Authors: L.M. Fortin
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in right now. Sir, don’t make me handcuff you!” Officer Myers raised voice could be heard through the front door.
“I wonder what’s going on?” said Scott as he ran to the front door.
Callie looked out the window. “It’s Ethan Fillmer and it looks as if he’s trying to get into the brewery.”
“Stay here,” Scott said to Callie as he went outside.
She followed his instructions, but with the front door open, she might as well have been outside as she could hear everything said. She stayed at the window off to one side and watched.
Ethan Fillmer was standing next to Officer Myers, his large bulk towering over Myers’ more slender frame. “That’s my brewery and you have no right to keep me from going in there. You can even come with me. I just need some papers from my office.”
“Mr. Fillmer, please calm yourself and I’m sure we can work something out.” Scott got between Ethan and the relieved police officer. “Thank you, Myers. I can take it from here.”
“And you are?” Callie could hear the typical Ethan belligerent tone in his voice.
“I’m Detective McMillan. I’m here to make sure the crime scene remains untouched until we finish with our investigation.”
“Crime scene? What crime? My dad died making bad mushroom beer. That’s an accident as far as I can see, not a crime.”
“I’m very sorry for the loss of your father. I didn’t know him, but from what I’ve heard he was a real asset to our community and a lot of people will miss him.”
Ethan seemed to deflate, his shoulders dropping, and he stepped back. “Thank you. I know I wasn’t ready to have him leave quite yet. And over a stupid beer contest.”
Scott pulled out his notebook. “Can I ask you about that? How long did you know he was making the mushroom beer?”
“I didn’t know. He didn’t say,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like he was keeping it secret or anything. Dad had a small brewing operation at the back of the warehouse. He was always fiddling around with different batches. Experimenting with flavors. He didn’t discuss those with anyone. If something seemed like it might be a good beer to sell, that’s when he’d start talking about it. When he heard there was a unique beer competition, he started working on something different. That’s all I knew. I didn’t pay much attention to it.”
“Do you know where he got the mushrooms?” asked Scott.
“No. I would assume it was Alterspice or someplace like that. We’re not the type of family to go out in the woods checking out mushrooms. You better believe I will find out where he got them from and sue whoever it is into the next century.”
“What is it you need from inside the brewery?” asked Scott.
“Just some papers of my dad’s. It will only take a few minutes and I won’t touch anything else. I don’t even need to go into the warehouse, just the office.”
Scott was persistent. “What’s in there that’s so important?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “It’s dad’s will. He filed one with a lawyer two years ago, but they told me today he called them a few weeks ago, thinking of making a new one. If there is one, it will be in the safe.”
“Do you know why he wanted to make a new will?” asked Scott.
“He found out he had a daughter. It’s possible he changed his will to include her.” Callie noticed he didn’t use the word sister.
“Do you think she wants part of the brewery?”
“I wouldn’t know. It’s not about money to me. I’m ready to go national with Magic Waters as soon as dad’s affairs are settled. If she takes money out or wants to sell, it will mess up a lot of work I’ve put in. This is above board, nothing dishonest about it. Our beer is exactly what it’s supposed to be.”
“What does that mean?” asked Scott.
“Nothing. Just something that was important to my dad and I will honor it. It doesn’t matter to anyone else now he’s gone. Can we go to the office already?”
Scott nodded. “I’ll have to come with you. Let’s go.” They came up the stairs to the house and into the tasting room. Ethan saw Callie.
“What’s she doing here? How come she gets to come into my brewery and I don’t? And why is that mutt here?” Ethan’s belligerent tone was back.
“They were both here when Floyd took ill and they are helping with the investigation,” said Scott. “That’s all you need to know. Let’s go back and take a look in the office. Callie, will you wait here?”
Callie nodded. She walked over to a barstool and sat, Hops laying down at her feet. “Well, I’m thinking you’re going to stay with me for a lot longer than a few days, my friend.”
On the drive home, Callie wanted to ask Scott what happened in the office with Ethan, but felt she’d have better odds finding out if she didn’t ask him directly.
“Ethan didn’t open the will in front of me,” said Scott. “In case you were wondering.”
“I was trying to keep a lid on my curiosity,” she said, laughing.
