Page 103 of Golden Touch
We’re sitting on her enormous sofa, eating cookies.Because trouble calls for cookies, in Poppy’s words.
“You want me to break into a dangerous building, where the ceiling might fall in at any moment, to help you recover cash from a crime scene?”
I set my cookie down onto my plate. “Well, when you put it that way...”
“I’m in!” she says brightly. “I love a good caper. But I’ll only do it if you explain to me why you can’t just ask Nash for help.”
“Because I can’t do that to him. There’s police tape everywhere. I’ve dragged him as far into my messy life as he needs to go, and it’s best if I just get my money and get on the road.”
“Hmm,” she says, nibbling a cookie. “Seems like he’d want to be asked.”
I shake my head vehemently. “And you don’t have to break the law, either. You’re just my lookout. Or, you know, the one who calls 911 if the ceiling falls on me.”
She looks alarmed. “How much money did you leave in that cigar box?”
“A few thousand dollars. But it’s all I have left in the world. And all my clothes and jewelry were in the pumphouse.”
“Not counting your fabulous friends.” She grins. “Let’s do this. Let me just change into something more suitable for a stealth mission than this.” She waves a hand in front of a low-cut top, a terrific pencil skirt, and a pair of spike heels.
“Good plan.”
When she returns a minute later, she’s wearing a close-fitting top and jeans—all in black—and a pair of pink Air Jordans. “All right. Let’s get ’er done so we can have a cocktail in town before you leave.”
“I shouldn’t drink and drive, Poppy. And I should get on the road.”
“Fine—we’ll make yours a mocktail. But I insist, since I’m going to be breaking the law for you.”
“Fair.”
“Also, you’re staying here tonight. On my sofa bed. If you’re so hot to leave tomorrow, you can get an early start.”
My shoulders drop with relief. “Thank you. I appreciate that more than you know.”
She grins. “Okay. Let’s do our James Bond thing so we can have a cocktail after. I’m raring to go.”
The moment we pull into the parking lot on the brewery property, all the air leaves my lungs. “Holy…” I gasp, because it’s so much worse in person. A hundred years of history transformed into a charred skeleton.
Many of the brick walls are still standing, but their leaded glass windowpanes are blown out, leaving only jagged glass teeth and angry-looking soot in their wake. And through the missing parts of the ceiling, I can see moonlight.
I’ve never seen a more heart-wrenching sight.
“Breathe,” Poppy reminds me.
I try. But now there are tears running down my cheeks. I slowly sink to my knees.
“Oh honey.” Poppy crouches down beside me. “It’s awful, I know. But this is just a setback.”
“Asetback?” I yelp. “It’s atragedy.”
“Have you seen the GoFundMe campaign? Another brewery started it. There’s a hundred grand in there already, and it’s only been twenty-four hours.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “You can’t get back time. Lyle spent his whole life in this building, crafting the most famous beer in America. It would take him, what, two years to get it up and running again? He can’t even leave the rehab center yet.”
“Get up. Come on,” Poppy pleads. “I think I heard a sound.”
“It’s just the building groaning.”
She shivers. “Please don’t go inside there. You can’t use the door, see?” She points to indicate the caved-in front entrance.
