Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The Wolf Had Opinions
Gideon
Wednesday was normally our slowest day, but not this week. I had to hand it to Leon, as annoying as the constant festivals were, they were indeed bringing in business.
I hadn’t really expected many people to be that interested in a class on how to pour a beer properly, but I’d agreed to host it anyway, mostly because Leon wouldn’t let it go.
But I’d give him his due, in this instance anyway, he was right.
We had a steady stream of festival visitors alongside the usual locals, and the pub hummed with the sound of people enjoying themselves.
We’d all been working hard, not that I was complaining, because I wasn’t. Between the people enjoying the new beers that were on tap and the delicious appetizers Alvin had created to pair with the brews, we were having one of our best weeks ever.
I’d been surprised when Sable had said she’d be willing to teach the class, and I knew she’d worked hard on her presentation. So when Leon announced it was time to start, I gave her a reassuring nod and turned the bar over to her.
Sable stood behind a line of glasses arranged with the precision of someone who took their job seriously, which she did.
"The angle matters more than most people think," she said to the group clustered around the bar. She tipped a glass at exactly the degree she'd diagrammed and let the ale slide down the side with the kind of authority that invited no argument. "You want the foam. You just don't want all the foam."
When I was sure she had everything under control, I did a slow circuit of the room, checked in with tables, made sure drinks were flowing, and no one needed anything.
Luckily, Tate was doing a great job and had everything well under control.
I’d been unsure when I first hired him, but Sable had taken to him right away.
Leon was near the back, working the room with the focused energy of a man on a mission, no doubt trying to do damage control and save what was left of the festival.
He'd straightened his sweater vest—tonight's was a deep burgundy—and was introducing himself to festival visitors with the handshake of a man running for office.
"Wonderful turnout," he said when I passed him. "Wonderful. This is exactly the kind of positive community event we needed this week. Especially after”—he glanced around to see if anyone was listening—"you know, Roy."
"It is," I agreed. I moved on, slowly making my way to the table in the corner where my people sat.
Sandy was there, with his chin in his hand and his turquoise hair somehow even more vivid under the warm pub light.
Hazel sat beside him, four of her eight legs tucked primly beneath her chair and four resting on the floor with the practiced arrangement of someone who'd spent decades making herself comfortable in human furniture. I felt the hum of magic in the air around her, telling me she was using glamour. She didn’t often use magic to disguise her spider legs from humans, usually preferring to hide them under her skirts instead.
But Elwood had been encouraging the misfits to try new things lately, so perhaps this was her way of doing that.
Az was leaning back in his chair wearing an easy, laid-back expression.
Declan was next to him.
He had a half-eaten plate of Alvin's pairing snacks in front of him, while he was talking.
His hands were moving, and his glasses had slid down his nose in the way they did when he was so focused on whatever he was doing or saying that he forgot to push them up.
I felt something shift in my chest, the same thing that happened every time I walked into a room and located him in it. Like everything slotted into place.
I pulled up a chair.
"—and the kitchen," Declan was saying, leaning forward. "You have no idea. It's enormous. Whoever designed that space knew exactly what they were doing. There are two full-size ovens, and the prep space is—" He stopped when he saw me sit down. "Hi."
"Hi." I reached over and stole one of his smoked almonds. "Tell them more about the kitchen."
He pointed at me. "Do not make fun of me for being excited about an oven."
"I would never."
"You’re making that face right now."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is just my normal face."
“The one that says you're humoring me.”
Sandy looked between us like he was watching a sport he deeply enjoyed. Hazel looped her yarn without looking up, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
Declan rolled his pretty eyes, dismissing me, and turned back to the group. “Anyway, as I was saying. It's perfect. The whole building is perfect. Janis is drawing up a one-year lease with the right of first refusal, and I’m going to open a bakery.”
That last sentence came out like he was half afraid saying it out loud would make it real. From the look on his face, it did.
"That's wonderful, dear," Hazel said warmly, clicking her needles together in a brief, approving way.
"If you need any help, I’m always available," Sandy said.
“You know how to bake?” Declan asked.
“Nope,” Sandy said with a grin. “But I’m an excellent taste tester.”
“I’ll send all my customers to your establishment,” Az said.
"Thank you, Azar.” He smiled at Az and then looked back at Sandy and Hazel. “I hadn’t expected to say yes so quickly, but it was exactly what I needed. Even the apartment above is included in the lease," Declan added, almost as an aside. "So that works out perfectly."
And there it was.
I kept my expression in place. Interested. Supportive. Entirely reasonable.
Inside, my wolf let out a sad little whimper and put his head on his paws.
The apartment above the old bakery was directly across the intersection.
I could see the building's upper windows from my own.
Which meant Declan would be close. Close enough that I'd be able to pick up his scent on a still night, close enough that I'd know when his light was on, close enough to be absolutely maddening.
My wolf's position on this was uncomplicated. There shouldn’t be a street between us at all. My wolf's position on most things involving Declan was uncomplicated in that way.
