From Beer to Eternity. Sherry Harris

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      The woman went back to her seat, so I headed back to the bar. I took another peek at the history of the old-fashioned. In 1806 a cocktail was considered a drink with liquor, sugar, water, and bitters. 1806! Jefferson was president. Cocktails had been around a long time.

      I checked on my two customers. “How’s everything?” I asked the man.

      “I’ve had worse,” he said.

      Deflated, I turned to the woman. She glanced at the man. “Mine’s perfect. Not watered down with too much orange juice like so many places.”

      “Thank you,” I said.

      “And ‘I’ve had worse’ is high praise from that cranky Yankee,” she said. Loud enough for him to hear. I gave her a quick smile. “His forefathers left New England and came down here in the eighteen hundreds for the fishing.”

      I nodded politely.

      “His family has been here longer than most. But somehow you can take a cranky Yankee out of New England . . .”

      “But you can’t take the cranky out of the Yankee,” he finished for her. “Heard it a million times from you, old woman.”

      “And you’ll hear it a million more, old man,” she said back.

      He looked at me. “At least you didn’t muddle the fruit. It’s an atrocity to call it an old-fashioned when people do that.”

      Well, my lack of muddling experience had worked well in this case.

      * * *

      Thirty minutes later, a group of college-aged girls stumbled in. It looked like they’d either been out all night or gotten an early start. I wasn’t sure what the policy was for serving people who looked tipsy. There must be Florida laws about that, but up until now I’d just done as I was told. No decision-making necessary. I guess I’d have to wing it until Joaquín showed up.

      One of the girls wore a tiara with a wedding veil attached. It sat askew on the top of her light red hair. She’d make a lovely if tipsy bride. I sure hoped this was her bachelorette party and not her wedding day. I headed over. The girls started shouting their orders. All of them wanted some kind of fruity frozen drinks. Daiquiris, margaritas, strawberry, peach. One asked for a Bahama Mama. A faint sweat dampened my forehead. I had to figure out something fast.

      “Mimosas are fifty percent off this morning,” I said.

      “Yay,” the one with the veil said. “Mimosas for everyone.”

      I did a happy dance in my head. And in my head, my moves were every bit as good as Joaquín’s. The only downside was it would create a deficit in Vivi’s revenue. I’d make up for the extra out of my own pocket. It would be so worth it.

      “I’ll need to see some ID.” They all grumbled and complained, but I heard far worse in the library. Try telling a little old lady her time was up on Ancestry.com and that another patron was waiting for the computer. I’ve heard sailors with better language. Fortunately, every last one of them actually had a valid ID.

      As I walked back past the other woman, I stopped. “I’ll make yours fifty percent off too.”

      “You’re quick on your feet,” she said. “But Vivi isn’t one to give deals to tourists.”

      “I’ll take care of it,” I said.

      I quickly got out champagne flutes. I made these with more orange juice than sparkling wine. After I delivered them I took over glasses of water too. They looked like they needed to hydrate. Another group of people came in—eight couples. I was seriously questioning my life decisions and praying that Joaquín would show up. I took their orders. The men all wanted beers (thank heavens) and the women decided on the half-price mimosas. As I returned to the bar, Joaquín walked in.

      I flung my arms around him. “You’re here,” I said. He smelled great—salt air and soap.

      He gave me a quick hug before freeing himself. “Where’s Vivi?”

      “No idea. I saw her when I was out on my morning run. She gave me the keys and told me to open.”

      I could tell by how his brow crinkled that this was unusual behavior, but there wasn’t time to speculate with the crowd he had. Joaquín and I worked together, preparing the beers and mimosas. They didn’t use frosty beer mugs at the Sea Glass. Joaquín told me it was because as the ice melted on the mug, it would dilute the flavor of the beer. Who knew?

      After I delivered the drinks I came back.

      “Why in the world are mimosas so popular this morning?” he asked.

      “Um, maybe because they’re fifty percent off?” My voice rose at the end of the sentence.

      “Vivi won’t—”

      “Like that. I heard.” I pointed to the woman with the permed hair. “It was that or trying to figure out how to make a bunch of different frozen drinks.” Some bars had frozen drink machines, but Vivi insisted that all our drinks had to be made fresh. “Don’t worry. I’ll make up the difference.” I loaded up the tray, carried it over, and distributed drinks. Fortunately, I was used to carting books and kids around the library, so I could take the weight. The dexterity to distribute them without spilling was a new challenge. But I managed it this morning.

      Joaquín and I worked well together. While he was a whiz with drinks, I was great at small talk and keeping things clean and orderly. With Vivi gone, I was more relaxed and began to enjoy myself. Working here was kind of fun.

      “I got a text from Vivi.” Joaquín held up his phone. “She said she’s out making arrangements so we can have a memorial for Elwell tonight.”

      “Do you think that’s what she’s really doing?” Why wouldn’t she be here doing that? “I don’t know. But can you make up a couple of signs that say we’re closed at seven for a private event?”

      “Vivi’s going to close for the memorial?”

      “It will be plenty busy just with the locals here. No one will want curious tourists around.”

      I hadn’t thought about curious tourists. I looked over the crowd. Were any of these people here because there’d been a murder? I shrugged, unlocked Vivi’s office, and found cardboard and Sharpies. The office was cramped but tidy. Her desk faced a beautiful oil painting that captured the emerald color of the water. There were black and white photographs of the Sea Glass from early days, along with others of fishermen. The desk was old and scarred. The chair, modern and ergonomic. Almost seemed like a metaphor for this area—the old and new trying to work together, but not always succeeding.

      I sat at Vivi’s desk and quickly made three signs, two for outside and one for inside. I didn’t embellish them because that seemed like it would be disrespectful to Elwell. The temptation to look through drawers was strong, but I made the difficult decision to skip that. I hung the signs and got back to work.

      * * *

      By three, even Joaquín looked really worried, and I assumed it was about Vivi’s whereabouts, although I’d also mentioned the outside СКАЧАТЬ