An Ale of Two Cities Read online

  “Of course it’s not. Mel has a good track record.”

  Joey’s grin widened. “You’re not biased or anything.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with believing in my friends,” I said in my own defense.

  “Just how much do you believe in Mel?” another man asked as he sidled up to the fire pit.

  It was Bert Caldwell, I realized. The owner of a local cheese company, Bert was tall with a generous paunch. As had been the case on every other occasion I’d seen him, he wore a baseball cap with his company’s logo on the front.

  I had to silently question his sanity. A baseball cap wouldn’t provide much warmth for his ears.

  “What does that mean?” I asked him.

  Bert glanced around as if to see if anyone else was within earshot. There were three women on the other side of the fire pit, but they were engrossed in their conversation, laughing and chatting.

  “I’m taking bets,” Bert said once he was satisfied we wouldn’t be overheard. “A bit of friendly wagering.”

  “Is that legal?” I glanced from him to Joey.

  The reporter gave an unconcerned shrug and used the camera slung around his neck to snap another photo of Freddy wielding his chain saw.

  “Doesn’t matter if the wrong people don’t find out,” Bert said.

  “You’re saying this in front of a reporter,” I pointed out.

  “Joey’s not about to say anything. He’s already placed his bet.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Joey. “Did you put your money on Mel?”

  “Sorry, that’s confidential information,” he said, not the least bit abashed.

  In other words, he’d bet on someone else. I decided to not let that bother me. Mel didn’t need the support of every town resident. I had confidence in her and I knew the wagering wouldn’t psych her out in the least if she found out about it.

  “So, how about it?” Bert asked me. “Are you in?”

  “I’m most definitely out,” I said.

  To emphasize my point, I headed off on a circuit of the green to check out what all the competitors were up to. I believed in Mel enough to stake some money on her, but I had an aversion to all types of gambling since my ex-boyfriend’s addiction had destroyed our relationship. I also didn’t want to end up getting into any trouble. I’d been through enough in the past year, what with breaking up with my boyfriend—who’d later been killed—and losing my job in Boston. On top of that, I was still finding my feet as a business owner. The last thing I needed was to get caught breaking the law.

  I didn’t spend much time at each competitor’s station. Since the event was in its earliest stages, I couldn’t yet see the artists’ visions taking shape. Still, I was impressed by the way they wielded their power and hand tools with such ease and confidence, cutting, chipping, and scraping the ice without hesitation. I didn’t doubt that if I’d attempted to sculpt a block of ice, it would have ended up cracked, shattered, or otherwise destroyed.

  The last competitor I stopped to watch was Freddy Mancini. By then, all the reporters, including Joey, had disappeared. They’d probably gone off in search of someplace warmer, with plans to check in on the competition now and then. Bert Caldwell, however, was still hanging around. At the moment, he was next to the fire pit, in conversation with Jade, the woman who seemed to be somehow linked to Freddy. I was certain she and Mel had recognized each other earlier. That in itself wasn’t so strange, but what had piqued my curiosity was the fact that there had been something more than surprise and recognition in their eyes when they saw each other. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  Whatever had passed between them wasn’t any of my business, but that didn’t dampen my curiosity. It never did. Some people—and one person in particular—had been known to call me nosey, and I had to admit to myself that it wasn’t an unwarranted descriptor. I wasn’t keen on admitting that to anyone else, though.

  As Freddy set down his chain saw and grabbed a chisel, Jade left Bert by the fire pit and returned to the chef’s side. He shot a suspicious glance Bert’s way before focusing on Jade.

  “What was all that about?” he asked, sounding grumpy.

  “Just a local man asking questions about the competition,” she replied. “Do you need anything at the moment? A coffee, maybe?”

  “What I need is to be left alone so I can focus,” Freddy groused.

  He attacked one of his ice blocks with the chisel. Behind him, Jade rolled her eyes.

  “I’ll be over by the fire keeping warm, then,” she said to him.

  “Get me a coffee first!” he ordered, not taking his eyes off his work.

  “Of course,” Jade said. Her tone was smooth and polite, but I thought I detected a flicker of anger in her brown eyes.

