“He’s not dead.”
“Oh.” Chris paused at the bottom of the narrow wooden stairs that led to the bar and restaurant on the second floor. “Well, good. Wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable member of our community.”
I snorted and took out the notebook, clicking the pen. “So where were you tonight? Exactly.”
He clomped up the stairs and into the main room. Unfinished wood and timbers racked the ceiling and walls. Decoration was limited to giant chalkboards that listed the brew options, flags, and photos of the place when it was first being restored into a brewery. The rolling metal garage door at the far end was closed. I knew it just opened to the catwalk that let tours stare at the vats and machinery from above.
Large windows that looked over the fishing boats in the bay took up the length of the building and at the end opposite the garage door was the bar.
Chris glanced that way, toward the bar, and the little door in there that was easy to mistake as a cleaning closet. I knew that door contained a private set of stairs that led down to his boat.
“I was here tonight. In bed.”
A little too much hesitation in that statement.
“All night?”
He caught the edge of my tone and gave me a very steady stare. “All night. Listen, Dan Perkin doesn’t like me. Something about the Rhubarb Rally contest? But I don’t care if I win—I’m brewing up that rhubarb cranberry lager as a marketing stunt. Speaking of which, how about an opinion on what to call it. Do you like the sound of Rhuberry Lager or Cranbarb Beer?”
“I like the sound of you getting on with telling me what happened between you and Dan.”
He shook his head, each thumb slowly dragging across the back of his index knuckle. It was a nervous habit I rarely saw out of him.
“Nothing happened. I’ve won a lot of other awards—important awards. I don’t care enough about a local festival to actually try to kill someone for it.”
“Not even Dan Perkin?”
“Tempting.” He flashed a smile. “But not even him. I know the rules. I listened the first time when your grandfather was chief of police. I would rather outlive Perkin than risk being thrown out of town.”
“Things change. So do people.”
“Maybe. But I’m not exactly people.”
“Close enough. He mentioned Ryder was here when you talked to Dan.”
“Earlier in the evening, yes. I saw him.”
“When did he leave?”
Chris glanced up at the ceiling. “I think he left around one a.m. or so.”
“Huh.”
“Problem?”
“I didn’t know he was closing out the place.”
“He had some things on his mind.”
“Did he happen to mention them?”
“We’re friendly, but he didn’t have much to say.”
“Any of it pertain to a bunch of rhubarb getting massacred?”
“Not that I recall, no.”
“All right. Well, I’m sorry to get you out of bed at this hour. If there’s anything else that I need to know, I’ll get in touch.”
