Jenny’s face flamed with color. “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It didn’t take an expert to see that she was lying. “Liv’s car was damaged last night. Someone poured paint all over it.”
She let out an audible gasp, but didn’t admit to anything. “They’re going to arrest me. Am I going to go to jail? I can’t go to jail! I’m a Kappa Gamma. What will my sorority sisters think?”
Worrying what her friends would think summed up Jenny’s vapid personality. Maybe she and Kevin deserved each other after all. “I don’t know. I don’t know enough about the investigation.”
“You have to believe me. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t even talk to her. I was jealous. That’s all. Kev was totally hitting on her, and she shot him down. I guess it just got under my skin, you know? I’ve been into him for three years now. He could care less, but he sees her for five minutes and is ready to take her out. It’s so unfair. I know it wasn’t her fault. I know he’s a jerk. Mel tells me all the time, but I can’t stop loving him. How do you do that?”
“If I had the answer to that question, I would be a wise woman.” I felt sorry for her. Over the years, I had developed an ability to read most people, and Jenny seemed sincere. Obsessed with the wrong guy, but not a killer.
“The worst part is Kev doesn’t know any of this. I’m going to end up in jail for him, and why? Because I followed that woman down to the park? I peeked into her room? I’m stupid, but I didn’t kill her.”
“And that’s all you did?” I pressed.
She hesitated. “Uh, yeah.”
“Maybe you should go try and relax for a little while. Take a nap or a bath. I’m sure that Chief Meyers will be reasonable, and it sounds like your family is offering lots of support.”
She cradled her tea. “Yeah, that’s why I wanted the towels. We didn’t have any in our room, and I thought if I took a bath, I might be able to calm down.”
“You didn’t have any towels?”
“No. Not a single one. Kev looked for some too, but he couldn’t find any.”
That was odd. I knew for a fact that I had stocked their room with plenty of towels.
Jenny set her tea on the table. “Thanks for the tea and towels and for listening to me. I know I sound like I’m unstable, but I’m not. I can’t go to jail, though. I just got my first real job as a buyer for one of the highest-end department stores in Seattle. What am I going to tell my boss? They’ll probably fire me, won’t they?”
She was starting to spin out of control. I placed my hand on her knee. “Go take a bath. Try and focus on your breathing. There’s no need to worry about anything at this stage.”
“Okay.” She took the towels and left.
There was a chance that I was reading her wrong, but I didn’t think she had killed Liv. She sounded sincere and, more than anything, scared. She had also given me another clue to go on. Someone else had been in Liv’s room before Jenny. Who? And could whoever had rummaged through Liv’s things have been looking for something important? Something worth killing for?
CHAPTER
EIGHT
CONCENTRATING ON OUR CUSTOMERS HELPED slow the spinning spiral of thoughts in my head. That was until Mac showed up. He and I had been trying to find a new way of operating in the world, or better yet, in our small village, but we hadn’t reached an equilibrium yet. Mainly, my strategy had been trying to avoid him.
Mac strolled into Nitro like he owned the place, pausing at high-top tables to chat up our customers. Mac had a natural charisma that was hard to deny. My friends used to call him the “golden one” because of his light blond locks and his ability to turn almost anything he touched into gold. Of course behind his charm, there was a different side. A side I had gotten to know well during our years together. Mac was prone to jealousy and had a constant need to be the center of attention. Living with him had been exhausting at times, especially when he’d call on a whim to tell me we were hosting an impromptu party for two dozen of his “closest” friends.
“Hey, Sloan.” He flashed me a flirty grin and sat at an empty barstool, placing a satchel on the stool next to him.
His playful smile evaporated the minute he saw Garrett. “Oh, hey.”
Garrett greeted him like any other guest, smiling and tossing him one of our signature coasters.
“I thought you were getting Alex?” I asked, lifting the sleeve of my hoodie to check the time.
“He got a better offer. A bunch of his friends invited him up to the ski hill.”
