Through the Liquor Glass, page 1
Mysteries by Sarah Fox
The Literary Pub Mystery Series
Wine and Punishment
An Ale of Two Cities
The Malt in Our Stars
Claret and Present Danger
Through the Liquor Glass
The Pancake House Mystery Series
The Crêpes of Wrath
For Whom the Bread Rolls
Of Spice and Men
Yeast of Eden
Crêpe Expectations
Much Ado about Nutmeg
A Room with a Roux
A Wrinkle in Thyme
The Music Lover’s Mystery Series
Dead Ringer
Death in A Major
Deadly Overtures
THROUG The LIQUOR GLASS
SARAH FOX
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Recipes
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Teaser chapter
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2022 by Sarah Fox
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2022941325
The K and Teapot logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3403-7
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: December 2022
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3405-1 (ebook)
Chapter 1
When I entered the town hall, I didn’t expect to walk into an autumn wonderland. It was as if I’d stepped into another world. Outside, most of the leaves had already fallen from the trees, and the cold bite in the air suggested that winter wasn’t far off. Here in the town hall, however, fall was still in full swing, and there was a magical, fairyland quality to it.
A latticework archway curved over the doorway that led from the vestibule to the main room. Yellow and orange sunflowers had been affixed to the arch, along with garlands of fall leaves and white fairy lights. The flowers and leaves were all artificial, but the archway still looked great, and from a couple of feet back, it was hard to tell that the decorations weren’t real.
The doorway was only the beginning. In the spacious main room, the decorating committee had gone all out. Strings of orange and white lights stretched across the ceiling and tablecloths in autumn colors covered the folding tables set out along the perimeter of the room. Rustic lanterns filled with micro lights adorned the tables, while bales of straw, pumpkins, and gourds decorated the corners of the room and the spaces between some of the tables.
Although the decor as a whole impressed me, what really drew my eye was the maple tree in the middle of the room. I didn’t know for sure what it was made of—papier-mâché, maybe—but it stood at least twice as tall as me, its branches reaching right up to the ceiling. Fake leaves graced the branches, which were also strung with lights.
“Whoa.” Booker James stopped short when he entered the room, a pumpkin held in each of his muscular arms. “It’s like fall exploded in here.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Mel Costas joined us in the room, gazing around with a satisfied expression.
Mel worked at my literary pub, the Inkwell, but she was also a talented artist and had volunteered to head the decorating committee for our town’s first annual food and drink festival, A Taste of Shady Creek.
“It’s definitely a compliment,” Booker assured her before addressing me. “Where should I put these pumpkins, Sadie?”
I turned in a slow circle, reading the banners hanging from the tables until I spotted the one designated for my pub. “Right over here.” I led the way to the table and set down the box I was carrying.
Booker placed a pumpkin at each end of the table. He worked at the Inkwell too, as a chef, and he’d offered to help me transport a few items from the pub to the town hall.
From my box, I unloaded some gourds and a vase holding a bouquet of dried flowers in fall colors. Then I removed a smaller box full of Inkwell fridge magnets and a stack of postcards that featured a photo of the Inkwell on one side and a partial menu on the other, listing some of the literary-themed food and drinks available at the pub. I’d be offering samples of a few drinks at the table, but I wanted festivalgoers to know that they could enjoy a wider variety of options if they stopped by the Inkwell.
Mel expertly arranged everything into a nice display while I tucked the box beneath the table, where it was hidden from view by the tablecloth. The box also held cups and napkins, but I wouldn’t need those until the event officially opened the next day.
Voices drew our attention toward the door as several people entered the room.
“Hey, Mel, got a minute?” a woman called out.
“See you guys later,” Mel said to me and Booker before jogging across the room.
I surveyed the table. “I think that’s it for now.”
I glanced Booker’s way and realized he wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was taking in the sight of the room as a whole, a far-off look in his eyes.
I nudged his arm with my elbow. “Everything okay?”
His attention snapped back to the here and now. “Everything’s great. Do you need help with anything else?”
“No, that’s all for today,” I said. “Thanks for lending me the use of your muscles.”
Booker grinned. “Any time. See you at the pub.”