“He didn’t open the envelope, but I could tell it was what he thought it was. A new will, not a copy of the old one.”
“If it hadn’t gotten into the lawyer’s hands yet, it’s possible that it’s not valid.”
“I think the fact he didn’t know about the will, but knew about his half-sister, gives him a reason to want Floyd dead,” Scott said. “He could have been trying to make sure Floyd didn’t write a new will.”
“It looks that way, doesn’t it? I’m not sure though. He’s certainly a belligerent man, but he seems too blunt for dishonesty. I mean, it seems like he’d take a more direct method if he wanted his father dead. Poison mushroom beer is pretty subtle.”
“Maybe he only wanted to make his father sick, to take him out of the day to day operations of the brewery,” said Scott.
Callie disagreed, but kept her thoughts to herself. If Floyd Fillmer had been murdered, there was more than one person who might have had a motive. She thought it wasn’t the why that would lead them to a potential killer, but the how. She wondered how many people knew Floyd was making a mushroom beer. Ethan had unfettered access to the warehouse and might have known even if he later denied it. However, she found it significant that when Ethan was trying to come in and get the will, he hadn’t used the unguarded back door, but walked boldly in the front. He knew the guard was there from his previous visit. If he was a murderer and he had something to hide, she was convinced that he would work harder to hide his tracks.
Chapter Twelve
After her chores and breakfast on Tuesday, Callie got into her car and headed through Skinner, across the river and into Millton. Downtown Millton always reminded her of a bad strip mall, with its many antique shops. At least the antique places weren’t strip clubs. Callie thought it was not a good statement to make that the city felt better semi-abandoned than filled with hookers and drug addicts. Maybe Millton’s next iteration would draw in more legitimate businesses that didn’t depend on people selling their bodies or their old junk.
The drive through town was slow because she had to drive at twenty mph to have any chance of hitting the myriad number of traffic lights green. Beyond the downtown area, Main Street resolved into old apartment complexes, auto parts stores, and mini marts. Callie took a left where the town was filled with more trees and less cement. The road to Jasper, where the cidery was located, was lined at first with subdivisions, and then was lined with apple and filbert orchards. The orchards were falling into bed with winter, leaves off of the trees and blanketing the ground. When they were in season, it was easy to tell the difference between the filberts with their ruffled edge leaves and the apples with their smoother, pointed ones. Without leaves, the trees were remarkably similar.
Out Jasper way, the homes were spread out and set far back from the road. Walt had told her to look for small sign featuring an apple on the right side of the road. The sign didn’t just feature an apple, it was carved into the shape of a Red Delicious and a hand lettered sign underneath read ‘Sullivan’s.’
She turned at the dirt road about a quarter mile beyond the sign. Unlike Weissworks, it was not only unpaved, but didn’t even have gravel. The road was just dirt, and she threw up a cloud of dust as her car bumped along the road filled with pits and ruts.
The tree lined road opened to a large white farmhouse and a traditional red barn, complete with white two by fours making large X’es on the doors and upper windows. Callie wondered what the actual point of the X’es was. The smell of apple juice was in the air and as she got out of the car she decided just to follow her nose to find the owner and brewer, Bill Sullivan.
The house looked to be more of a living space than having anything to do with a brewing operation, so she counted that out, and instead moved towards the heady scent of fermenting apples coming out of the barn. The main doors were open and Callie saw a group of men and one woman standing in front of large white rectangular vats. The vats looked to be plastic, but there were large metal frameworks around them to stabilize them.
Callie cleared her throat and the group turned to look at her. “Are you the woman from the brew fest?” said the red haired man.
“Yes, am I interrupting something?” she asked. “Maybe I can come back later?”
“No,” said the man. “We spend all day doing this. I think I’m ready for an interruption. I’m Bill Sullivan.”
Callie shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you. What are you making?”
“The batch in this container will be a perry.”
“I admit I don’t know much about cider, so I have to ask, what’s a perry?”
He laughed. “Well, according to government regulations a cider is something that has a specific percentage of apple juice. A pear cider would be both apple and pear juice. Perry has a majority of pear juice instead.”
“I think I’m confused?”
