Treachery on Tap Read online

  Treachery on Tap

  by

  Constance Barker

  Copyright 2018 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  The Grumpy Chicken is not a typical name for an Irish pub, and a small town about forty-five minutes west of Savannah, GA is not where you would expect to find it. But it is my business and home. Recently, events around here were far from our boring, rural life. You see, our little town of Potter’s Mill was turned upside down by the first murder in recent, and not so recent, memory. But with some help from me and a few of my friends, the police found and captured the likely suspects. So last night, as the manager and next in line to inherit the pub, I stayed open late and we all drank a little too much. Which also meant we celebrated well past our usual bed times.

  In the middle of the festivities, my computer savvy friend, Ida, hooked a special little camera to her laptop to record video of our pickled egg jar. Yes an inanimate object warranted high tech observation during the night. Eight previous jars have fallen to the floor and shattered for some unknown reason. But that has not prevented anyone from embracing their own theories. Things get weirder when you realize the most popular explanation is that a chicken’s ghost is knocking this particular jar over. Personally, I think it is one of the cats that like to visit the pub in search of mice in the back alley. So, to solve the mini mystery of why my expensive glass containers jump to their deaths in the middle of the night, a web camera was employed to record the jar and see what causes it to fall. If and when it does again.

  Adding to the late night celebrations, my father Tom, the current pub owner, returned home. He was in Atlanta getting some medical attention for a relentless cough. His health has been poor for a while and he probably should lose some weight. As a result, he has not run the pub in years and that’s my job now. But the recent care must have been good since Dad was in the pub early this morning, eager to work and prepare for some surprise visitors later today. That is all he would tell me last night and he was still tight lipped about it this morning. He saw me and said, “Ginger, I was worried you weren’t coming down from the apartment. You look tired. Did you get some coffee? And your pretty red hair is a mess.”

  I moaned. “Two cups. I shouldn’t have stayed up so late. Especially with surprise visitors coming.”

  “Lightweight! When I was your age, and a few pounds lighter, I didn’t need sleep.” Dad patted his belly as he talked, then pointed to the webcam. “Hey, what’s this little robot looking thingy that is staring at our pickled egg jar?”

  “Dad, you know the pickled egg jars mysteriously break during the night. Ida set up a camera to record video of the jar, to see what is knocking them over.”

  “Ginger, you always ignore the obvious. It’s our testy chicken ghost. You always try to explain it away. But I've worked in this tavern since I was a spry lil laddie, for almost fifty years, and the chicken spirit does these things. Trust me.”

  I closed my eyes not wanting to have this discussion with Dad. “I know, but there may be another explanation. I don’t want to exaggerate something and scare away any of our regular customers. Not everyone likes the chicken ghost like you do.”

  There was a knock at the front door. I opened the locked entry to find the town hacker and journalist, two of my friends who helped solved the recent crime. Ida beamed and gushed, “Well, did the jar take a dive?”

  I spun to look at it on the counter. “Nope, not this time.”

  Ida frowned. “Shoot, I was so hoping it happened and that my camera caught it. I already have a special account setup on Youtube to upload videos when we get something.”

  I said, “I guess someone is convinced that something other than a pesky cat is knocking things over. Otherwise, who would want to watch on Youtube? And I have never seen you in here this early in the morning.”

  Piper, my journalist friend added, “First, cats are very popular on Youtube. And second, we both wanted to see if the jar committed hara-kiri. But as a journalist, I also remember from last night that your father said you were having some surprise visitors today. It was very cryptic, to say the least. So we didn’t want to miss the show. Tom is not known for his people skills, so we are thinking this could be one heck of a floor show coming to town.”

  I laughed. “I had the same thought when he told me.”

  “So you still don’t know who’s coming?” Ida asked.

  “Nope. Dad just told me it’s a surprise and I’ll have to wait for them to get here. In the mean time, you two care to help us clean up and get ready to open? The place was packed last night, I could use a hand.”

  “Sure, but let me quickly check my video recording first, see if I caught anything even though the jar didn’t fall.” Ida pointed at the laptop hooked to the camera as she spoke. The she went over and checked her recording, but as expected found nothing.

  After that, Piper and Ida were wonderful and pitched in, even after Dixie, my bartender, showed up for work. Bones, my cook, was true to form and showed up a half hour late. He was unshaven and his clothes were wrinkled. I scolded, “What in the world happened to you? You look like you spent the night in the gutter.”

  Bones sighed. “I kind of did. Well, in my car. My girlfriend threw me out, again. She ran into Abbey last night and, well, she found out that I asked Abbey on a date when I went over to town hall. Bad move and I paid for it.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Bad move? I think dumb move is more like it. You okay to work?”

  “Yeah. I actually want to work today. Get my mind off my love life.”

  I laughed. “To be nineteen again! You keep pulling moves like that and you’ll have no love life. This is a small town and all the local girls are going to know about this little indiscretion of yours.”