He set off out the door. I took a moment to admire all the decorations again and then followed in Booker’s footsteps. By the time I got out the front door of the town hall, he was already out of sight.
I still had a couple of hours before I needed to open the pub for the day and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend that free time. I walked across the village green, enjoying the fresh, crisp air and the hint of wood smoke carried by the slight breeze. Although I wasn’t eager for the temperature to plummet, as it no doubt would when winter arrived, I found something to enjoy about every season here in Shady Creek, Vermont. Autumn brought stunning colors, evenings cool enough to snuggle up in front of a fire, and the town’s annual Autumn Festival. That event had already passed, but now there was A Taste of Shady Creek to look forward to, as well as Halloween, my birthday, and my mom’s first visit to my adopted town.
When I arrived at the Village Bean, I waved to the owner, Nettie Jo Kim, and got in line behind two other customers. While I waited, I noticed that Nettie Jo wasn’t her usual relaxed self. She kept darting glances toward the back of the coffee shop while she served the customers at the counter. When it was my turn to place my order, her smile was strained.
“Hey, Sadie,” she greeted as she shot another glance across the room. “What can I get you?”
I looked over that way but couldn’t tell what kept drawing her attention. There were customers seated over there, but they didn’t seem to be doing anything that wasn’t expected from customers at a coffee shop.
“Two large lattes, please. One pumpkin spice and one pistachio.”
Nettie Jo gave me a more relaxed smile and grabbed two cups, less distracted now. “Got a date with Grayson?”
She knew that my boyfriend loved her pistachio lattes.
“Not exactly,” I said. “But I’m going to stop by the brewery.”
Grayson owned the Spirit Hill Brewery, located next door to my pub.
I paid for the drinks and then wandered down the counter to wait for them. It didn’t take long for Nettie Jo to set them in front of me. I thanked her, and then noticed her dart another glance toward the back of the shop.
“What’s going on?” I asked quietly. “You seem . . . uneasy.”
She grimaced. “Maybe a little nervous.” She discreetly tipped her head toward one of the tables, where a dark-haired woman sat on her own, her attention focused on her phone as she sipped at a hot drink. “That’s Dominique Girard,” Nettie Jo whispered.
The name didn’t ring a bell, and I’d never seen Dominique around town.
“Should I know who she is?” I asked.
“She’s a food writer. Pretty well known in New England. These days she writes for Foodie Fare.”
I’d heard of the magazine, although I’d never read it.
“She’s in town for the festival?” I guessed.
Nettie Jo shrugged, her gaze on Dominique. “Most likely. But at the moment she’s right here.”
“And you want to make a good impression.” I figured that was a safe assumption.
“I’ll say.”
A blast of cool air tickled at my skin as someone entered the coffee shop.
“Oh no,” Nettie Jo said under her breath, her gaze on the door.
“What is it?” I asked.
A man I recognized but didn’t know had just come into the shop, but I couldn’t see any reason why that was a cause for concern.
Without answering my question, Nettie Jo scurried along the counter to greet the new customer. “Hi, George,” she said with what sounded like false cheeriness. “What can I get you today?”
“A large black coffee,” George replied. He was about to say more when he clamped his mouth shut and stared hard at Dominique.
Alarm flashed in Nettie Jo’s eyes as George’s face flushed.
“Ignore her,” Nettie Jo whispered, sounding desperate for George to listen to her.
If he heard, he didn’t heed her advice.
Apparently forgetting about his order, he marched over to Dominique’s table, his generous cheeks now a worrying shade of red.
“You!” he spluttered. “You dare to set foot in this town?”
Dominique looked up from her phone, her expression one of mild surprise.
“Sorry,” she said, completely unruffled. “Do I know you?”
George’s face flushed even more. “You’re not welcome here!” he bellowed. “You ruined my life and now you think you can waltz back into this town like you own it?”
Dominique remained composed. “I’m simply trying to enjoy a cup of coffee.”
Nettie Jo darted out from behind the counter and grabbed George’s arm, trying in vain to tug him away from Dominique’s table. I was afraid that George was about to have a heart attack or stroke. He really didn’t look well. His red cheeks were almost purple now.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave, George,” Nettie Jo said, tugging his arm again.