“I admit, it’s somewhat confusing. The bottom line is that is all tastes good,” said Bill, a smile crossing his ruddy face. He had a large nose reminiscent of an Irish prize fighter and his skin was pockmarked. “What can I help you with today?”
“Walt Eckman has me visiting all the breweries taking part in the premium showcase, just to clarify details and get an idea of what type of beverage you will enter in the unique beer competition. Well,” she amended, “I guess in your case it would be unique cider.”
He nodded. “Definitely. Would you like a taste? I’d give you a tour, but you’re basically seeing the entire operation here in this one room.”
Callie glanced around. “It’s a very compact process.” There was a large area off to one side with two picnic tables and some glass fronted coolers behind them. The part Callie and Bill were standing in was about three times the size of the seating area, but nowhere near the size of any of the breweries Callie had visited so far. Around the perimeter of the room were a few steel tanks that reached towards the ceiling. She also saw a bottling machine and two cider presses.
“I like being able to manage each part personally,” he said. “If it’s my name on the bottle, I want to know that I can guarantee the quality.”
“Do you do many tastings here?” Callie said, wondering at the lack of amenities compared to what the other breweries had.
“No,” he said. “I guess you can tell, huh? We bottle some of our ciders, but we provide a lot to local restaurants, so our business isn’t dependent on the retail market. I didn’t figure it was worthwhile to invest in all those trappings as it’s not somewhere I want to take the business right now.”
The wall had a few coolers and Bill went over to the one nearest the table and pulled out a large brown glass bottle. The cap on the bottle was a ceramic one hooked to the bottle with metal flanges on each side. The bottle reminded Callie of something she’d see in Germany and wondered if Gerta at Weissworks also served some of her beer in this older, more traditional style bottle. Bill took two small glasses and poured the liquid in them.
“It’s very clear,” said Callie. “I guess I was expecting it to show some color, more like apple juice.”
Bill shook his head. “Some of our ciders have a bit more color to them, but for this one, I was trying to make it surprising and unique. I thought if I didn’t fulfill their usual expectations, people would be more likely to think it was unique.”
“Good strategy,” said Callie. “I guess you’ve put some thought into this.”
“As I’m the only cider and I’m competing against some pretty good beers, I thought I had to kick it up a notch.”
Callie lifted the glass and held it to the light. It was as clear as water. She took a sniff before drinking and smelled notes of apple as well as a hint of cherry. She managed not to laugh. Bill may have thought his strategy would create a unique product, but apparently he was predictable to Gerta. She took a sip. The apple notes were prevalent, but as she swallowed, there was a lingering aftertaste of cherry and maybe even a hint of cinnamon. The fruit flavors were true to life and Callie wasn’t sure she would even be able to tell it was alcoholic if she didn’t know it.
“Wow. What’s the alcohol content?” she asked. “The fruit flavor is totally dominant.”
“No, you can’t taste the alcohol at all, can you?” he said smiling. “That’s exactly what I was shooting for. Do you drink cider?”
“No, I’m not even much of a beer girl yet, although I’m learning,” she said. “I couldn’t even tell you the last time I had apple juice.”
“Do you drink wine? We have a nice selection of dry ciders that will definitely remind you of a Riesling as we use wine yeasts to ferment those.”
She took another sip. “Yes, I do enjoy wine and I’ll have to keep an eye out for your ciders when I’m in town. Do you have any questions about the Bru-topia or the premium showcase?”
“How are all these drinks going to be judged?”
“We’re going to have a four-hour window on Friday where anyone can come in, try all the showcase beverages and then vote right there.”
“Is it smart to do that so early in the event? Don’t we get a larger number of attendees on Saturday?” he asked.
“Well, yes, which is the reason we’re doing it on Friday -- to increase attendance,” she said. “Plus, if we manage to get the local media there on Friday, it also works as an advertisement for folks to come in on Saturday. I know it will be great bragging rights for whoever wins, but it’s not the voting that matters. Once a champion beverage has been announced, all the attendees on Saturday will still want to try each of these to see if that’s what they would have chosen themselves.”
Bill smiled and nodded. “That seems like a win-win for all of us, no matter who wins the prize.”