“Ah.” I noticed that Mac had trimmed down since our breakup. In recent years, he had put on a few extra pounds due to sampling too much of Der Keller’s product line, but now his waist looked trim. “I’ll get you a pint of the stout.”
He reached into his satchel and grabbed a stack of paperwork.
So he intended to stay for a while. Great.
“What’s up with Chief Meyers?” he asked, taking the chocolate-toned beer from me. “She’s got half the block closed off.”
“A woman was found in the river.”
“That’s horrible.” Mac locked his baby blues on me. His gaze used to make me feel dizzy. It didn’t anymore.
I gave him the condensed version of the morning’s events.
“Damn, Sloan. I’m sorry. That sucks for you guys.”
I knew that Mac was sincere, but I didn’t want his sympathy.
He changed the subject. “Have you talked to my mom lately?”
My breath caught in my throat. Ursula had been the mother I had always dreamed of. When I met her and Otto, it was love at first sight. They welcomed me into their family, taught me their craft, and enveloped me in the German heritage. Ursula had been kind and loving without being overbearing. She had given Mac and me our own space, while at the same time making herself available to help care for Alex when he was young or dropping off a pot of goulash for dinner on busy work nights. Ever since Sally’s phone call, I had been going out of my way to make sure that I had little to no interaction with Otto and Ursula. Being a product of the foster care system meant that trust had never come easily to me, but Sally was the exception to the rule. As my case worker, it had been her responsibility to ensure my well-being. She had done that and more. Even as a child, I knew that Sally’s care and concern for me went beyond her professional duties. When she had come to see me in Leavenworth a few months ago, that had been confirmed. She had explained that she had tried to adopt me, only to be denied. Her supervisor had claimed that she was too old and too single to adopt. What was even worse, though, was that someone above her went out of their way to try and erode my trust in Sally. Not long after Sally placed the adoption request, she began getting transfer notices for me. Every few months, she was forced to move me.
Recently Sally had learned that my case files had gone missing—all of them. Years’ worth of documented court-ordered visits entirely erased from the records. She was convinced that there was a connection with the Krauses. I kept hoping that she was wrong, but the more time that passed, the more likely it seemed that Otto and Ursula were lying. Ursula had confirmed that herself. She had told me that she knew my mother and decided to keep that information from me for my entire adult life. Why? I wanted to believe that she had a good reason, but it was becoming more challenging to accept.
Sally was due to arrive tomorrow. I had waited this long to find answers about my parents; another few hours shouldn’t matter, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until then.
Worry flooded my body as Mac waited for my response. Did he know? Had Ursula said something to him?
“No, I haven’t talked to her for a while. Things have been slammed here, trying to get everything brewed for the IceFest and launching our guest rooms. Why?”
“No reason. It’s probably nothing. She’s been quiet lately. That’s all.” Mac was horrible at hiding his emotions. His eyes betrayed him. They held a deep concern. He was obviously worried about Ursula.
<
br /> Hopefully, Sally would have some answers for me. I couldn’t go on avoiding the entire Krause family, especially since Otto and Ursula had generously gifted me a large percentage of ownership in Der Keller. Hans, Mac, and I were long overdue for a meeting to discuss next steps. Der Keller was about to undertake its largest expansion in the past decade. After much deliberation, we had decided to switch from bottles to cans for distributing Der Keller’s award-winning German beers. There were a number of reasons for the switch, but the top of the list was the reduced environmental impact. Cans are lighter than bottles, meaning that their carbon footprint is also lighter. They require much less packaging material and are made of more recycled materials than bottles. Not to mention that the design options for cans offered endless creative possibilities.
Mac must have read my mind. “Hans stopped by the brewery this morning and wants to know when you’re free for dinner. We need to decide about some new hires and the swap to cans. It’s going to be a major undertaking, and since you and my brother have both deserted me, we’re going to have to hire more help.”
