s hatch fell shut with a clang.
“Hey, I wasn’t even off-key,” she said.
And then reality hit her. She was trapped. Sweat popped out on her palms and, she was pretty sure, the soles of her feet.
“You’re a big, strong dog who can jump high,” she said.
Kate braced herself on the sides of the tank and pushed at the hatch. It didn’t give. She might be a big, strong dog, but she couldn’t sit alone in a metal coffin.
“Come on! Open the hatch!” she shouted.
The only answer was the rattle of the ladder being removed. And then water began flowing into the tank. It crept its way up her ankles and to her calves, and panic set in, big-time.
“Someone, anyone, come get me!”
Kate kicked at the side of the tank. She knew what was going to happen next. Wort was boiled. She was about to be boiled alive.
* * *
MATT PAUSED in his discussions with his brewing staff.
“Did you hear something?” he asked Bart.
“Just you being too damn stubborn about the winter ale recipe,” Bart said.
“No, from out there.”
Nan shook her head. “I don’t hear any—”
Matt raised his hand to silence her. A dull thud sounded again. “That!”
Matt shot from Bart’s office and back into the brewery. The ladder to the brewhouse lay on its side, the hatch was closed, and Kate was nowhere to be seen. He caught the sound of running water and a muffled shout.
Matt grabbed the ladder and was at the top hatch in an instant. Someone had locked the unit, and the only ones who could do that had been with him. He flung open the metal door.
Kate stood down in the darkness.
“Are you okay?” Matt called to her.
“I think I need a raise.”
Matt reached in an arm. “Can you make it up here?”
She grabbed his hand, scrambled out, and pinned herself against his body. She was soaked from the waist down.
Kate was gasping so much she could barely get her words out. “That sucked. That really, really sucked. I know you’re supposed to face your fears, but seriously, never again.”
Whoever did this to her would pay, Matt thought. He’d find them and then it would get ugly.
“Come on, let’s get you dried off,” he said.
By the time they’d reached the ground, Bart had dragged over a chair and Floyd had shut down the brewhouse.
Matt led Kate to the chair. “Bart, could you call the police?”
Bart looked shaken. “Sure thing.”
Kate settled into Bart’s chair, bent over, and untied her soggy sneakers. “Why would someone do that to me?”
Matt had his guesses, and they had to do with what—and who—he held of value.
“I don’t know,” he said. Now wasn’t the time to point out the obvious.
She pulled off her shoes and socks. Matt noted that one sock was light blue and the other gray with little yellow ducks on it. Despite his tension, he smiled at the mismatch.
“Do you have any other clothes here?” he asked.
“No.”
He did a mental inventory of his office, then said, “Hang on.”
“Believe me, I’m not going anywhere.”
And he didn’t want her to, either. But for her own safety, she would be. After today, Matt was going to make sure Kate was far from Depot Brewing Company.
* * *
MAYBE BOYFRIEND jeans were in style, but boss-or-whatever-more-he-was-to-her sweatpants weren’t. Kate rolled the waist over as many times as possible and still she swam in the fabric. She paired the sweatpants with a T-shirt from the brewery store and did a small grimace. Okay, she thought, so she looked like a goofus, but at least she was a dry goofus.
Matt
was waiting for her by the brewhouse with Chief Erikson.
“Do you feel up to answering some questions, Kate?” the police chief asked.
“Sure.”
Matt glanced toward the latest in a stream of sympathetic Depot employees who’d been checking on Kate since her big swim. “How about in my office?” Matt suggested.
Clete closed the office door behind them. “Kate, did you see your attacker?”
“I was at the bottom of a tank, Chief Erikson. It was just me and a whole lot of dark.”
The chief scribbled some notes, then turned to Matt, who’d taken a seat behind his desk. “You were close enough to be the first to Kate, Matt. Did you see anything unusual?”
“No. Bart, Floyd, Nan, and I were in Bart’s office. We’d been having a pretty intense discussion, so I didn’t hear or see anything at first.” He picked up a pen and started jotting on a legal pad. When he was done, he tore off a piece and slid it across his desk to Clete. “These are the names of the people who were here this morning at ten. The taproom was still closed, so there were no customers in the house.”
“Not paying, at least,” Clete said. “But could an outsider have gotten into the brewery?”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Matt said. “Except it’s unlikely an outsider would have known that someone was in the tank.”
“Not so true,” Kate said. “I was singing ‘All By Myself.’ Kind of loudly, too.”
Clete smiled. “Good song. Other than the brewers, does anyone else touch the brewing tank?”
“No,” Matt replied. “The only exception would be if Bart has given any private tours. You’ll have to ask him about that.”
Clete nodded. “Matt, I don’t know what you had planned for that unit today, but I need to call in my fingerprint team. We’ll need to fingerprint your staff and you, Matt, though I suppose we already have your prints on file.”
Matt showed a flash of a smile at that. “Yeah, I suppose you do from way back when. The file might be a little dusty.”
The police chief rose from his chair. “Remember, no one near the brewhouse.”
Clete left, and Matt’s face grew somber.
“Kate, we have to talk,” he said.
She knew what that meant. She’d last heard those words from Harley Bagger. Would she never hold a job in this town for longer than a month?
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked. “You can’t possibly be about to fire me.”
Matt looked shocked. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want sorry. I just want my job.”
“Kate, I have to do this,” he said. “Yes, you survived this just wet and scared, but you said it earlier—this attack was aimed straight at you. I can’t keep placing you in harm’s way.”
“I know all that, but you’re forgetting one crucial thing. I can’t eat, repair The Nutshell, or begin to plan for the future without money. And I need the bonus to stop the villain who plans to take my house if I can’t get current on my mortgage by Thanksgiving.”
“How about if I keep paying you? You can have the bonus money, the whole thing.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to let you pay me for doing nothing.”