Callie smiled back. “That’s the idea. Are you still good with providing an apple press and making fresh cider at the event?”
“Definitely. I think there is a lot of growth to be had in Skinner with cider. It’s great to be able to show people one of the steps in the process.”
They spoke for a few more minutes about how to manage the apples and the apple mush left over after pressing. Callie left feeling confident that the cider stand was under control.
She drove across the river again and back into Skinner, heading to Barton’s Pub. The final entrant in the unique beer contest was, surprisingly, Zeke Sherman. When she was last here in October, Callie had understood that Zeke had only just started brewing his own beer. She thought it was a big step for him to enter something into competition.
She pulled into the parking lot in front of the tall Victorian mansion. It still looked in need of a paint job. Callie assumed that, as the pub got most of its business at night, most patrons didn’t notice the outside of the building much.
The oak front door was unlocked and Callie headed into the bar where she had met Polly previously. “Hello? Anyone home?”
A door behind the bar opened and Zeke came out. “Callie, it’s nice to see you again.”
“How are you? Have you fully recovered from your accident this summer?”
He grimaced. “You know, it comes and goes. I’m really only back to walking right now. Nothing more. It’s driving me crazy not to be able to get out and paint the old girl, but Polly won’t let me get within fifty feet of a decent ladder.”
“I think I can understand why. You could always hire painters.”
“I’ve got someone coming next week. Have to get the job done while the weather’s still nice or we’ll be stuck another winter with all that peeling going on. It’s not good for a building this age. You have to keep up with the maintenance or it totally gets out of hand.”
She nodded, thinking of the potential pitfalls of home ownership. She’d avoid that for a while because she’d be staying in the cottage.
“I came to ask about your entry into the premium showcase. Do you know what it is you want to offer?”
“I was leaning towards my Barton’s Silk, but that’s a bit of a challenge to serve in a temporary location as it needs a specific kind of tap. So I thought I’d offer something else I’ve been working on. Come on down to the basement.”
They slowly went down a set of narrow stairs into a surprisingly large room, broken up regularly by wood pillars. Around the edges of the room were kegs, small vats and a seemingly endless variety of white plastic tubing.
“Wow!” said Callie. “I would never have imagined this down here.” She shivered a little as the basement was much cooler than the bar area.
“It runs the full length of the house. We used it for storage, but when I started brewing, we just rented a storage facility for all our other needs and cleaned this room up.”
At the back of the room was a pair of doors. “The stairs are too narrow for equipment or anything, so the cellar doors are useful for bringing stuff in.”
Next to the cellar doors was a table with tall dark bottles sitting on it. “Other than the Barton’s Silk, we bottle everything else.”
“So you’ll be serving beer from the bottle at Bru-topia?”
“Yes. With such a small operation, it makes sense. Maybe next year we’ll be doing more.”
He went to a cabinet and got out two glasses. He opened one of the bottles. “We serve this one at a cool room temperature.”
The beer was dark, but Callie thought it was shot through with hints of red. “It’s got a beautiful color. What are we drinking?”
“This is what is known as an English Mild Ale. I’m calling it Barton’s Cellar Special.”
“What makes it the most unique beer in Skinner?”
“Most of the brewers here are focusing on beers with hops. I thought I’d get away from that bitter flavor and go to somewhat more of a malt. This uses hops to manage the sweetness of the malt. Otherwise they don’t contribute much to the flavor.”
Callie took a sip and let the beer rest on her tongue like she would with a wine. The beer was lighter than some she had tried and definitely sweeter, with almost no hint of bitterness. Again, she wasn’t sure if she could get used to beer that wasn’t served chilled.
“I like this. And I don’t think I’m giving anything away when I say this is quite different from anything else being offered at the premium showcase. We have a wide array of tastes.”
“Is Ethan Fillmer going to still offer Floyd’s beer?”
“How did you know Floyd was making the showcase beer and not Ethan?” She had not thought anyone other than the staff in Magic Waters knew Floyd had been working on it.
“Ethan? Making something custom with no use as a big seller? Hardly. Fillmer the younger is only interested in beer that can be sold in a larger market. Floyd was the one with the passion for beer making. He helped me start this basement brewery.”