  Bones looked at me and realized the truth in what I said. I knew because he hung his head and continued, “Well, I guess I can just work more hours then. And I’ll save some money if I can’t get anymore dates.”

  Piper was within earshot and I heard her laugh at the conversation. She raised her voice so I could hear her. “Eleven-thirty, you ready to open the doors?”

  I yelled back, “Sure, but we need to put the training wheels on Bones. He looks pretty rough around the edges this morning.”

  Piper responded, “I heard. Bones, I hope you learned your lesson. Well, if not, you will. Both of those girls are never going to let you forget this.”

  Tom went over to Bones and didn’t say a word. He just smacked Bones on the back of the head then walked away.

  I went to the front doors and unlocked them, ready for another long day. To make sure the front walk was clean after the street fair yesterday, I poked my head out the entryway and that is when I saw it. An eighteen wheeler truck, parking on Main Street right in front of The Grump
y Chicken. On the side of the trailer was emblazoned The Ghost Hounds. I stepped out onto the sidewalk and gawked as it finished claiming its spot next to the curb.

  Dixie must have seen something was up because she eventually followed me outside and joined me on the sidewalk. She blurted out, “Holy sh... Show Hosts! That’s that TV show!”

  A sport utility vehicle parked behind the big rig and the doors flew open. Dixie’s body began to shiver and she screamed. “Zach Black! It’s really him!”

  I was a little confused, but found the puddle of emotion that used to be my bartender kind of funny. She turned into a teenage girl catching sight of Justin Bieber. I had to admit, the youngest of the group appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe thirty, and he was the tall, handsome type. The kind most girls swoon over. I looked over at my shaking friend. “Dixie, I’m not sure who these people are, but I can tell you they’re not Justin Bieber. So you can stop acting like a fool now.”

  “Ginger, he’s one of the hottest shows on TV. I mean they’re one of the hottest... well you know.”

  I eyed her trying not to laugh. The three men approached and stood in front of us. The young handsome one spoke first. “Well, good morning pretty ladies. I’m Zach Black, host of The Ghost Hounds. And these are my two co-hosts: Tyler Fells and Cecil Page. But you probably knew that.”

  I looked him straight in the eye and replied. “No, not really.”

  Dixie quivered and had a slightly different response. She spoke so fast I almost didn’t understand when she said, “I love your show and I’m your biggest fan. I loved the episode where you found that weird sound coming from that really old furnace.”

  I turned to look at her and tilted my head towards the front door. Dixie understood and added, “Really nice to meet you! I need to go back to work. I hope to see around.”

  Zach replied, “Will be hard not to. We’re filming inside The Grumpy Chicken.”

  On hearing this news, Dixie did a weird sort of slow motion jogging mixed with jumping up and down as she made her way back into the tavern, all while squealing, “Oh my gosh!”

  I guessed by now these were the surprise guests promised by my father. I addressed Zach. “So you know my father, Tom O’Mallory?”

  “Our producers do. They made the arrangements and told us the backstory for your place. It’s a perfect spot for us to shoot and we’re going to have some fun.” Zach scanned the outside of The Grumpy Chicken as he talked. His eyes stopped on our old placard, which proclaims the pub name in hand carved, relief gold letters. It is large and mounted to the building over the front door. While it may have been painted a few times over the years, it is the original signboard from one hundred and fifty years ago.

  “Well, come on in then. My father is expecting ya. Welcome to The Grumpy Chicken.” I swung my hand towards the front door.

  We went inside and to my surprise, Ida and Piper had the same reaction as Dixie. Bones even lit up when he saw them. I guess I was no longer one of the cool kids who are up on all the current television shows. Dad greeted them. “Well, glad you made it. Your going to love our chicken ghost. Come on, I’ll show you around.” So we showed the trio of hosts our pub but it didn’t take long as the place isn't that big.

  The oldest of the three TV hosts was Tyler, looking to be in his mid-forties and sporting a full, black beard and a partially bald head. He saw the web camera watching the pickled egg jar and asked. “What’s that all about? It’s a little strange. You must really like pickled eggs to live stream them.”

  I began, “That’s a long story. We have ...”

  But Ida cut me off. “That’s not a live stream. I’m recording the jar, to see what’s knocking it over at night.”

  Tyler asked, “That’s a lot of work over a jar of pickled eggs. This something that happens a lot in Potter’s Mill?”

  Ida nodded. “Well in this pub, yes. Eight times in the last couple of months. The most popular theory is our ghost chicken is knocking it over. You know, in retaliation for pickling the chicken eggs. So we’re recording to see if we can find anything during the night. It always happens late at night.”

  Tyler eyed the area. “This might be a good spot to wire with EMF and sound meters.” I frowned at Tyler’s comment, concerned. He noticed me and responded. “Electromagnetic fields. We often detect them when spirits appear. It’s safe, just some meters to look for magnetic fields and sounds.”

