3. Angie

3

ANGIE

" W hy don't you take me to the scene of the crime," Tuvid said, standing. "I want to start my investigation right away."

"I kept the kegs in locked storage. It's my secret recipe, and with the contest coming up, I didn't want anyone tampering with my brew."

"Is theft like this common in microbreweries?" He rounded his desk and stood beside me.

"Not usually. But before my uncle died, there were some thefts in the office and in the warehouse. A pallet of beer. Cash taken from the tasting room before it could be deposited in the bank. And once, someone stole three boxes of sweatshirts embroidered with the Beer Co. logo from the storage room."

"Did your uncle discover who was involved?"

"I don't believe so."

We left his office and crossed the road to my vehicle parked in the lot .

"I'll fly," he said. "I can either follow you overhead or meet you there."

"Do you know where it is?"

"I've flown over Beastly Beer Co., though I haven't gone in yet to try your beer."

"You should sometime. Why don't I meet you there?" I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's seat.

With a nod, he took flight.

It didn't take long to reach the microbrewery, and he landed as I was parking in my spot to the left side of the entrance. We walked up the stone path to the main entrance and into the tasting room, the first part of the microbrewery visitors saw when they came in for a tour or stopped by to buy a four-pack from the coolers taking up the left side of the room.

One of my full-time tasting room staffers, Gracie Harpswell, was working behind the bar, serving up flights holding small cups of the five beers we had on tap.

"Is everything going okay?" I asked her as we stopped beside the bar.

She glanced from me to Tuvid, and I was grateful she didn't do a double take. But we saw all kinds of monsters in the tasting room, let alone around town. A gargoyle wasn't that out of the norm.

I was less grateful to see her batting her eyelashes and smoothing her long black hair. Thankfully, she'd long-since outgrown her need to compete with me about everything. Back in high school, she'd stolen my boyfriend three days before the prom. She'd apologized after graduation, and we'd been such good friends since that I'd hired her years ago when she needed a job .

"Gracie?" I said, flicking my hands between them. "This is Tuvid Elresh. He's an investigator at Monsters, PI, and he's here to help me figure out who stole the kegs holding my custom stout."

"Wonderful. We need to get those kegs back right away. It's nice to meet you, Tuvid." Color pinkening her cheeks, she thrust her hand across the gleaming counter for a shake.

"You as well." Tuvid studied her in an intent way that made my spine stiffen.

Although, he wasn't gazing at her like he wanted to ask her out. He was looking her over as if he thought she could be a suspect.

Gracie? I'd known her forever. I'd dissuade him about that idea as soon as I could.

A yeti bellied up to the bar, gazing our way, and after shooting a quick smile in our direction, Gracie went over to take his order.

I waved to the locals I recognized sitting at the high-top tables, enjoying their flights. We were the only microbrewery in Mystic Harbor who served the public, and while many loved visiting the Salty Fang Pub for a beer, we offered our flights at only a fraction above cost here.

Cheap, though amazingly good beer drew in the crowds, and the crowds then paid full-price for the beer we had for sale in the glass-front coolers.

As Gracie started pouring the yeti's flight, I glanced at the clock. It was after five, though the tasting room remained open until six on weekdays and eight on Friday and Saturday night.

I rarely remained at the microbrewery until the tasting room closed, however. My managers were top-notch, and most of the staff had been here for years. My uncle left me a smooth-running ship. Besides, Gracie was always happy to lock up.

It was after five, though. Where had the time flown? Oh, yeah, right, I was sitting in Tuvid's office, admiring his wings.

"This way." I led him through the swinging door to the left of the bar and out into the open area where the majority of our beer production took place. The hoppy, yeasty smell I adored hit my sinuses and like always, I paused to suck it in. A smile grew on my face. "As I mentioned, I'm relatively new to ownership. It's, um." If I mentioned my uncle again, I was going to cry, and I was fresh out of tissues. You'd think with the way my waterworks sprung up all the time, I'd keep boxes of them everywhere, but I didn't. Or they ran out.

"I'm sorry about your uncle," he said.

"Thanks." I blinked fast.

Tuvid pulled a clump of tissues out of his pocket and handed them to me.

You had to love a guy who carried tissues.

"He got cancer," I said as I mopped my face. "It was very sudden. I didn't know he'd left this place to me in his will, though he'd hinted he might. He never married and had no children of his own. He and my dad were brothers."

"Hey, Angie, do you have time to talk?"

I turned to find Emma Camren, my demon accountant slash office manager striding toward me, her long, flower-patterned skirt swishing around her ankles. She'd worked for my uncle for years, and she went out of her way to catch me up on the business side of things after he died.

"I can in . . . How about fifteen minutes?" That should be enough time to show Tuvid where I'd kept the kegs and let him do his investigative thing.

"I . . ." She smoothed her bright yellow top that went well with her skirt. Emma adored colors and the yellow went great with her reddish bronze demon skin. Some might say her pink hair clashed, but on her, the look was amazing. "I've got a date tonight."

"How about tomorrow, then?"

"I'm leaving town early. Remember? I'm sure I told you. I'm going away for the weekend with Jularin. He's taking me to Ghoul's Gamble." Her gaze swept to Tuvid. "Jularin's my incubus boyfriend." Her very wealthy incubus boyfriend. Emma's titter rang out. "I promise you, he doesn't take advantage of anyone while they're asleep. That's just a rumor."

