Free Pint of No Return by L.M. Fortin Page B

for them until they get delivered.  How are you going to manage that?”
    “I thought we could substitute a different glass for just a little higher cost.  It’s an eight ounce glass, not a four ounce one as you wanted, but it’s something we have in stock.”
    “How long would it take you to turn those around with the imprinting?”  Callie wasn’t happy with the idea of a price increase.  She was also conscious the larger glasses could lead to larger servings.  As the manager of a brew fest, she had to find ways to keep a lid on people’s consumption of beer.  She wasn’t going to be thrilled to explain any changes in the glasses to Ethan Fillmer.  He’d find some way to complain about it.  
    “If you let me know by this Friday, I can have them to you by your original arrival date.”  As Callie didn’t have any place to store three thousand glasses, she had set them to arrive the day before the brew fest and to be delivered to the Johnson Pavilion directly.
    Callie said goodbye without committing to the new glasses.  She had a couple of days to explore other options.  For the moment, she would let the problem marinate and get on with her day.
    As its main brewing operations were no longer located in the heart of town, Magic Waters had a warehouse and tasting room located off of River Road near the train tracks.  Callie followed the signs down a gravel driveway and pulled into a small parking lot outside the tasting room.  The tall, thin building was obviously once a farm house, with its pointed roof and dormer windows.  The house still had its original charm, and only a low sign in front of the porch identified it as a commercial establishment.  That, and the large gray warehouse that stretched out behind it.
    As Callie got out of the car, she heard a sharp bark, and a medium sized orange and white Brittany spaniel came bounding down the stairs.  His orange ears contrasted against his white fur.  The white was mottled with liver colored spots and he wore a red and white bandanna tied around his neck.
    “Hops!  Get back here!” said a man’s voice from inside the house.
    Callie assumed the dog was Hops and, as the dog sat patiently by her feet, she leaned over and rubbed his ears.  “Good boy,” she said.  Hops responded to that with a tongue swipe to her fingers and scooted closer to her, leaning on her leg.  For a second she was surprised at the unconditional affection from the dog.  It didn’t look as if she would get the chance to be showing anyone affection herself in the near future.  Darn that Scott McMillan anyway.  After leaving him a few messages that went unreturned, she had stopped reaching out to him and had heard nothing from him since mid-October.
    “If he bothers you, just let me know and I’ll put him in his kennel out back,” said a tall, thin man coming down the stairs.  He wore a blue long-sleeve collared work shirt and well-worn jeans.  He had bristle stiff gray hair and looked to be in his late sixties. Callie thought he looked familiar.
    “I think I’m here to see Ethan?” she asked.
    “No, he’s thinking it would be best if you talked with me, as I’m making the beer for the competition.  I’m his dad, Floyd Fillmer,” he said, putting out his hand.  “And I see you’ve met Hops.”
    Callie laughed.  “Yes, and he’s not a bother at all.”  Hops stood, his orange ears cocked up as if he knew she was speaking of him and wagged his tail.  “He seems like a smart one.”
    “Hops is definitely one of a kind.  He’s just a year old, so he’s still got some manners to learn.”
    Callie remembered her own manners.  “I’m Callie Stone.  I’m working with the Skinner Bru-topia.”
    “That’s what Ethan said.  He runs the day to day operations of the brewery and I just work on special projects now.  I like to think I’m semi-retired,” he said.  “Let’s go inside.”
    They climbed the stairs and entered a large open space