  “Oh, that sounds a little safer then.” I tried to hide my anxiety. I had a bar to run and it was starting to sound like this surprise was going to be a real pain. “How long do you take to shoot an episode?”

  Zach laughed. “You looking to get rid of us already? Don’t worry, we usually shoot late at night and should stay out of your hair. The spirits like to appear when everyone is sleeping.”

  “I do have a business to run, so yeah, I’m a little worried.”

  Piper spoke up. “Ginger, this show is going to make everyone who lives in Georgia want to be at The Grumpy Chicken. You’ll probably need a bouncer to work the front door. This is going to be good for business.”

  Zach took the opportunity to turn to Tyler. “What are you doing, man? The egg jar is not that interesting and you always try to find an excuse to use your toys. I pick the locations and stories to shoot. You know that.”

  Tyler’s face became taut. “No you don’t. We’re co-hosts, remember. And the jar story is better than just about anything you’ve ever done.”

  Zach moved to stand just in front of Tyler, standing close so their noses almost touched. “I pick the shoot locations. End of conversation.”

  Fortunately, while we talked and escorted the hosts around the tavern, the television crew began to unload. One of them came over to the quarreling co-hosts. He was an older man, in his mid-fifties, and in good shape as evident by his Popeye sized arms. He pried himself between the two hosts and said, “Gentlemen, we just started, come on. We need a little of Zach’s flare and Tyler’s science. I can set up shots for both of you. You know that, no need to argue.”

  Zach glared at the interloper. “Scooter, you’re one of the best camera men in the business. I respect you. But this is my show and you need to be careful what you put yourself in the middle of.”

  Scooter Martin smiled back at him. “Zach, we do this every time, and in the end we do both shots and it makes for a better show. I have it covered, don’t worry about it.”

  Zach scrapped a chair from a nearby table across the floor a few feet, then sat out in the open. He proceeded to fold his arms and sulk. “We start shooting tonight. The script better feature the shots I want.” Then he rose and left.

  Scooter turned to me. “Sorry about that. Zach is young. He can be, um, difficult at times. But this is par for the course. Everything is on schedule and the script writers will draft up the episode today based on what the co-hosts want after seeing the place. We’ll finish unloading the gear now to be ready for setup and shooting tonight.

  I asked, “Is there anything we need to do or be aware of?

  Scooter went on. “No, And we won't bother you, not too much. We’ll take care of everything and this place will become famous.”

  I glared at Scooter and said, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Chapter Two

  The Potter’s Mill gossip machine went into action. To be fair, this time the gossip machine had help in the form of a billboard on the side of the huge trailer parked in front of my pub. So the news was out, and as predicted by Piper, everyone did indeed want to be a guest at The Grumpy Chicken. For the first time ever, I had to keep a waiting list for seats at the bar and tables in the dining room. It was like a big city hot spot; there was even a line out front and Guardrail volunteered as a temporary bouncer to keep things calm and organized out on the sidewalk. We finished the day with one of the best single day sales total in the history of the pub. And we did it all while television producers prowled around my pub with writers, and an entire crew moved crate after crate into
the dining room. It was fair to say it was a long day.

  After we closed at eleven o’clock, I sat at a table and ate a late dinner. I watched the television crew work and saw they moved fast, unpacking the crates with precision. They knew what they were doing. One of the crew, an attractive young woman in her late twenties, sat down with me. She was definitely from Hollywood; she wore designer jeans and had on a nice diamond tennis bracelet. “Hello. My name is Denise Anderson. I’m one of the sound crew but I also do some special effects.”

  I squinted at her. “What does a TV show like this need a special effects person for?”

  She leaned in a little to me. “Can you keep a secret?” I nodded yes. “Zach likes to play practical jokes. And we need to spice things up sometimes to make the show more interesting. So sometimes we add a little extra with special effects. Not too much and it’s why I mostly work with the sound crew.”

  “Is that legal?”

  Denise laughed then replied. “Legal, sure. Ethical, not really. But reality TV does it all the time. So it’s normal believe it or not.”

  “My world isn’t shattered, but it’s a little surprising.”

  Denise smiled. “I’m not used to dealing with level headed, honest spectators while working on this show. Most just babble some nonsense till they finally get around to asking for Zach’s autograph. You’re a nice change of pace. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I paused at her sincerity. “That’s nice of you. Really. You’re the first one associated with this circus to realize there is more to life than the next camera shot.”

  She smiled and waggled her finger at me. “Don’t say that to Zach! His world is the next shot. And thanks for the compliment, by the way. We can talk later and you can tell me what you think of the shoot tonight. We’ll just get set up and do some establishing shots. Nothing fancy and we won't start the more interesting stuff till tomorrow night. So it should go nice and smooth tonight.”

  I nodded to her and sighed. “I hope so. See ya around then.”