“Why not?” Matt asked. “Apparently, I do it for Jerry all the time.”
“With you or without you, I need to find out who did this, or I’m never going to be able to put what happened in the brewhouse behind me. And what about you? You need this thing solved as much as I do. We must be getting closer if the creep’s pushed it this far.”
Matt started to speak a couple of times, but cut himself off. She waited.
“Okay. Work here,” he finally said. “But understand that means you’re going to be with me twenty-four/seven.”
She smiled. “I think they have employment laws against those sorts of hours.”
He gave her another frustrated look. “You know what I’m saying, and you know why. Someone is after you, and that person isn’t messing around. So, when we’re here, you’re with me, and when we’re not, you’re in my house.”
She wanted to say he was exaggerating the situation, except that she’d just been treated like a beer additive.
“And at the risk of sounding even more like I’m trying to run your life, did you get the locks changed out at your place this week, Kate?”
“Actually, no.” She’d been in a haze of poodle contentment and had forgotten Matt’s suggestion.
“So anyone can walk in and hide until they’re ready to come out. Does that sound about right?”
“Yes,” Kate admitted.
“And do you have any walls or floors or a bathroom?”
“Jeesh. I have some walls and floors. And the bees are practically all gone.”
“You like living with ‘some’ bees in a gutted house with no locks on an isolated stretch of the lake with a psycho after you?”
Kate kicked at the floor and looked at her shoe. “It’s not gutted, it’s decorator-ready. And, besides, every house has ‘some’ bees.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Then it’s settled. I’ll come with you while you pack. You and your poodle will stay with me until an arrest is made and your house is renovated and one hundred percent bee free.”
“That could be a very long time.”
Matt shrugged. “True.”
He’d sounded almost happy, and secretly, Kate was, too.
“And you know that we’ll probably end up wanting to kill each other,” she said.
He smiled. “Old news.”
“And that people are going to talk.”
“They always do.”
But what was gossip mere seconds ago now would be true. She, Matt Culhane, a fussy poodle, and a three-legged dog were going to be shacking up. The circus had just come to town.
SIXTEEN
Matt thought his house was pretty cool. He’d put a good couple of years into harvesting the timber from his property and then building the place. Because it had been designed to suit his needs, he’d never thought too much about how others might view it. Until now.
Kate climbed out of her Jeep, then scooped up Stella, who’d hopped into the driver’s seat as soon as it had been vacated. That was close to their actual dog/woman relationship. To be totally accurate, Stella should have been driving the car.
Kate checked out his house. “I take it you had a thing for Lincoln Logs when you were a kid. This is one very impressive adult version thereof.”
“You know what they say … The bigger the boys, the bigger—”
“We’ll probably do better if we don’t talk about the size of anything, especially your toys,” she said, lingering by her vehicle. “This seemed a lot more sensible in the abstract than in reality. You … me … under one roof…”
He smiled. “I like it. A lot.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
Okay, and she was worried that she’d like it a lot. She was worried she’d like it way too much.
“Come on in and have a look around,” he said.
They climbed the cut flagstone steps to his front porch. He opened the door for Kate and the pooch.
She hesitated again. “Is Chuck in there?”
“Yes, but don’t worry about him. I’ll lock him in my bedroom until you and Stella get settled.”
Kate stepped across the threshold. “Wow. This is gorgeous. There’s a lot more light than I expected.”
Matt had designed the house so that the back of the main living space had an expanse of windows overlooking the pond and woods beyond.
“It’s a good-sized place, but there aren’t that many actual rooms,” he said. “I’ve put you in the only other fully enclosed bedroom, right next to mine, since I didn’t think you’d want to deal with the loft.” He pointed to the ladder that led to the house’s half-floor. “The space up there is good, but the climbs up and down might be tough on the poodle.”
She set her dog down. “A Stella-accessible room would be nice.”
If this were Chuck, he’d be cruising and sniffing around. Not Stella. She checked out one floor tile and put her nose in the air. Matt guessed she wasn’t much for the scent of hound. And she clearly wasn’t into him.
After stowing Chuck away, Matt led Kate to the guest room. Stella stuck to her side.
“It’s pretty basic.” He gestured at the queen-sized log bed he’d built from wood they hadn’t been able to use in the house. “You have your own bathroom through there.”
“Works for me.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, and Matt watched as she leaned back on her palms like she was testing the mattress for play. His favorite kind of play … Matt couldn’t look away. In his mind, he’d already joined her. They were both wearing a helluva lot less, and Stella was napping elsewhere.
“Nice,” he said.
Kate flopped back, arms spread, luxuriating on the patchwork quilt he’d swiped from his mother. “It is. It’s wonderful.”
Matt hadn’t been talking about the bed. He’d been thinking out loud, congratulating himself for maneuvering Kate into his house and his life. He moved closer to Kate and the wonderful bed, and a low growl sounded from somewhere very close to his left ankle. He looked down to see Kate’s dog baring piranha-sharp teeth.
“Stella, stop that,” Kate said. “You’re going to have to get over it. We’re guests here.”
The dog’s lip curled upward even more and Matt knew he had to make a tactical retreat until he stocked up on treats. He was going to lose this battle, but the war wasn’t over.
Matt backed off. “What do you say we move on to the kitchen?”
The galley-style kitchen wasn’t large, but Matt had built it to last, with granite countertops and quality appliances. Not that he used much of anything but the microwave.
“We haven’t talked about cooking,” he said.
“And we should probably keep it that way, too,” she said. “My cooking would scare you. How about I’ll fend for me and you fend for you?”
“Sure. But if I decide to actually cook a meal, I’m going to cook for you, too.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. She moved closer to the fridge, where he kept various niece—and now nephew—photos and scraps of kid art on the door.