Strange Brew Part 25

The murder of a politician, even a former politician, is a high-priority item. Major Mackey himself came to the scene, arriving at the same time as the ambulance and the patrol cars.

By the time we got outside to go to the homicide office so I could give my statement, the press had gotten wind of the fact that a prominent former politician and her mother were dead. There were two helicopters hovering overhead and four television camera crews along with half a dozen miscellaneous reporters waiting outside, trampling Catherine Rhyne's immaculate lawn.

Brownie bared his fangs and growled viciously the first time one of the television reporters stuck a microphone and a camera in my face.

"Bite 'em, boy," I hissed.

All the reporters backed away from me then, like I was the one responsible for the two corpses inside on the kitchen floor. "It wasn't me," I wanted to tell somebody. "It all started a long time ago." Instead, Mackey put his hand on my back and pushed me gently through the throng. "No statements," he told them.

EPILOGUE.

By the week before Christmas, the banner on the front of the Little Five Points Blind Possum brewpub was torn and gray and sagging. The OPENING SOON! had been crossed through and one of the locals had scrawled NEVER beneath it. I heard through the grapevine that TES had the building up for sale.

The regulars sat in their same places in the window at the Yacht Club, wreathed in flashing red and green Christmas lights and strands of sparkly silver garlands. Miranda's lawyers got the charges against her dropped. My sources tell me she stands silently behind the bar most days, nursing a Fresca and a grudge against the world. Hap wasn't scheduled to go to trial until the spring. They never have found the s.p.a.ceman. Bucky keeps hoping his body will turn up so that they can get another shot at nailing Miranda for being an accessory to his murder. I'm in the market for a new watering hole.

Edna had me sh.e.l.ling pecans for her last big push of Christmas baking. She'd promised me my own pecan pie-a new recipe that called for a cup of Jack Daniel's.

When the phone rang she wiped her floury hands on her slacks and answered it, "Merry Christmas from the House Mouse."

I winced at the cutesy greeting, mouthed the words: "I'm not here."

"She's right here," Edna said.

It was Anna Frisch. She wanted to know if I could come out to the Blind Possum in Roswell. "To settle up accounts," she said.

I let Brownie ride in the front seat of the van on the way out there. He's good company, and somehow having a watchdog makes me feel a little safer. False security, probably. If I have a client who likes dogs, I sometimes take Brownie on a cleaning job with me. We both know it's not permanent. A dog like Brownie needs a real family, with kids, and maybe a yard to run in. Edna has put the word out among her commandos.

The parking lot at the Blind Possum was full and people stood around outside in a new courtyard, waiting to be served. Everybody had a pint of beer in their hands. n.o.body was complaining. They'd strung red and green Christmas lights on the old brick walls outside, and the neon possum had been given a set of glowing red antlers for a festive holiday touch.

Anna was standing inside, near the hostess stand, waiting for me. She'd cut her hair since the last time I'd seen her, which was the day they'd released her from the hospital. It was very short, a lot redder. It made her look older, more businesslike.

She gave me a hug, which surprised me. Anna hadn't seemed like the hugging type.

We went into her office. She sat behind a desk piled high with files and menus and sample beer bottles.

"Looks like it's going good," I said.

"Amazingly well," she said, smiling. "The company's been very decent to me. The business has exceeded their wildest expectations, we're on target to be in the black by March, so that doesn't hurt. You know, a month ago, I thought I'd never come back to this place. After all I found out-about Jackson, about me, I wanted to quit."

"You were pretty sick," I said. "We were both pretty sick." I shuddered at the memory of it.

"I'm tough, I got over the physical part pretty quickly," Anna said. "And I'm finding out that the emotional part is just going to take some time. Having work I love to do helps a lot. Friends do, too. I've made some good friends here. People in the restaurant community have been wonderful. It's a part of the business I didn't know about. Jackson was so suspicious of compet.i.tion, he never would have anything to do with those people."

I tried to think of something nice to say about the dead. But I still hadn't heard anything that would make me think good thoughts about Jackson Poole.

