In the Drink (23 page)

“So where do we go from here?” Tyrese said after we had all climbed back into the car and shut the doors.

“I want to take another run at Erik Hermann,” I said. “And I want to do it alone.”

Tyrese nodded and started the engine. “Radio Shack, here we come.”

Tyrese and Mal filled Sam in on why we needed to go to Radio Shack. When we arrived at the store, I opted to wait in the car while the three men went inside. As the men shopped, I called Cora on my cell and filled her in on our visit to Schneider. Then I told her what we were planning to do with regard to wiring me up for sound.

“That's a great idea,” she said. “I can help with that if the guys want.”

“Have you had any thoughts about the items that were in the last envelope?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” I detected a distinct undercurrent of excitement in her voice, and that in turn got me feeling hopeful. “You know that little piece of map that showed a portion of St. Paul?” She didn't give me a chance to answer. “I got to thinking that maybe it isn't the city at all. Maybe St. Paul is a reference to something right here in Milwaukee. So I did a little research on my computer and came up with several local churches that are called St. Paul. And that got me to thinking about the other items in that envelope. There are all sorts of religious connections to spices, fish, bread, and wine. And then there is the picture of the water faucet. Maybe it's a connection to holy water, or the idea of Jesus turning water into wine.”

“How many churches are we talking here?”

“There are a few, but I have it narrowed it down. Remember the flower petal?”

“Yes. It was from a rose.”

“Well, check your messages. I sent you a picture of one church in particular.”

I took my phone from my ear and pulled up Cora's message. In it was a picture of a church with a large stained-glass window over the entrance in the shape of a rosette. Under the picture, Cora had typed the name of the church: St. Paul's Episcopal.

“Okay,” I said. “But what about the other items in the envelope, like the coffee filter, and the Broadway marquee?”

“I'm stumped on the coffee filter for the moment, though there is a Bible study on Wednesday evenings at seven so maybe they have coffee when it's over? I'm not sure on that one, but the marquee was for the show
Cats
. And guess what the name of the priest is at St. Paul's Episcopal Church?” Again she didn't give me a chance to answer. “It's Father Stephen Manx.”

“And Manx is a type of cat,” I said, feeling my excitement grow. “I can't think of how the coffee bit ties in, but the rest of it makes sense. Thanks, Cora. You rock!”

“I'm happy to help.”

The boys came out of the store a few minutes later and though I was dying to share Cora's brilliant idea with Mal, I forced myself to wait. I trusted Tyrese, but the fewer people who were involved with this thing the better. Within half an hour we were back at the bar and Tyrese headed upstairs to the Capone Club to fill the others in on our visit to Schneider. I took Mal into my office and told him about Cora's revelation.

“It does all kind of fit,” he said when I was done. “When are you thinking of going?”

I glanced at my watch, saw that it was almost seven, and said, “Tomorrow I guess. It's too late tonight.”

“Speaking of tonight . . .”

“Duncan is supposed to be here at ten. He plans to stay all night.”

“Good,” Mal said, turning away and heading for the door. “Since you seem to be in good hands, I'm going to head home, replenish my go bag, and get ready for work tomorrow. But call me if anything changes.”

He was about to open the door when I burst out with “Wait!” I felt oddly panicked by the fact that he was leaving, but when he did actually stop, I found myself tongue-tied. Then I thought of something. “I don't have your phone number.”

“Oh, right,” Mal said. He dropped his hand from the doorknob and turned back to face me, but he didn't look at me. He looked at his feet, at the wall, at the couch . . . anything but me. “Give me your phone,” he said.

I did so, and he proceeded to punch his number in for me. Then he held it out to me, still not looking me in the face. As soon as I took the phone, he spun around and headed for the door.

“Don't you want to spend some time with the Capone Club?” I said.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I can catch up tomorrow evening,” he said, his back still to me.

And then, before I could think of anything else to say to stall him, he was out the door and gone.

