Murder at the Lobstah Shack by Maddie Day

Author:Maddie Day [Day, Maddie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 34

At Greta’s Grains, I perched on my usual Friday night stool at the counter at a little after eight. Tim’s pop-up bar, Breads and Brews, was in full swing. Every week he transformed the bakery into a pub, a dance floor, and a gathering place. It utilized the space in a great way and brought in a hip crowd. You couldn’t beat the markup on alcohol, either, he’d told me.

He opened at five for the after-work folks and didn’t close until eleven. He tried to switch out different local bands, too. This week three women were producing truly rocking Celtic music. One fiddled and clogged at the same time. Another beat a flat drum in an irresistible rhythm, and the third played penny whistle, guitar, and squeeze box. You couldn’t help tapping your toes to the music, and I suspected I might have to get up and dance at some point.

I sipped my glass of ale. I’d opted tonight for an Outermost IPA from Hog Island, although Tim also served wine, hard cider, and locally made root beer and fruit-flavored tonics. Soft drinks, that is, or soda pop, depending on where you came from. Abo Reba, a true Bostonian, always called any non-alcoholic carbonated drink a tonic, and I loved using that term, one used less and less.

“Hey, darlin’.” Tim leaned over the counter to kiss my cheek. “You look like you could use a piece of Tim’s Tasty Tomato Torta.”

“Mmm. How did you know?”

He circled his palm over his face in a dramatic gesture. “I can read minds, lovely lady.” His delivery, in a bad Eastern European accent, was also dramatic. With a flourish, he handed me a small plate of the pie. I’d had it before, and the torta was, in fact, terribly tasty.

I spied Elenia huddled around a small table in the far corner with a man and another woman, who both looked like they might also live on the rough.

Tim leaned toward me. “I’ve let them know they can come on Friday nights to eat at no charge, and have a drink, if they’d like.” He lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “It doesn’t cost me that much.”

“I love you.” I gazed at this big-hearted, generous man of mine. “Do you know that?”

He laid his hand on my cheek. “I kind of got the idea.”

Isaac, Tim’s assistant, pushed a tray of tortas and mini pizzas into the passthrough window. A newcomer to the bar waved her hand. Two men vacated their stools, leaving empty glasses, plates, and tips on the counter.

“Work calls, hon.”

“Go,” I said. I took a bite of the hand-sized torta. In a miniature pastry crust nestled layers of onions, peppers, Spanish-flavored potatoes, tomatoes, basil, black olives, and Manchego cheese, all baked together into a perfect pie. I casually watched Elenia and her friends. How had she ended up homeless and possibly penniless?

Gin slid onto the stool next to me.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

“Yes. I had one of my headaches this morning. It went away later in the morning, thank goodness.

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