Anna helped me out. "He was complicated. But he did do something for me, you know."

"What's that?"

"He had a will. He left me everything, named me beneficiary on his company life insurance policy. It's a lot of money, Callahan."

"You deserve it," I said. "Every penny."

"So do you," she said. "It's payday, Callahan."

She handed me an envelope. My name was written on it. It was a Christmas card, bright red with the Blind Possum reindeer logo on the outside. "Merry Christmas to Brew!" it said. There was a check inside, made out to me, for twenty thousand dollars.

"I was going to send you an invoice," I said, embarra.s.sed. "Uh, it's probably more like six hundred. Eight hundred tops." I held the envelope out to her.

"It's the exact right amount," she said firmly. "That's the money that was left in Jackson's checking account. The money he extorted from Catherine and Kitty Rhyne."

"I don't want this," I said, puzzled. "I've got no right to it."

"Who does?" she said lightly. "Wuvvy, probably. But she's dead. I can't give it back to Catherine or Kitty. Anyway, it was about time they paid for what they did all those years ago."

"What about Big Kitty Rhyne?" I asked. "She probably inherits anything from her daughter and granddaughter."

"She's in a nursing home," Anna said. "Azalea Acres. It sounds nice. No, I've thought a lot about this. You did what I asked you to do. You earned your fee. So take it, please?"

The bills had started coming in for the new roof, the new porch, and the new security system. I had my eye on a secondhand van. And Edna wanted a cell phone for Christmas.

I put the envelope in my purse. "All right," I said. "I'll send you an invoice and mark it paid. For your records and mine."

"Good," Anna said, standing up. "Now, can I buy you a beer?"

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

The author wishes to thank the following for their advice, suggestions, or a.s.sistance: Major Mickey Lloyd and Detective G. G. Carowan of the Atlanta Police Department; Glen Sprouse of Phoenix Brewing; management, staff, and patrons of the Euclid Avenue Yacht Club; Bill Ashton of Wax 'N' Facts in Little Five Points; Steve Akin of Alarm Depot; Don West of Albany, Georgia; Jane Crocker of the Georgia Pecan Growers' a.s.sociation; Linda Christian, R.Ph., Harold Shumacher, and Steven Jasovitz of The Shumacher Group; Elliot Mackle; Audrey Newsome; David K. Secrest; and Tom Trocheck.

About the Author.

KATHY HOGAN TROCHECK is the author of ten critically acclaimed mysteries, including the Callahan Garrity mystery series. A former reporter for the Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution, she is also the bestselling author of Hissy Fit, Little Bitty Lies, and the Edgar and Macavity awards-nominated Savannah Blues, under the name Mary Kay Andrews. Visit her website at www.marykayandrews.com.

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Raves for KATHY HOGAN TROCHECK,.

CALLAHAN GARRITY,.

and STRANGE BREW.

"Callahan Garrity mops up the scene in an Atlanta neighborhood where murder meets its match in this feisty, funny heroine. Strange Brew offers up a tidy mystery with a polished writing style and industrial-strength suspense."

Sue Grafton.

"Callahan and her cohort of continuing characters...are great company."

San Jose Mercury News.

"As Strange Brew proves, there's nothing strange about Kathy Hogan Trocheck's growing reputation. Her writing here is just as flip, just as New South sa.s.sy as ever, but underneath is a deepening compa.s.sion that wisely gives even her modern-day devils their due."

Margaret Maron.

"The best character to come out of Atlanta since Scarlett O' Hara."

Jackson Clarion-Ledger "The series is consistently strong."

St. Louis Post-Dispatch "If plot is what drives the mystery novel, it's feisty, quirky characters and vivid sense of place that make the ride worthwhile. Kathy Trocheck delivers all of the above in Strange Brew-a book that will make me think twice before ordering another upscale amber."

Lawrence Shames "A riveting adventure."

Publishers Weekly "[Trocheck] has built a strong series that is liberally laced with unusual characters and Southern humor...The author balances Strange Brew with wry wit and snappy dialogue...In Strange Brew Trocheck once again hones fine storytelling skills."