Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 2)

“How you doing, man?”

“I’ll live.” Mike’s grin, though strained, was genuine. “If I had to get hit somewhere, the head was probably the spot to take the beating.”

Sean patted him on the shoulder and glanced at Natalie, who was running her fingers up and down that necklace as though they were prayer beads. “You okay?”

She nodded, not even a single strand of light–brown hair daring to shake free from her bun. “Fine, but I need to talk to you.”

Hailey took over as Mike’s temporary nurse and Natalie walked Sean over to the shut–off valves. He bent down and double checked that both were completely closed. Masking tape labels were stuck to the front of each valve, and water was clearly written across one in big bold lettering, CO2 across the other.

Worry itched its way up his spine. His trouble detector had been honed to a fine point by spending his formative years under the control of a man faster with his backhand than a Ferrari could get to sixty miles per hour.

“Look.” She pointed to the masking tape labels. “Somebody added these.”

He peered closer. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, but that didn’t mean shit. Of course, that didn’t stop the hair on his forearms from standing at attention. “How can you tell?”

“Check this out.” She peeled back one corner of the tape, revealing a water drop etched into the valve handle. “That’s not a mistake.”

Sean pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to make him almost sneeze. “Agreed.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” Natalie asked.

Sean watched Deputy Epson walk to the middle of the brewery floor and take a long, quizzical look at the fermenting tank that stood about twelve feet high. With careful steps he circled the tank, careful to avoid the beer pooled on the floor and the blood droplets from Mike’s and Billy’s injuries, all the while tapping his department–issued hat against the flat of his fleshy palm.

The soft thwap, thwap, thwap sound was starting to reverberate in Sean’s head like the thunder of a fast–approaching summer storm. It was no secret that the Sweet family and local law enforcement had a long and colorful relationship that encompassed everything from nude protests on the courthouse lawn to running moonshine in the old days.

He crossed his fingers behind his back, an old but comforting gesture. Judging by the way Natalie practically hummed with nervous energy beside him, he wasn’t the only one waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Walk me through this whole thing again.” Deputy Epson settled his brown hat back on his freckled bald head. “Start from the beginning.”

Natalie groaned beside him. They’d already told the story three times, and her tone had turned from annoyed to glacial by the third telling. The fourth might make her snap, which was the last thing she or the brewery needed right now.

He placed his hand on the small of her back to warn and reassure her. She slid a sideways look his way, but her muscles relaxed under his touch. He wished he could say the same. Just the little bit of contact, buffered by her softer–than–soft sweater, jangled up his arm and expanded in his chest like a hot air balloon, filling him up and making him empty at the same time.

Unsettled and annoyed, he jerked his hand away and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “Billy was cleaning a beer spill.”

Natalie cleared her throat and trailed her fingers across the line of pearls circling her delicate throat. “Because the fermentation valve malfunctioned for reasons we’ve yet to determine, but I’m telling you now I’m pretty suspicious about it.”

Epson’s face remained stubbornly neutral and he kept quiet despite the pause in the conversation. The deputy might think he had the silent treatment’s intimidation factor down pat, but he failed to deliver the underlying current of aggression that had always made Sean’s dad’s quiet explosions so much more deadly.

“Billy hooked up the hose to that line there to clean up the beer mess on the floor after we got the formation tank leak contained.” Sean pointed to where the three–inch brass fitting was screwed onto the line labeled water.

Natalie squatted down by the valves and ran her long fingers across one knob. “But if you look closely, you’ll see someone swapped the labels on the water valve and the carbon dioxide valve.” She flicked the edge of the masking tape and pulled it back an inch to reveal the water droplet etched into the metal behind the handmade carbon dioxide label. “He hooked up to a carbon dioxide line instead of the water line. The pressure ripped the hose from his hands and the nozzle caught him right between the eyes.”

Epson scribbled in his notebook. “And another man was injured?”

Sean nodded and glanced at the clock above the deputy’s head. “Mike got clipped by the hose too.” Both he and Billy were at the Salvation County Medical Complex. Hailey had promised to call as soon as the docs got done with them.

“What makes you think this is foul play as opposed to…” The deputy paused and pursed his lips, as if trying to think of an appropriate way to phrase the rest of his question. “A sloppy operation?”

First Natalie and her flowcharts, and now this. Did everyone think he ran a shoddy shop? Sean clenched his jaw tight enough to crack his first molar. Tension throbbed in his shoulders and the corded muscle in his neck twanged like a banjo in a speed–playing match.

“It’s part of a pattern.” Natalie clamored to his defense—or at least the Sweet Salvation Brewery’s defense. “We’ve had dropped deliveries, the fermentation tank leak, and now this.”

Epson quirked an eyebrow. “You have internal reports on any of these problems?”

Sean slid his gaze toward Natalie, whose face had gone from pale to pink to cherry in about three heartbeats. “We’re working on gathering that now.”

“No problem.” The deputy took three steps toward the door leading to the offices. “Let me see what you’ve got so far.”