  I couldn’t blame her. If he’d spoken to me like that, I probably would have been tempted to bury him under his blocks of ice. Actually, I was tempted to do that even though he hadn’t been speaking to me. I hoped he didn’t intend to stay in Shady Creek beyond the end of the competition. I especially hoped he wouldn’t decide to show up at the Inkwell. No doubt he’d find fault with everything.

  Jade strode away from Freddy, heading across the green in the direction of the Village Bean. My curiosity got the better of me and I hurried to catch up to her.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I reached her side. “Do you work for Freddy Mancini?”

  Jade slowed her pace and smiled at me. She was a beautiful woman, probably in her early thirties, with long dark hair and thick eyelashes that made me immediately envious. My eyelashes were practically invisible without mascara.

  “I’m his personal assistant, Jade Castellano,” she said. “Are you a reporter?”

  “No. Just a curious onlooker. And a friend of Mel Costas,” I added. “Do you know her?”

  Jade hesitated, both in her steps and in her speech. “I did once,” she said after a moment.

  “Maybe you’ll have a chance to catch up with her after the competition.”

  She smiled again, but this time it seemed forced. “Maybe.” She glanced down at the phone she held in one leather-gloved hand. “Excuse me, but I have some work to take care of.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  I drew to a stop and watched her walk away, my curiosity unsatisfied.

  There was a story there. I was sure of it. But Jade clearly wasn’t going to fill me in. Maybe Mel would, but I wouldn’t count on that. Mel and I got along well, and I considered her a friend as well as an employee, but she wasn’t one to easily share details about her personal life.

  For all the good it would do, I reminded myself that it wasn’t any of my business and decided to focus on what was my business—getting the Inkwell ready to open for the day.

  * * *

  The first thing I did when I returned to the Inkwell was put on a pot of coffee. I didn’t even wait to shed my coat, scarf, and hat, only removing my mittens to make the job easier. While the coffee brewed, I passed through a door marked PRIVATE and trudged up the stairs to my apartment, where I finally removed my outer layers.

  “Brrr,” I said, rubbing my hands as I approached my white-haired, blue-eyed cat where he slept on the back of the couch. “You’ve got the right idea, Wimsey. It’s a good day to stay indoors.”

  Wimsey closed his eyes, a content and somewhat self-satisfied expression on his furry face as I stroked his long, silky coat. I got a faint purr out of him at first, but then he shut off his motor and shook his head, as if to say, “Enough, human!”

  He only liked cuddling on a limited basis.

  I made a quick trip to the bathroom to check my appearance in the mirror. Removing my wool hat had left my red hair full of static. I ran a brush through it, but that only made matters worse, so I splashed a bit of water on my hands and smoothed them over my hair.

  The result wasn’t perfect but it would do. I didn’t waste any more time; I could practically hear the brewing coffee calling my name from downstairs. Back down behin
d the bar, I savored each sip of my hot drink as I gazed around my beloved pub. I’d purchased the business and building back in the summer while I was in Shady Creek visiting my aunt Gilda and trying to pick up the pieces of my former life. I’d never intended to remain in Vermont, but I’d fallen in love with the charming town and the character-filled, renovated gristmill.

  After sinking most of my life savings into the purchase, I’d transformed the run-of-the-mill pub into one that reflected my lifelong love of books and literature. My extensive book collection was on display on the wooden shelf that ran around the main room of the pub. The wide plank floors and wood beams gave the pub character, as did the old barrels that had been worked into the construction of the bar.

  Recently, I’d added some seasonal decorations to create a festive atmosphere. Fairy lights and garlands were strung around the pub, and I’d placed some rustic-looking candle lanterns here and there, each one decorated with red bows and sprigs of holly. My favorite holiday addition was the beautiful eight-foot Christmas tree standing in one corner. Naturally, I’d given it a literary theme and had decked it out with some ornaments I’d collected over the years and others that I’d recently purchased on Etsy. There were silhouettes of characters from Jane Austen’s novels, figurines of Winnie the Pooh and his friends, and colorful baubles featuring elegant Elvish writing. I’d also found several adorable miniature books to put on the tree with tiny covers from classics like The Wind in the Willows, Anne of Green Gables, and the first Nancy Drew adventure, The Secret of the Old Clock. Perched on the top of the tree was a deerstalker hat as an ode to Sherlock Holmes.

