65 ... 70 … 75 … 80 mph. My ancient Honda wheezed and belched at the higher speeds but kept on going. I barreled down Highway 101, heading for the Golden Gate Bridge. I didn’t care what the speed limit was. I wanted to rocket toward San Francisco as fast as I could. When I hit 85 miles per hour, my car started to shake, so I took my foot off the gas and slowed down.
For the first time in fifteen minutes, I glanced in the rearview mirror. I didn’t see any flashing lights. So far, I’d been lucky, but it wouldn’t last forever. The cars that I’d hurtled by were now far behind me; I moved over to a slower lane. Speeding always cured my stress.
My sister thought she had all the answers. She knew what guy I should see. When I should see him. How I should talk to him. Absentmindedly, I hit the accelerator again and almost rear-ended the late model Prius in front of me. I slowed down and glanced into the side mirror of the Prius. The driver, a woman with two kids in the back, was alarmed. Chagrined, I dropped back a considerable distance.
“Lena is going to get me killed,” I ranted to my empty car. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t her fault. I didn’t like being pushed. She was pushing me. Jon was pushing me. I hit the accelerator again, snaked into the middle lane and flew past the Prius which was moving as far over as it could.
“I’ll go when I’m ready and not before,” I muttered to myself. Resolved, I settled down just in time to slam straight into a bank of fog near Sausalito. I couldn’t see the Marin Headlands to my right or Richardson Bay and the waterfront marinas below to my left. Big drops of moisture splashed the windshield. I turned on the wipers. They smeared the grime around as they moved back and forth.
Traffic inched across the Golden Gate Bridge in the thick summer fog. Sometimes I could see the cars around me, but they soon disappeared into the grayness. Foghorns blared their deep two-toned alarms, the gloom so thick I could hold it in my hand.
My appointment to meet Jason Chang, one of Coyote Ridge’s brewmasters, would take place in the outer Sunset District of San Francisco near the Pacific Ocean. He seemed more than happy to meet with me, a potential investor. As soon as I passed through the toll plaza and left the span, the fog lifted. I headed down 19th Ave and turned into Golden Gate Park, winding past lush, damp green trees and empty rolling meadows. I moved onto Sunset Boulevard, then turned right onto Noriega, skirting past small mom-and-pop stores and kitschy neighborhood restaurants, the tangy smell of the sea hanging in the air.
Jason Chang’s house paralleled a narrow street, across from the ocean. I parked and walked up the pathway to a white stucco two-story home with a coral-colored entrance. I was reaching for the door when it hit me. I didn’t know what I was going to say. Before I could even knock, Jason opened the door. He wore a gray rubber apron and rubber gloves.
“Hi, I’m Arabella. Call me Bella. I called earlier?”
“Yes, come in, come in. I’m happy you could come by so soon.”
I followed him upstairs to the large living room with natural hickory hardwood floors, a comfortable couch and two extra-large chairs upholstered in blue, yellow and green stripes. Yet more proof money didn’t equal taste. A large telescope peered out the front window.
“Not much to see today,” I said, walking over and peering through the eyepiece. I could barely find the low greenery across the street. The ocean on the other side of the shrubs was nonexistent, a gray haze.
Jason scrutinized me carefully.
“How did you hear about Coyote Ridge?” he asked with a smile. A slight man of Asian descent, Jason had to be in his thirties, with dark receding hair. His lips were thin, and he wore black, square glasses. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he pondered me.
“Friend of a friend. I recently came into some money and need an investment. Anyway, I knew he knew folks, so I cornered the guy. Asked a bunch of questions. And here I am.”
I put my hands behind my back.
Was I talking too much? Did I make sense? Maybe I shouldn’t have said I’m newly rich?
It was clear Jason didn’t know what to make of me. He came across as more cautious than excited, even while meeting a potential “investor.”
“The friend?”
“Friend of a friend,” I corrected.
“Do you remember his name? I’d like to thank him for referring you to Coyote Ridge.”
Should I tell him? Maybe not. Did it matter?
“Earl. I’m fairly sure his name is Earl,” I said.
“I know an Earl,” nodded Jason. “Let me show you what we’re doing. Ever been to a basement brewery before?”
Could he be warming up to me? We walked back down the steps, went through a side door and turned into an ordinary garage that was now a brewing kitchen.
“Until we acquire some capital, this is where we make Coyote Ridge. We’re working on the recipe. Earl … probably the Earl that you know … is helping us with that. Although we’re trying to be scientific about the process, it’s more like trial and error. Developing the recipe for a high-quality beer has been … how do I say this … challenging. That’s why I’m not going to offer you a sip. Not yet. But we’re getting closer.”
“I’m impressed with your honesty,” I said.
“I firmly believe in transparency with our investors,” he said.
Stainless steel stoves, refrigeration, metal cabinets, hoses and large vats spread throughout the garage. It all looked official, but then, what did I know? I had never seen the inside of a small brewery before. He explained the process, step by step, but most of it was Greek to me.
“Understand?” he asked.
“Somewhat,” I said, somewhat confused on the finer points of beer making. “Quite the process. You can’t be the only one involved.”
“No, I have two partners.”
“And they are?” I asked.
“Friends.”
He wasn’t giving me much information.
“Travis something or other … he’s a partner, isn’t he?” I continued to prod.
“Tyler. Not Travis. You know him?” Jason tilted his head and stared at me.