Like many other large breweries, Der Keller had traditionally bottled its beer for distribution. Otto and Ursula’s humble brewing roots had evolved into a major operation. Der Keller employed dozens of locals in its restaurant, pub, brewery, bottling plant, and distribution center. Prior to our split, Mac had enjoyed being the face of Der Keller. He would usually saunter into the brewery sometime late in the morning and make his rounds, which involved flirting with the barmaids and high-fiving the bartenders. It used to drive me crazy. Mac’s work ethic rivaled that of a sloth. His idea of a strenuous workday was schmoozing with vendors over a long beer-fueled lunch and keeping office hours for employees to come air any complaints. Not that anyone ever took him up on his offer. Otto and Ursula treated their employees well, providing them with generous benefit packages, free food and beer, and plenty of extra perks—like Der Keller merch, trips to brewfests throughout the country, and employee picnics, rafting adventures, and ski weekends.
For many years, it had been me and Otto in the brewery early every morning. I had loved the ritual of starting each day with my father-in-law, who imparted his wisdom on the craft and life in general while cleaning the brite tanks or walking me through how to restart the filtration system.
Those days are behind you, I reminded myself as I focused on Mac. The one thing I could say about my soon-to-be ex was that in the past few months, he had been more engaged in brewery operations than in the entire time I had known him. It was evident in everything, including his attire. Gone were the Der Keller T-shirts and lederhosen. They had been replaced with black slacks and black button-up shirts with the Der Keller crest embroidered on the pocket.
“When do you want to meet?” I asked.
“Tonight?” Mac looked hopeful.
“I can’t.” I motioned to the busy tasting room. “Chief Meyers has us on semi-lockdown.”
“We can come here.” He tapped the file folder. “I have a ton of spreadsheets to review, on top of finalizing the candidates.”
Spreadsheets? Did Mac even know what a spreadsheet was?
His offer caught me off guard. “Uh. I guess.”
“Okay. Tonight. How about seven?”
“But what about Alex? Tonight is your night with him.” I tugged on the strings of my hoodie. If I could hold Mac off until after Sally’s visit, I would feel much better.
Mac waved me off. “He told me not to wait on him for dinner. They’re going to ski until the lifts close and then grab pizza. This is our future, you realize. His friends have more sway than us now.”
So much for using our son as an excuse.
“Sloan, I know what you’re doing. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, but it’s not going to work. I know I screwed up. I ruined everything.” His voice turned husky. “I’ll apologize to you until my dying day if that’s what it takes, but we have to call a truce and put whatever is between us aside and focus on the business. Der Keller is floundering, and I don’t want that on my shoulders, too.”
I was surprised by his candor and his maturity. Usually I had to rein Mac in, especially when it came to spending. Had he taken a serious look at his life? Maybe our split was better for him than I had imagined. The man sitting in front of me was a shadow of the man who had cheated on me with the beer wench a few months ago.
“Okay. That’s fine. Tonight will work. I’ll see you and Hans here at seven.” I left him to take a drink order. It was probably good that he was forcing my hand. Otherwise I could live in denial, cutting off my connection with the Krauses, for a long time.
Mac nursed his dark chocolate stout at the end of the bar while I circulated through the tasting room. The vibe was subdued. Most likely because the reflection of the police lights outside danced on the windows and cement floor. I wondered how long Chief Meyers would have the park shut down. They had been on the scene for hours now. She had said that she intended to interview everyone who had been at Nitro last night, but I wasn’t sure if she meant that she would hold court here at the pub or bring each witness to the small police office on the edge of the village.
The other unknown was what to do with Liv’s things. Would her family come to pick them up? Was that our job, or would Chief Meyers have one of her officers take care of that? The thought of packing up a dead woman’s clothes made my throat tighten and my eyes begin to well.