  Outside the pub, Mel and Damien, one of my other employees, had helped me put up lights around the front door and all of the windows. The large red door also had a cheery wreath hanging on it, one I’d made myself during a workshop at the local public library a week earlier. I wasn’t the most artistic person, so I was quite pleased with how well the wreath had turned out. I’d already received several compliments on it, and I was glad my patrons seemed to like all of my decorating efforts.

  I was halfway through my cup of coffee when Booker James burst in through the pub’s front door, bringing a blast of frosty air with him.

  “It’s sure cold out there,” he said with a shiver.

  “You’re telling me.”

  Booker pulled off his hat and shook out his multitude of shoulder-length braids. “Aside from the cold, how are things going?”

  “Great, especially now that I’m inside with a nice hot cup of coffee.”

  “A hot drink sounds good.” Booker made his way behind the bar. “I’d better put the kettle on.”

  He preferred tea to coffee, and always drank it out of one of the teacups his grandmother had given him, never out of a mug. It had taken me a while to get used to seeing the six-foot-four former college football player drinking his tea out of a china cup patterned with flowers. Now I couldn’t imagine him drinking it any other way.

  Booker disappeared through the door that led to the pub’s kitchen and employee cloakroom. When he reappeared several minutes later, he had his freshly brewed tea with him, in a cup decorated with red and purple sweet peas.

  I’d counted myself lucky when Booker accepted the job I’d offered him several weeks earlier. He brought an upbeat energy to the Inkwell and was easy to get along with. He could also work magic in the kitchen. With Teagan’s help, he’d put together a menu that had so far been a hit with the pub’s customers.

  Like me, Booker was new to Shady Creek. He’d moved here to be with his girlfriend, who’d decided to return to her hometown after finishing college. A string of injuries had put an end to Booker’s football career aspirations, so he’d pursued his other passions—cooking and music. He typically worked the earlier shift at the Inkwell so he was free for evening gigs with his band.

  “Teagan and I were chatting about the menu yesterday,” Booker said as he leaned against the bar and sipped his tea. “What do you think of a cold soup for when the warm weather hits?”

  “I think that’s a fantastic idea,” I said. “I’m guessing you have a recipe in mind.”

  “We were thinking something citrusy. Maybe grapefruit with avocado?”

  “I’ve never tasted anything like that, but it sounds delicious.”

  “We’ll make sure it is,” he assured me.

  Ever since I’d opened the pub, I’d wanted to have literary-themed food on the menu. But until I’d hired Booker and Teagan in late October, I hadn’t had a chef to make that a reality. Before the chefs had joined my staff, I’d only been able to offer the Inkwell’s patrons soup from the local deli and premade meat and veggie pies to go along with their cocktails, local craft beers, and other drinks.

  Thanks to Booker’s and Teagan’s creativity in the kitchen, however, my vision for the pub was truly taking shape. The menu now offered appetizers, a soup of the day, salads, a few entrées, and a couple of scrumptious desserts. At first I’d only added a handful of food items to the menu to test the waters, so to speak. When the initial dishes went over well with the pub’s customers, the two chefs had collaborated to come up with several more, and now patrons came to the Inkwell for the food almost as much as for the drinks.

  “Don’t forget—today we’re debuting the Paradise Lox,” Booker said before drinking down the last of his tea.

  “I definitely haven’t forgotten.” I finished my coffee and took my empty mug into the kitchen, Booker following behind me.

  The Paradise Lox was the latest appetizer to be added to the menu. Each crostino was topped with salmon cream cheese mixed with lemon and dill, and—of course—lox. I’d been very thorough about taste-testing the appetizer. The first bite had wowed my taste buds, so naturally I’d had to try plenty more to be absolutely sure the appetizer was right for the menu.

  “Remember we have to save some for the customers,” Booker teased as he headed for the large sink.