I felt saddened by his departure, but I shook it off, reminded myself that Duncan would be here soon, and headed out to check in with my staff.

Billy was behind the bar so I knew things there were under control. I headed into the kitchen where my newest cook was on duty. My long-term prior cook, Helmut, had quit after Ginny's murder. He was in his sixties and his wife didn't take kindly to him working his retirement years in what she dubbed “a murderous place.” With the expansion I hired on two new cooks to replace Helmut. Jon had come on board immediately as a full-time cook and he'd been a good fit. But there were too many hours and too many orders for him alone, so I'd also hired on a part-time cook named Rich Zeigler. He was a grad student at the university, studying sociology, and while he had a passion for cooking he lacked the desire necessary to make a full-time career out of it. He'd only worked a few shifts so far—he had the evening hours Monday through Wednesday—but he'd already doctored up a few of my menu items by adding rich ingredients like heavy cream and butter. Apparently, he felt the need to live up to his name. I balked at his “experiments” at first, but the stuff he turned out was too tasty for me to object for long.

“Hey, Rich,” I said as I entered the kitchen. “How are things going so far?”

“Having some fun. Can I fix you something to eat?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you can. I really liked that pizza you made last week with the creamy pesto sauce, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, and prosciutto. Can you whip me up a couple of them for the Capone Club group upstairs? If they like it as much as I do, I'll add it to the menu.”

“I'd be happy to.”

“Thanks. Just send them up with Missy when they're ready.” I started to leave, then turned back. “Rich, any chance you know a professor on campus named Erik Hermann?”

“Sure,” he said. “He's the one whose sister was murdered, right?”

I nodded. “Yes, twelve years ago. What do you know about him?”

“I don't know him personally, but a girl I'm seeing does. In fact, he's her advisor. She's a chemistry grad student. Why do you ask?”

“The Capone Club is working on the case involving his sister and her friend. I'm just trying to get a little insight. We tried to talk to him but he refused.”

“Can't say I blame the guy for that,” Rich said. “I'm sure it's an unpleasant memory for him.”

“I'm sure it is.” I knew all too well how painful those memories could be. “Have you heard any rumors about him?”

Rich chewed his lip for a few seconds before he said, “I don't like spreading gossip, but I have heard that he might have an issue with the bottle, you know?” He mimed drinking out of one.

I nodded. “Anything else?”

He hesitated again and I got a strong sense there was something else, something he was reluctant to share. I thought about prompting him further, but then decided to just wait and let silence do the work.

“Well, I've heard my girlfriend and some of the other students say that Hermann has been in some kind of a funk lately, more withdrawn, and preoccupied.”

“Have they speculated as to why?”

“Not that I've heard.”

“Okay, thanks. You've been a big help. Could you do me one more small favor?”

“Okay,” he said, but his tone suggested that he was wary of what I was going to ask of him.

“Can you ask your girlfriend what Erik Hermann's office hours are and pass that info on to me?”

“Sure,” he said, sounding relieved. “I'll text her and let you know what she says.”

I thanked him again and, as he took out his phone, I went out to the main bar area and checked in with Debra, who was taking advantage of the slow night to work a little more closely with Linda. I pulled Debra aside to ask how things were going.

“She's coming along,” Debra said. “But she's not a fast learner.”

“Give her a little more time. If she doesn't catch on better, let me know. I don't want to let her go, but if I have to, I will.”

Debra nodded solemnly and I could tell she had her doubts.

I saw Rich waving at me through the kitchen window and headed back into the kitchen. “Sara says Professor Hermann has office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays between noon and four. Does that help?”

“Yes, it does,” I told him. “Thanks. I don't suppose you know where his office is?”

“I do,” he said. And then he gave me directions on how to get there.

