Breathing a sigh of relief, I continued down the stairs.
The next day was a bookmobile day, and on the way to the first stop, I told Julia what Jennifer was doing.
“Interesting.” Julia, who, as a successful actress, had endured more than her share of backstabbing, infighting, and alliances that shifted underfoot, made the humming noise that meant her quick mind was hard at work. “What did your coworkers say?” she asked.
“Didn’t tell them.”
Julia glanced over at me across the wide console. “Why?”
I shrugged. “They don’t like her and I didn’t want to give them any more reasons to not get along. Besides, it might be nothing.”
“But you think it is something, don’t you?”
“It kind of has to be. Otherwise, why would she be working so hard to talk to each of the board members separately?”
“I see what you mean.” Julia leaned back and propped her feet on top of the cat carrier. Eddie, who was curled up in his pink blanket, took no notice. “Do you have a theory?” she asked. “No, let me rephrase that. Your name is Minnie Hamilton and of course you have a theory. On a scale of don’t-be-ridiculous to stake-your-life, how likely is it?”
I considered the question. “Somewhere in the sure-enough-to-make-my-stomach-hurt realm.”
“Do you want to tell your aunt Julia about it?”
Her overly warm concern made me laugh out loud. “I thought you were supposed to be a good actress.”
“Only when I’m getting paid.”
“Your husband must find that comforting.”
“He does indeed,” she said.
There was a short pause, then I said, “It’s my guess that Jennifer is trying to persuade the board to buy that new library systems software.”
Julia frowned. “Isn’t the program we’re using just a couple of years old?”
“Four and a half. It was installed just before the move to the new building.”
“How time flies,” she murmured. “But those systems are expensive, aren’t they? Why would they change over to something new?”
An excellent question. “Jennifer thinks a different system would be more efficient.”
“Let me guess,” Julia said. “This other program is what she used at the library where she worked before she came here.”
“Bingo!” The road, which had been narrow and tree-lined, widened to include a turn lane that led to a county park. For a few miles we’d been following a vehicle with a bright yellow kayak on top and now its right blinker and brake lights went on. Since the bookmobile was too wide to go around comfortably, I braked, too.
“I am a genius,” she said modestly. “You, however, are stuck. As someone with more knowledge of library software than most library directors and, I daresay, every library board member, you know that what Jennifer wants to do is nuts. As her assistant, however, you’re obligated to follow her lead, no matter how ridiculous it may be.”
“That sums it up nicely.” The vehicle in front of us, a midsized SUV, turned and I blinked as I recognized it.
“More proof that I am indeed a genius.” She tapped her head. “What are you going to do?”
I had no idea what I was going to do about Jennifer’s machinations, but I did know what I was going to do next. “Hang on,” I said, “we’re going to make a short stop.”
Ignoring Julia’s surprised look, I followed the SUV into the park’s gravel parking area. I circled around, braked to a halt a few yards from the vehicle, told Julia I’d be back in a flash, and hurried out to meet Brad Lacombe.
“Hey, Minnie.” He smiled. “I know I should read more, but you really don’t have to chase me down.”
“Whatever it takes,” I said, laughing. “But as much as I’d like everyone to read more, including me, when I saw you in front of us, I thought I’d stop and ask a quick question about your dad.”
Brad stroked his beard. “Sure. What’s up?”
“It’s the time he died. The estimate was two a.m., right?” Brad nodded and I went on. “So I got to wondering. Was he a night person and this was something normal? If not, what was he doing out at two in the morning?”
“That’s a good question,” he said slowly. “If he was trying to finish a job, it wasn’t unheard of for Dad to stay out half the night, or all night even. But I don’t know if he was on deadline, or not. Have you asked my mom?”
“Not yet.” I made a mental note to talk to both Carmen and Ash about it. Maybe Detective Inwood had already been over this, but maybe not. He was a busy man and it was hard to remember everything. Maybe it took a village to catch a killer. “Thanks, Brad. Sorry for delaying your kayaking.”
He shrugged. “Right now I have all the time in the world.”
Something about his expression caught at me. I’d been about to turn away, but I paused and studied him. “Is something wrong?”
“Just work,” he muttered.
But Leese had told me that her stepbrother was a favored employee at the brewery. And that he loved his job so much he was in danger of losing all perspective about the relative importance of beer to the general population.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
Again, he shrugged, but this time I was watching his face closely and saw emotion etching lines into his face. Worry? Anxiety? Fear? I would have put it down to his father’s murder except he hadn’t looked like this the night at Leese’s house. He also didn’t seem inclined to talk, and since I barely knew him, I decided I’d let it go after one more attempt. “You sure you’re okay?”
“No,” he said wryly, and somehow he sounded a lot like his older sister. “Actually I’m not. I’ve been suspended without pay.”
“What? Brad, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“I have no idea.” He stared off into the distance. “It’s my blame to take and I understand why they had to do this, but I lay awake half the night trying to figure it out and I still have no idea what went on with that batch.”
A crawly feeling was starting to creep over my skin. “Something went wrong with one of your beers?”
He nodded slowly. “The first batch of a new recipe I was trying. It tested fine when it was brewing, it tested fine when it was in storage, and I swear to God it tested fine when I put it into kegs for shipping. Then two nights ago, at that new tap room in Petoskey, we debuted it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It was contaminated. Fifty people got sick, nine went to the hospital, and one of them might . . .” He swallowed. “One might die.”
The thought was horrible, and my heart went out to all who were sick, and to Brad. But a tiny idea trickled into my brain: Could this somehow be related to Dale Lacombe’s murder? Could Brad have been the intended victim?
Chapter 12
Brad’s sad news about the people sickened by a beer he’d made stayed with me through the day and into the evening, when I called Leese. She’d talked to her stepbrother earlier that day and had tried to get him to go out for dinner with her, but he’d turned her down, saying that he wouldn’t be good company.
“I told him not to be an idiot,” she said, “because he’d never been good company in his life and I certainly didn’t expect him to start doing so anytime soon.” She sighed. “He didn’t laugh even a little. I sent Mia over. Maybe she can help.”
By the end of the workday we’d both heard that of the nine people who’d gone to the emergency room, eight had been treated and released. The one remaining victim, the one Brad had been so worried about, had been diagnosed with appendicitis, not food poisoning, and was resting comfortably after an emergency operation.
But even if no one had been deathly ill, it was still a serious situation, and I didn’t want to think what Brad was enduring, knowing something he’d brewed had caused people harm.