Declan was not, I reminded him, a wolf. He was a human—a witch, technically, sure, but raised human.
He thought in human timelines, and three weeks was not the same thing to him as it was to a shifter who'd known his mate the moment they'd collided outside a coffee shop and spilled everything everywhere.
He needed time.
I could give him time.
I was perfectly capable of giving him time.
"It's a great location," I said. "Right in the middle of everything."
Declan looked at me. Something in his expression showed he'd heard more than what I'd said. He usually did. "You think so?"
"I think it's exactly right for you," I said, and meant it, even if my wolf was being dramatic about it.
Declan held my gaze for a moment, then nodded once, satisfied, and reached for another almond.
The class had moved on to its second demonstration, the one on food pairing, with Alvin explaining why a smoked porter required a different approach than a wheat ale, when Az set down his glass and said, quietly enough not to carry, "Should we talk about Roy’s death and about Nadia not inheriting the brewery? ”
Nadia had told her friend Gwen about the brewery, and Gwen told someone else who told someone else, and in typical Ravenstone fashion, by the time Elwood and I made it back to town, everyone knew.
"Beckett's been arrested," Sandy finally said. "Everyone knows that. But I don't think he killed Roy."
"Why not?" Declan asked.
"Because he was so public about being angry. He wanted everyone to know Roy stole his recipe. That the ale that won was his," Sandy said. "He raged about it in front of the whole festival. He would have to be pretty stupid to be so loud about it and then turn around and kill him."
That tracked with my own read of the situation. Beckett's confrontation had been sudden, emotional, and public. That was the behavior of someone who wanted the world to know he’d been wronged, not someone with a plan.
"The hexes connect everything," Declan said.
He'd pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it flat on the table.
I could see it was a list. "Elwood and I are certain the same witch cast all of them.
Same signature. And they were all targeted at people who were expected to compete against Roy. "
"So Roy hexed his own competition," Az said.
“Or had them hexed. We didn’t find any supplies at the brewery to indicate they’d been created there, besides Roy wasn’t a witch,” I pointed out.
"Right," Declan said. "So the question is whether whoever killed him knew that."
Hazel set her crochet down. That meant she was about to say something she considered important. "It seems to me that if someone discovered Roy had cheated his way to that distribution deal, they would have an apparent motive."
"The Kettlebrook contract was significant," I said. "Real money. Real opportunity. For a brewmaster who'd been working toward something like that for years, losing it to someone who'd hexed the competition wouldn't just be disappointing."
"It would be enraging," Az said.
"Ivan," Sandy said, almost to himself.
We all looked at him.
"Ivan didn't place at all," Sandy said. "His lager was supposed to be one of the best entries. Everyone knew it. And then it soured." He turned his cup in a slow circle. "If he found out Roy had done that on purpose—"
"He'd have had more reason than anyone," Declan finished.
“Or Malcolm,” Declan reminded us. “His application had been hexed, so he didn’t even get to enter.”
A beat of quiet settled over the table while the rest of the pub carried on around us. Alvin’s voice rising slightly over a question from the crowd, the clink of glasses, one of the regulars laughing too loudly at something near the bar.
"What about Fletcher?" Az asked. “He wasn’t even on our radar.”
“The Black Feather Brewery succeeding is to his benefit, though. I don’t see any reason he would want Roy dead.”
"I agree," Hazel said, picking her knitting back up. "Seems to me what we have is this. Roy cheated. Someone found out. And someone decided that was worth killing him over." She said it simply, in the same tone she might use to summarize a knitting pattern.
“Or it wasn’t about the hexes at all. It could have been Nadia since she thought it was going to be hers,” Sandy said.
"That's about it," I said.
"It's a logical conclusion," Az said. He tilted his glass, watching the light through the amber. "Whether it's the right one is another question."
Declan tapped his chin. "You think we're missing something."
Az set his glass down. "I think Roy Pruitt had a whole lot going on in a short amount of time. A distribution deal. A property purchase. A stolen recipe. A silent partner. A baby on the way." He spread his hands. "That's a man with a lot of moving pieces."
We all sat there letting that sink in.
Then Sandy reached over and took the last smoked almond off Declan's plate.
"Hey," Declan said. “I was going to eat that.”
"Sorry. I think better when I eat.” Sandy said, entirely unrepentant.
The festival event ended around nine, and the crowd began to thin into something that looked more normal. Leon stopped by the table on his way out.
"Excellent event," he said. "The turnout was very encouraging.” He adjusted his cuffs. "I've also taken the liberty of scheduling two additional programming events for the remainder of the festival week, so if anyone has capacity to assist—”
“Leon, you can’t just add stuff and not tell me. How am I supposed to publicize them if I don’t know they exist?”
“I’ll email you the details in the morning.”
“Yes.” Declan glared at him. “You do that.”
He nodded at us each in turn, paused at Declan as if he might say something else, then thought better of it and left.
Hazel watched him go. "He means well."
"If you say so," Declan grumbled.
"That doesn't make him less exhausting," Az said.
"No," I agreed. "It really doesn't."