With that out of the way, I headed upstairs to join the Capone Club. After telling the group that I was going to provide them with a free meal by using them as guinea pigs for Rich's latest concoction—information that was met with great enthusiasm—I pulled Cora aside and took her into the unused meeting room. I shut the door and the two of us sat down with her computer and did some more research on the church she'd singled out. By the time we were done, I had to agree that it seemed to match up with most of the items in the envelope.

“I'll pay a visit there tomorrow,” I told her.

“Is Mal going with you?”

I shook my head. “I don't think he can. He has to work tomorrow, so I'm going to have to handle this one alone.”

“I'll go with you if you want.”

“I might take you up on that,” I said with a smile. “I also want to talk with Erik Hermann tomorrow. I'm going to try to catch him at work at the university, to see if he'll be more open to chatting. He has office hours between noon and four, so I'm thinking I'll try to catch him sometime in the afternoon and visit the church in the morning. Would eleven work for you?”

“I'm totally flexible,” Cora said. Then, with a saucy wink she added, “The men like that about me.”

We returned to the rest of the group and spent the next couple of hours reviewing the Gruber-Hermann case, discussing the various suspects. Everyone seemed to accept Sam's assessment of William Schneider, and our focus shifted to the remaining three suspects. Of those, everyone seemed to be leaning toward TJ the plumber and Lonnie Carlisle as the most likely candidates. While everyone agreed that Erik Hermann might have had motive, they had a hard time imagining him killing his little sister.

The pizza was a huge hit with the group, and there was a general consensus that it should be added to the menu and that Rich was a keeper.

A little before ten, I headed back downstairs to my office and turned off the alarm to the back door. Then I went and opened my apartment door the way I had the last time Duncan sneaked in. This time there were no interlopers in the hallway forcing me to stall, and when I opened the door at ten o'clock sharp I fully expected to find Duncan in the embrace of his undercover cop friend. This time, however, he was alone, though well-disguised in snow pants and an oversized parka with a fur-lined hood that made him look like he had gained fifty pounds. Beneath the hood he was wearing a knit cap pulled low over his brow and heavy-rimmed eyeglasses. He was also sporting a mustache. He stepped inside, slid into the foyer behind my apartment door, and headed upstairs while I went back to my office to reset the alarm.

When I got upstairs, he had shucked his outerwear and the glasses, and was in the process of removing the mustache.

“A gift from Isabel?” I said.

He nodded, wincing as the last of the glue let loose. He set the fake mustache on the kitchen table and then went over to the counter. “Mind if I make a pot of coffee?”

“I'll do it,” I said. “I should have thought to have some ready for you anyway.”

As I went about setting up the coffeemaker and turning it on, Duncan stood nearby watching me, blowing on his hands in an effort to warm them. “Damn, it's cold out there,” he muttered when I was done.

I moved closer to him and sandwiched his hands in mine. “I can think of some ways to warm them up,” I said. And then I showed him what I meant.

Two hours later we finally got to the coffee, which we drank in bed.

“So how have you spent the rest of your day between now and when I saw you at the station?” Duncan asked as we sat side by side up against my headboard.

I filled him in on our visit to William Schneider, my discussion with Rich about Erik Hermann, the Capone Club's discussion of the case, and Cora's findings with regard to the items in the envelope. Then I told him about Mal and Tyrese's plan to wire me for sound in preparation for my visit to Erik Hermann. “But before I do that, I'm going to visit St. Paul's Episcopal Church to see what I can find.”

“Alone?”

“Cora offered to go with me.”

Duncan frowned at this. “Cora's a very capable woman,” he said, “but I'd feel a lot better if you had someone else with you, someone like Malachi or me.”

“Well, Mal isn't available because he has to work. And you can't do it for the obvious reason.”

“Can't you wait until later in the day and take Malachi with you?”

He seemed determined to keep putting Mal and me together. “I suppose I could,” I said hesitantly, “but . . .” I didn't finish the thought because I couldn't think of a delicate way to put it. I didn't feel comfortable telling him that Mal was attracted me, an attraction that was somewhat mutual.