Poor Liv. What did I know about the young woman? She was in her late twenties. She had said that she had come to Leavenworth for the weekend. But why? Was she on business? Pleasure? She hadn’t brought any ski or winter gear. The lights were certainly a draw, but were they enough to bring a single woman to town for the weekend? If only we had had a chance to finish our conversation last night. What had she wanted to confess? It couldn’t be a coincidence that she had said she needed to get something terrible off of her chest only to end up dead the next morning, could it?
I wanted to talk to Brad. His reaction to seeing Liv at the bar had been visceral. The challenge was going to be getting him alone, without Ali. I didn’t think he would be likely to open up about why he had recoiled at the sight of Liv with his wife sitting nearby.
I was in the brewery measuring the gravity of our latest work in progress—a hoppy pale ale that we intended to debut in early spring. Garrett and I used his old home brewing equipment to test smaller batches of our experimental brews. This creation had been fermenting in a five-gallon carboy for the last week. It would yield us about forty pints of beer. Once this pale had reached final gravity, we’d serve it on our special rotating tap and get feedback from locals before repeating the brewing process on a greater scale. I enjoyed the process of brewing smaller batches. It allowed us to stretch our creativity and try unique flavor combinations that we might not be as willing to test when brewing for the masses, and it involved our customers. I loved collecting their tasting notes at the end of an evening to see their feedback on our works in progress.
“Sloan!” I heard Garrett call from the side door that led to the back alleyway. “Can you come out here?”
I dried my hands on a dish towel and went to see what Garrett needed. We mainly used the side door for deliveries and to take out the recycling and trash.
Garrett stood next to the recycling bins holding a bundle of paint-covered towels.
“Where did you find those?” I yanked my hood over my head to shield myself from the cold.
“There.” Garrett pointed to a blue and yellow splotch on the snow near the garbage cans.
“Someone must have used our guest towels to clean up after they dumped paint on Liv’s car,” I theorized.
“Exactly.” Garrett set the towels back where he’d found them. “Do you recognize these colors?”
“It’s our paint, too, isn’t it?” I did recognize the yellow and blue hues that we had used in the water and hops guest rooms. My thoughts immediately went to Jenny. She had just asked for more towels. She had to be l
ying about vandalizing Liv’s car.
“I’m going to find the chief,” Garrett said, his hands dripping with soggy paint. “Let’s make sure this door stays locked.”
“Will do.” I returned to the brewery, where I took a sample using a beer thief and poured the straw-colored liquid into a tasting glass. The beer thief, or sample thief, as they were sometimes called, was a long plastic device with a gravity valve on the base. It was used to swipe samples from the fermenter.
I heard a crash.
Was someone in the brewery? Garrett and I had put up very clear signage prohibiting customers from entering the back area. We offered guided tours of our brewing operation whenever someone asked or during busy festival weekends, but we didn’t want people wandering around the industrial fermenting tanks or tripping over heavy bags of grain. The brewery could be a dangerous place.
I rested the beer thief on the stainless steel workstation and moved toward the sound of voices.
Ali and Brad were in the brewery, standing right next to a sign that read NO ENTRANCE. The long distressed bar was the only thing that separated the front area from the converted warehouse where our brewing operations were housed. Shortly after opening Nitro, we realized that we needed signage to keep people from wandering into the back to examine the clarifying tanks and pegboard wall where dozens of hoses, fittings, and brushes were arranged in a specific and orderly fashion. (That was one of the great things about working with a scientist turned brewer. I could always count on Garrett to have the brewing equipment organized and tidy.) We allowed guests into the brewery during tours, but otherwise it was clearly marked as off-limits.
I was surprised to see Brad and Ali had disregarded our signage.
Unlike yesterday, when they hadn’t been able to contain their PDA, Ali’s body language exuded negativity. She had her arms crossed against her chest. Her face was strained with anger.
“Why was she here, Brad?” She practically spit as she spoke.
“I have no idea. You have to believe me, Al,” Brad pleaded. “We’ve been over this, like, a thousand times. I was as surprised as you to see her at the bar last night.”
Without a Brew Page 7
