Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Nope, just some routine follow-up on an investigation.” I shook his hand.
“Have a seat,” he said, leaning forward to pull a box of labels out of the extra chair in his office. “How can I help?”
“I just have a few questions. Were you open on Sunday afternoon?”
Chris nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “All day, actually. We did a fall fun-fest kind of thing—had a few food trucks, bluegrass band, family games and stuff.”
“What time did it start?” I asked.
“Noon until 6 p.m.. The staff and I were here a few hours before and after.”
“And were all of your employees here?” I asked, not wanting to point specifically to Matthew yet.
He looked at the ceiling as he thought, then shook his head. “Some of the staff who just work in the brewery didn’t show, but pretty much everyone else was here.”
“Can you give me the names of the staff who weren’t here?” I asked.
Chris rattled off a handful of names, none of which were Matthew’s.
“What about your new brewmaster?” I asked. “Matthew Holt?”
Chris let out a breath and sat back, watching me with considering eyes. “He was here. Helped with set-up. Worked the event. He left a little after 7 p.m.”
I nodded. “It must have been busy.”
“It was a madhouse. You know how things are this time of year.”
“I do,” I agreed. “Do you have any kind of video security here? Cameras on the parking lot, anything like that?”
“No,” Chris said, shaking his head. “We’ve never needed it. Why? Is this about the fire at Wild Haven?”
I knew the fire wouldn’t be a secret. Word travels fast in a small community, and the brewers in the area were tight. I didn’t answer his question directly. Instead, I asked what I needed to know the most. “Is it possible that Matthew Holt wasn’t here for a period of time on Sunday afternoon?” Before he could answer, I added, “Think carefully.”
He snapped his mouth shut for a moment, tipping his head up to scan the ceiling as he thought back. Finally, he said, “I know he was here for the first few hours. He helped with the setup, served beer—I saw him behind the bar pretty much non-stop until about 3 p.m. Then he switched off with somebody else, and he was kind of everywhere.” I raised an eyebrow in question, and Chris explained. “Refilling supplies, troubleshooting some power issues at one of the food trucks, setting up music while the band was on a break.”
He paused, scanning the ceiling again. “Things got a little iffy later in the afternoon in terms of keeping track of everybody. Like I said, it was a madhouse—lines everywhere, and it was loud with the band playing. Tons of fun, everybody had a great time, but—” He sat back in his chair. “I guess I can’t swear I know where he was every second of the afternoon. If anybody left, they weren’t gone long. He had a lot of demands on his time. We would have noticed if he’d been missing for an extended period, definitely.”
“Good to know,” I said. “So, if he was gone, he wasn’t gone for very long, but you can’t verify his presence or absence during any specific time between around 3 p.m. and when?”
“He was definitely here at 6 p.m. when we started shutting things down,” Chris said.
That gave Matthew plenty of time to sneak out and come back. It was a five-minute drive to Wild Haven from here, and I knew Matthew had been there between 4:40 p.m. and 5:15 p.m. The timing checked out, not that I was surprised.
“Okay. That’s helpful. Thank you. Anyone else you’re aware of who could have left and come back?”
Chris thought again and shook his head. “Not that I can think of. Like I said, it was really busy.”
“Well, busy is always good news,” I said. “Gotta love those tourists.”
Chris answered with a grin. “You know we do.”
I stood. “Do you mind if I wander around and ask some questions?”
“Nope,” he said, standing with me. “Feel free. Everybody’s busy, but not so busy they can’t stop and talk to the Chief of Police. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“Will do. Thanks, Chris.”
I wandered back out into the main area of the brewery. Like Avery’s place, it was immaculate. The stainless-steel vats, bigger than hers, gleamed just as bright. People worked with quiet efficiency. A jam band played from the speaker in the corner, the music cheerful, looping swirls of sound without a discernible beginning or end.
I hadn’t been specific with Chris, but I hadn’t wanted permission to talk to all of his employees—just the one. I found Matthew beside a big, circular, copper kettle with windows in it that looked like portholes. He had one open, and he and another man were leaning in, inhaling deeply. The yeasty scent wasn’t what I thought of when I thought of beer, but it was close.