“Not really. But I remember Earl talking about a relative being involved. I thought his name was Travis, but now that you mention it, it was Tyler. And your other partner?”
He walked back over to the door that led out of the garage brewery.
“Burk, another friend of mine. From college. Let’s go upstairs,” he said.
“He has experience making beer?” I questioned.
Jason laughed. “No. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. He’s more of a computer guy.”
Another Burk? Could it be the Burk I met? The swimmer? Mentioning that I knew him could come back to haunt me, especially if he set up a meeting with his partners and I was introduced as Arabella Stockman. But, not mentioning him had its problems, too.
I won’t say anything. Not yet.
I smiled and followed him up the steps. Once settled in his living room, I changed the subject. “How does this work? Do you do the brewing?”
“We all do. I live here, so it’s easier for me than the others. Bella, what are you looking to do here?”
If only I knew.
“A good investment,” I said. “I have money to spend. I don’t know much about beer, but if Earl recommends you … well, I trust him. And I like the name of your product.”
Did he buy it?
“We have a portfolio and a business plan that you might like to see,” he said.
Yes!
“Sure. That sounds like the right next step. Could I use your ladies’ room?”
He pointed down the hall. Once inside the bathroom, I checked the medicine cabinet. Nothing. I flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet for a few seconds, then walked out. He stood by the front door with a folder in his hand.
“Here you go. This should answer your questions.” He handed me the portfolio. Give me a call when you’re ready and I can introduce you to my partners.”
Not a chance.
“Well, it was nice to meet you. Thank you for showing me the setup. I’ll read this over and get back to you,” I said.
He smiled and we shook hands.
“Appreciate you stopping by. Say ‘hi’ to Earl for me.”
Then he all but shut the door in my face. Shaken, I walked down the pathway to my car, got in, and locked the door, my heart pumping loudly in my ears. I did not intend to meet his partners, especially if Burk would be there. I thought about it for a moment. Was this the Burk I met at the swim? How much of a coincidence would that be? I drove down the street to Judah, next to the streetcar turnaround.
I wondered if Jason had bought my act. I’d tried to come off as someone who had money to spend but was naïve about investing. Given the fact it was a start-up—not to mention how bad their current batch had turned out—I thought he would’ve been falling all over himself to snare me. But he didn’t seem that interested. In fact, it was almost like he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I parked and went into a surfer hangout on the corner and bought a cup of coffee. By the time I returned to the car, my vital signs had returned to something close to normal. The fog had lifted slightly and danced over the fleshy ice plants that covered the center divide. I couldn’t see the ocean, but it pounded and roared behind the grayness. I had turned my phone off while visiting Jason. When I switched it back on, it pinged incessantly. I pulled over to the curb before I reached the next stop sign. There were several texts … every single one of them from Lena.
Really?
U R a jerk.
Call me now.
Don’t be mad. Call me.
My earlier anger had drifted away like the fog. I’d have to connect with Lena eventually, but now was not the time. Before I started the car, I glanced to my right. Tyler stood on the corner. He rested against a beat-up mountain bike, a dark hoodie pulled tight around his face, his black hair sticking out around the edges. I opened the car door, but he motioned for me to stop.
“Stay there,” he said.
I launched myself out of the front seat. “I’ve been hunting for you for almost a week. Everyone is worried. Earl is a mess, and your parents flew down.”
I rushed toward him, stopping next to the bike.
“Keep your voice down,” he cautioned.
“No, not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t,” he said, backing up.
I grabbed onto the handlebars to keep him from moving. The drippy fog clung to his dirty black hair.
“Tyler.”
“You can’t tell anyone you saw me.”
“Why not?”
“I’m in trouble. Earl’s in trouble. Because of me. I had to disappear. And it needs to stay that way.”
“Does this have anything to do with the beer guy or your stalker at the radio station?”
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me or talked to me. Just stay out of it. And stay away from the house over the hill.”
“What house? What are you talking about?”
He yanked the handlebars out of my hands and pedaled down a path through the ice plants to the sidewalk across the street. I dashed after him but in the time it took to suck down a breath, he’d disappeared, consumed by the fog. A horn beeped behind me. I was standing in the middle of the Great Highway, my hands on my hips.
“Lady, do you need help?” called out a burly contractor in a truck.
“No, sorry.”
I jogged back across the median to my car, climbed in, started it up and turned on the windshield wipers. My heart thumped in my chest, again. Tyler was okay. I was so relieved. Relieved and troubled. Whatever the issue was, I had to find him and bring him back to Marin. For Earl.
I put the car in drive, moved toward Judah Street, then turned left until I was riding along the Great Highway. Ocean Beach and the Pacific Ocean were to my right, more ice plants to my left. I scanned each side of the road until I came to Sloat Avenue and the San Francisco Zoo. Cool fog silenced the neighborhood streets, and I thought about the thin hoodie Tyler wore. He must have been freezing.
Tyler could have stopped into any of the small restaurants and stores along Sloat or even ridden into the Zoo. I cruised up and down the street but soon gave up. A complete waste of time. I wasn’t going to find him if he didn’t want to be found. I headed toward 19th Avenue and the Golden Gate Bridge, switched on the heat and turned the windshield wipers up a notch while I went over the last few hours. Creepy Jason, the beer guy. Tyler, appearing like a ghost out of nowhere, warning me to stay away.
What could he have done that put him and Earl in harm’s way? Maybe Tyler had lost it. Stay away from the house over the hill? He’d sounded like a character in a scary movie. Give me a break.