She'd be the one to know.

"This won't take long, Angie," she said to me, studying the clock again. "I promise."

"I can wait here if you'd like," Tuvid said, gazing around.

"Do you mind?" I inched toward Emma, who was already heading toward her office. In addition to handling all our books, she supervised the other office staff, did the payroll, and managed the ordering of supplies from various vendors when I ran out of time .

"Not at all," Tuvid said. He left us and went over to where the last tour of the day was passing through the room, pausing when they did while the staffer explained that part of the brewing process.

I followed Emma into her office. She sat while I stood beside her desk.

"You were concerned about the amount of hops I was ordering, so I wanted to show you the receipts." She pointed to her computer, her finger trailing down the long list. "As you can see, it's all accounted for."

It looked okay to me, but I was a brewmaster first. My uncle had taken care of this side of the business, though a year before he died, he'd started pulling me into his office daily for an hour or so to share how the backside of the business was run. He'd sworn by Emma's abilities.

"Okay," I said, not really interested in adding up the columns while Tuvid was waiting. "Could you print it out? I'll take a look at it later."

"Sure thing." A few clicks on her keyboard sent it to print.

"Is there anything else?" I asked.

"Nope." She opened her desk drawer and removed her floral-printed purse that matched her skirt.

"I'll see you next week, then." I nudged my chin to the printer. "Leave it there, and I'll pick it up on my way out and lock your office."

"Great, thanks." She left, and I followed her back into the big open room, watching as she scooted toward the employee exit along the back wall. When the door banged shut behind her, I caught up with Tuvid. The tour had finished in the tasting room and while some of those on tour were buying beer from the coolers, others were waiting in line to purchase flights.

"All set?" he asked, and I nodded.

Gracie waved before announcing to the room, "Last call!" She'd lock the door and once they were about done with their beer, she'd start slowly urging people to leave to ensure we could close at six or shortly after.

Tuvid followed me back into the main room and to the left, passing through the area where the beer was made and over to the door of the chiller.

"The room is insulated and has no windows." I unlocked the door, though that felt pointless. The only beer worth locking up had already been stolen.

"Do you always keep the door locked?" he asked.

"Not usually, though it was locked when my beer was stolen. I'm not sure why I made the effort then when I never did for any of the other specialty beers, but this was a recipe that took me years to perfect, and I guess it was my baby and I was worried. With good reason, since the kegs were stolen."

I eased the metal door open and stepped inside.

"Chilly," he said with a smile.

"We keep it about forty degrees in here. The beer likes it. Humans, not so much."

"Gargoyles aren't as sensitive to temperature as humans."

"I think I read about that online."

"You researched gargoyles online?"

"Monsters. All kinds of monsters." Okay, only gargoyles after I met him .

His gaze remained on my face. "I don't blame you for locking up your kegs. A lot's riding on this contest."

"It's a chance to take Beastly Beer Co. to the next level. I've got plans for an expansion, but without that extra boost, it'll be a challenge."

He took my hands and squeezed them. "I'll do all I can to get your kegs back in time for the contest."

"Thanks."

I showed him where the kegs had been stored, and he walked around the room, poking his head into every nook and cranny, noting the single entrance and the high ceiling without access from above.

"Do you know the approximate time the kegs were stolen?"

"It was on Saturday, after we'd closed and before we opened at eleven the next morning. Not the specific time, though."

"Do you have security cameras?"

"They're mounted all over the place outside. None on the inside, though. My uncle was a stickler about stuff like that. He felt if nothing else, they were a deterrent to theft. I've made sure they were serviced and that they're always recording."

"I'll take a look at the footage, though I assume Detective Carter already did."

"Right away. He said he didn't pick up anything suspicious during the time between me seeing the kegs here and the next morning. One other thing. I called the contest organizers and asked them to let me know if anyone enters a chili chocolate stout, just in case someone decides to enter my beer in the competition. "

"Good thinking." Tuvid took in the numerous stainless-steel kegs lined up through the room in neat rows. "How big were the stolen kegs?"

"They were half barrels, which hold a little over fifteen gallons. They're heavy, about one hundred and sixty pounds. While someone could easily grab a sixtel and carry it out, the half-gallon would take a lot more effort."

"Do you keep dollies nearby that someone might use to roll the kegs to your back entrance?"

"Not in the main room, but yes, we have a couple of them out back. Since we bottle most of our beer, cases are put on pallets, and we use heavy equipment to move them."

"I'll take a look at the dollies, but I doubt I'll find evidence they were used during the theft. Maybe the area around them will give us some clues." We started back toward the door. "I assume many people have access to this room."

"Pretty much everyone who works here could enter. And while I locked the door, the code's kept on a scrap of paper inside my office. All the staff know that as well. We never changed it after my uncle died. Why didn't I change it?"

"Because you trusted those you work with."

"I still do. Detective Carter mentioned something about taking prints off the handle, but with so many entering and leaving the chiller all day long, the handles were much too smeared for him to pick up anything useful."

Tuvid reached for the door. "I'm not giving up. "

"Detective Carter did."

"Not me, Angie. Never me. You can count on me to find those kegs." He turned the handle and pushed on the door.

It didn't open.