Page 43 of Something’s Brewing

Elsie was sharp. Experienced. Respected. She’d probably have seen hints of this already but didn’t have the data. But Madison couldn’t shake the question: If Elsie suspected, why hadn’t she done anything yet? Why hadn’t anyone? She exhaled and leaned back on her hands.

Who do I trust to help me clean this up?

She looked out the patio door again.

Tomorrow. I’ll decide tomorrow.

After stuffing the contents back into the envelope, she bent down and taped it to the bottom of the shoe rack in the walk-in closet. Now who reads too many spy thrillers? But she wasn’t about to take any chances with the information Frankie had worked hard to gather.

The sun had begun to rise over the lake when Madison stepped onto the back patio and sank into the Adirondak chair with a coffee. She hadn’t slept well, her mind still trying to process the information she’d hid in the closet.

She took a sip just as Garrett stepped outside, travel mug in hand. “Good morning.”

“Hey.”

“Everything alright?”

She wasn’t ready to talk, though part of her wanted to confide in him. “Just tired.” She noticed the faint creases under his eyes. He hadn’t slept either.

“Same. You okay?”

“Just a lot on my mind.”

Garrett nodded. “I’m heading to the hospital for my last checkup.” He lifted his arm in its sling. “But I have time—I could bring back muffins. Or if you need a sounding board . . . ?”

“Muffins? That’s a hard bribe to ignore. I’m going to head to the diner. Thanks though.”

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Madison.”

He knew her a little too well. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

Garrett left with a small wave. She watched him go before turning to go back inside—one step closer to a decision.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The bell above the door jingled as Madison stepped into Rosie’s Diner, and the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon made her mouth water with anticipation because, seriously, who didn’t love bacon? A few locals looked up and nodded in recognition—the kind of familiar acknowledgment she’d started to get used to.

The chalkboard menu boasted the day’s special: Frank’s famous veggie omelet and hashbrowns.

She noticed Elsie perched on a stool at the counter, chatting with Rosie.

Elsie lifted a hand and waved Madison over. “Are you alone or meeting someone?”

“Alone.”

“I was just going to order. Would you like to join me?”

“I’d love to.”

Rosie grabbed two menus and motioned them toward a booth tucked in the back, away from the bustle. They settled in as Rosie poured coffee and set down napkin-wrapped silverware.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” Elsie said.

Madison hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the menu. “It’s been a long few days.”

Elsie leaned back, eyes sharp and amused. “That I believe. You’ve been neck-deep in opening prep, Brewfest, committee business, and now . . . that look in your eyes says you’ve found something else entirely.”

Madison studied her across the table. Elsie wasn’t prying—it wasn’t in her nature. She was offering a lifeline, if Madison wanted to take it.