An innkeeper, a woman obsessed with sensible footwear, and an overgrown hippie walk into a brewery. It sounds like the setup to a bad joke, but it just so happens to be my investigation strategy.
The punchline? I’m hoping to solve a case before last call.
What Ales You is a tall, boxy building the size of an airplane hangar, all steel and glass and really loud music.
As soon as we walk in, the place hits all the senses at once as its gleaming stainless steel fixtures catch the warm evening light streaming through industrial windows, rich dark wood beams stretch across the exposed brick ceiling, and the air is thick with the intoxicating aroma of crispy French fries and flame-grilled burgers.
Classic rock music pounds from speakers mounted near the wraparound bar, mixing with the cheerful chaos of clinking glasses and boisterous male laughter echoing from the dining area where at least fifteen guys have commandeered a section of long communal tables.
“Well, well, well,” I announce as we step through the heavywooden doors. “If it isn’t every suspect I wanted to question, conveniently gathered in one alcohol-laden establishment.”
Mom and Georgie separate for a moment, each mumbling something about checking the place out. I’m about to do the same.
“Bizzy?”
I gasp hard as Jasper’s voice cuts through the din, and I turn to see my husband’s shocked expression as he spots us from across the room. His beer mug freezes halfway to his lips.
“Surprise!” I wave cheerfully.
He scoops up his beer and makes his way over, shaking his head with that mixture of resignation and admiration I’ve come to recognize as his default expression when I’m being particularly resourceful.
“I wondered why you didn’t ask where we were headed tonight.” He frowns as he lands a kiss on my lips. Is it wrong that I think his kisses are actually better when presented with a frown? But I’ll be the last person to tell him this. I sort of like them when he smiles, too. And it’s true. He did phone to tell me that Piers was taking the groomsmen out for the night.
“I’ll answer for you.” His frown deepens. “Because you knew all along.” He tips his head and studies me with those sexy detective eyes. “You’re investigating, aren’t you?”
I shrug his way. What can I say? He’s a darn good and darnsexydetective.
Before I can formulate a response that’s technically not a lie, Leo appears and slaps Jasper’s shoulder with enough force to slosh his beer onto the dark wood floor.
“As if you had to ask.” Leo laughs as his entire face lights up with delight. “I, for one, am thrilled to watch Bizzy in her element. This is better than dinner theater.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say dryly, even though I know he means it.
“Anytime. Want me to point out which ones are acting suspicious? Because I’ve got opinions.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Mom appears at my elbow, looking around the brewery with a critical eye as if evaluating real estate. “This place has excellent acoustics for eavesdropping.”
“Mom,” I hiss.
“What? I’m being supportive of your hobby.”
“It’s not a hobby, it’s a calling,” I counter before wincing up at Jasper.
“Six of one, half dozen of the other,” Leo shoots back.
Georgie sidles up to us, already scanning the room for eligible bachelors and inappropriate conversation topics—I know her well.
“Would you look at all these handsome men?” she calls out so loud you’d think I was on Mars. “It’s like a bachelor buffet. Where do I even start?”
“How about you start by not referring to human beings as food?” Mom says.
“You’re no fun,” she pouts. “Speaking of fun, how was your foot date with my baby brother?”
Jasper raises an eyebrow. “Foot date? Do I want to ask?”
“Probably not,” I tell him, but Mom jumps in anyway.