George shook her off and was about to yell at Dominique again when a woman’s voice drew our attention.
“What’s going on here?” A tall woman strode into the coffee shop. “George?”
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Miranda,” Nettie Jo said, her relief almost palpable. “Could you please get your husband to leave my other customers alone?”
When Miranda got close enough to see Dominique, her brown eyes hardened. “You!” she seethed.
Nettie Jo’s expression of relief vanished. She squared her shoulders. “All right. That’s it. George, I won’t ask you again. You need to leave.” She turned to his wife. “Miranda?”
Miranda glared at Dominique, but she took her husband’s arm and guided him toward the door. “Come on, George. It’s not worth wasting our time on her.”
The two of them stormed out of the coffee shop.
Nettie Jo blew out a breath and looked around her. All eyes were focused on her and Dominique.
“Sorry about that, everyone,” Nettie Jo said, attempting to smile. She wasn’t very successful.
As the other customers turned back to their drinks and snacks, I edged closer to Nettie Jo and Dominique.
“I’m so sorry,” Nettie Jo said to the other woman. “Let me get you a refund for your drink.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” Dominique assured her. “I really don’t remember that man, but I’m guessing he must be a chef or restaurant owner?”
“Former restaurant owner,” Nettie Jo confirmed.
“Ah. I can figure out the rest then. Thank you for defusing the situation.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
Dominique turned back to her phone, so Nettie Jo left her in peace and headed toward the cash register. No one was currently waiting to be served, so I rested an arm on the counter and leaned closer to her.
“What was all that about?” I asked in a low voice.
Nettie Jo sighed as she wiped down the counter. “George Keeler used to own a restaurant here in Shady Creek. Dominique came to town a few years ago and wrote an unflattering review of his establishment. Not long after that, his restaurant went bust.”
“Ouch.”
Nettie Jo nodded. “As you witnessed, he still harbors a grudge.”
A group of three customers bustled into the coffee shop, laughing and chatting.
Nettie Jo cast a nervous glance in Dominique’s direction. “Hopefully, today’s drama won’t give her a bad impression of this place.”
“I doubt it will,” I said. “You handled the situation well.”
The newly arrived customers lined up at the counter, so I let Nettie Jo get back to work. On my way out the door, I crossed my fingers, hoping for Nettie Jo’s sake that what I’d said about Dominique would turn out to be true.
Chapter 2
With my drinks in hand, I continued on my way to visit Grayson. After crossing Creekside Road, I followed the long driveway up the hill to the cluster of brewery buildings. Even though it was barely midmorning, the parking lot was already more than half full. I didn’t doubt that it would soon be packed.
The Spirit Hill Brewery had enjoyed great success in the time that I’d known Grayson, and the business had prospered even more ever since the brewery was featured on the television show Craft Nation. With the food and drink festival about to start, Grayson would be even busier than usual. I hoped I would have a chance to do more than simply hand off his drink to him today. I’d barely seen him so far this week, and when I didn’t see him on a daily basis, I missed him terribly. One of the many signs that I was in love.
I stopped in at the main office in case Grayson was working there, but his receptionist directed me to the tasting room, which was located in a building of its own. The spacious tasting room had high ceilings and large windows that offered a beautiful view of the forest. When I arrived in the building, I spotted Grayson right away. He stood behind one of the tasting counters, chatting with a middle-aged couple. Two of his employees were also busy offering samples of beer to eager customers.
I caught Grayson’s eye, and my heart gave a giddy skip when his face lit up at the sight of me. I nodded toward the display of merchandise, letting him know that I’d wander around until he could spare a few minutes. It wasn’t long before the middle-aged couple made their way over to the display of beer for sale. Grayson tucked the used glasses out of sight, quickly wiped down the counter, and came over to meet me. He slipped an arm around my waist as we headed for the door.
“Pistachio latte,” I said as I handed him his drink.
“My favorite,” he said with appreciation.
As soon as we were outside, he tugged me around the corner of the building, out of sight of anyone coming or going from the tasting room.
He brushed his lips against mine. “Also my favorite.”
Fortunately, I managed to keep a firm hold on my latte when he gave me another kiss, this one much longer and deeper.