  “I’ll try to restrain myself,” I said. “But I can’t guarantee that I won’t indulge a little bit.”

  I put my mug in the dishwasher and left the kitchen while Booker washed his hands. He would start preparing the food now so that when the Inkwell opened, we’d be ready to serve hungry townsfolk and tourists.

  Thankfully, there were plenty of the latter in town for the Winter Carnival. After moving to Shady Creek, I’d quickly learned that it was a town that loved its events. The annual Autumn Festival was the biggest draw for tourists, taking place during prime leaf-peeping season. Visitors hadn’t arrived in quite the same droves for the Winter Carnival, but there were still plenty of tourists bringing in extra trade for me and all my fellow business owners.

  That helped me sleep well at night. This was the first time I’d owned a business, and I was anxious to make a success out of it. There were plenty of townsfolk who were regulars at the Inkwell, but without an influx of tourists now and then throughout the year, I would have been struggling to make ends meet.

  I busied myself with preparing the Inkwell for opening. I dusted the shelves and decor, and made sure that all the napkin dispensers and salt and pepper shakers were full. By the time the hour hand on the Guinness wall clock reached the twelve, I detected some delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. I swept my gaze across the pub one last time, checking to make sure everything was in order. I couldn’t help but smile as I did so. In the few months since I’d purchased the pub, I’d come to love it. It almost felt like it was an extension of me now. I was proud of the Inkwell, and I was gratified that the townsfolk had embraced it as well as me.

  Life was good in Shady Creek. And, as I opened the pub for the day, I had no reason to believe that would change anytime soon.

  Chapter 3

  By midafternoon there was enough of a crowd in the pub to keep me and Booker busy. Normally Mel would have been working the afternoon shift, but since she was taking part in the ice sculpture competition, I had to make do behind the bar on my own. There were a few familiar fa
ces among the patrons, but also several tourists seeking out a warm place to enjoy some food and a drink or two before heading back out to take in the carnival’s festivities.

  As I pulled pints, mixed cocktails, and delivered orders to tables, I caught snippets of conversations about the ice sculpture competition. Excitement was building, as it was now possible to see some components of the sculptures taking shape. I was hoping I’d have a chance to slip out for a few minutes later in the day so I could check out Mel’s progress and that of her fellow competitors. Although Booker and I were the only Inkwell staff members working at the moment, Damien would arrive in the early evening for a shift and Teagan would take over in the kitchen. If we weren’t too busy later on, I might be able to sneak a few minutes away while Damien held down the fort.

  In the late afternoon, my aunt Gilda arrived at the pub, bringing a big smile to my face. She had her friend and coworker, Betty, with her. Aunt Gilda owned a salon at the eastern end of the village green and Betty rented a chair from her. They were often among the first to know what was going on in town, thanks to their regular chats with their clients. Once someone had spent half an hour in Aunt Gilda’s chair, she usually knew their entire life story. She wasn’t much different from a bartender in that regard. People often confided in her as she cut and styled their hair.

  My aunt had her dyed auburn hair in an up-do, the way she usually wore it, and her ears were pink from the cold.

  I greeted them both with hugs. “I don’t know how you can go outside without wearing a hat,” I said. “My ears are going numb just thinking about it.”

  Aunt Gilda patted my back before sitting down at the table she and Betty had claimed. “I know how you feel about the cold, honey, and I can’t disagree. But it only takes two minutes to get here from the salon, so I figured I’d survive.”

  “I guess you’ll be getting a break from the cold weather soon,” I said, not without a pang of disappointment.

  Aunt Gilda usually spent Christmas in Savannah, where her lifelong best friend and several of her cousins lived. Most years she went there for at least two weeks, to enjoy the company of friends and family as well as the Savannah weather. I didn’t want to close down the Inkwell for more than a day or two over the holidays, so I’d be staying in Shady Creek for Christmas. My mom was spending the holiday with my older brother, Michael, and his wife in Knoxville, and my younger brother, Taylor, usually went traveling overseas at that time of year. In other words, I wouldn’t have any family with me to celebrate the holiday.