“By taking the fall for a murder you didn’t commit?”
“No.” He picked up a fake apple and tossed it in the air. “I thought having a drink would calm her down, but she was fired up about Eddie and then insisted we go back to Nitro. She said she left something there. When we went back, everyone was gone. Your new brewing buddy filled a growler for us. I was planning to tell her last night that I had made a mistake and she had to back off. She’s latched on to me and doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not interested in a relationship.”
“Okay. I still don’t understand why you haven’t said all of this to Chief Meyers.”
“Because I’m worried about Hayley.”
“Why?”
“We came back here, and she broke down when I told her there was no future for us. She didn’t stay very long, but when she left, she took my lighter. She told me she was going out for a smoke.”
My mind raced to keep up with everything Mac was saying.
“Are you saying you think Hayley had something to do with Eddie’s death?”
Mac tossed the apple again and frowned. “I don’t know how she could have done it, but she hated Eddie.”
“She did?”
He nodded. “They broke up last month.”
“She and Eddie were a couple?”
“They dated for almost a year. I guess it turned nasty at the end.”
I couldn’t believe what Mac was saying. Hayley and Eddie had a history, she hated him, and she had left with his lighter right around the time Eddie had been killed. Maybe she wasn’t just a beer wench. Maybe she was a killer after all.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
“MAC, YOU DON’T HAVE A choice. You have to tell Chief Meyers this.”
He set the plastic apple back in the basket of fake fruit resting on the coffee table. “It doesn’t look good for Hayley.”
“It doesn’t look good for you!” I couldn’t stop myself from shouting. The man was infuriating sometimes. “Hayley is going to have to figure this out for herself. She’s a big girl, and you have a son to consider, Mac Krause.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you’re not acting like you understand the severity of this situation. Mac, your parents bailed you out of jail—jail!”
“Sloan, calm down. I’ll talk to the chief. I’ve got everything under control.”
I wanted to scream that he had nothing in control, but fighting with Mac was only going to make me feel worse. “Promise me you’ll talk to her first thing tomorrow,” I said, standing up.
“Yeah, like I said, I’ve got it under control.”
Lying came naturally to Mac. I could tell by the fact that he wasn’t making eye contact that he wasn’t being entirely truthful with me. “First thing tomorrow,” I repeated, with one hand on the door. “You’re going to talk to Chief Meyers tomorrow.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond. Mac was covering for the beer wench. I couldn’t believe it. How could he be so dumb? I walked to the elevators and punched the button to the lobby. He’d brought this on himself, and once again, I had to play the role of being the mature adult in our relationship.
When I stepped out of the elevator, something caught my eye. It was a security camera strategically positioned behind a potted plant. Cameras. Of course, the hotel must have security cameras throughout the lobby and probably on each floor. The footage would be able to pinpoint when Mac had arrived at the hotel last night and when Hayley left. I wondered if Chief Meyers had asked anyone for the video. The thought of facing Mac again was too daunting, so I plopped into one of the comfortable plush chairs in front of the fireplace and sent him a text about the cameras. Hopefully, he would come to his senses with a good night’s sleep and pass this on to Chief Meyers in the morning.
After I texted Mac, I sent Alex a message letting him know that I was on my way home and asking if he needed anything. Since our farmhouse was on the outskirts of town, I tried to consolidate trips to the grocery store and post office. He responded right away to let me know that he was fine and to “come home already!”
I grinned as I stepped outside. Mac might be harboring guilt over his fling—or whatever was going on between him and the beer wench—but I didn’t share his sentiments. My duty was to Alex, and I was going to see to it that Mac followed through on talking to Chief Meyers. Alex was at a crucial stage of his development, and he needed a dad around to help guide him through these formative teenage years.
My car was parked four blocks away on Commercial Street, so I retraced my steps through the village. The village was like a ghost town. The shops and restaurants had closed for the night and sat in a gloomy slumber. A shiver ran up my arm as a smattering of dried leaves whipped in the wind behind me.
It’s just a few leaves, Sloan, I told myself as I sped up. It was probably due to Eddie’s murder, but a strange and uncomfortable feeling invaded my body. I felt like I was being watched or followed. I stopped and checked behind me. For a minute I thought I caught a whiff of smoke. Maybe someone had a fire burning. Evenings were turning cool again—a sure sign that fall was right around the corner.
The street was dark and void of movement. At the edge of the shops, one restaurant, The Organ Grinder, was lit up. It stayed open after everyone else closed, mainly to serve waitstaff and bartenders who didn’t start their evenings until most people in Leavenworth were heading to bed. I let out a sigh of relief. No one was following me, and worst case scenario, if someone was, I could easily sprint up the street to The Organ Grinder. This was a time when having long legs was an asset.
I continued on, but didn’t get far before the tiny hairs on my arms stood at attention. The sound of footsteps approaching made me stop in my tracks. I whipped around and scanned the square.
“Hey, who’s here?” I called, trying to sound confident.
No one answered.
“I have pepper spray, and I’m not afraid to use it.” That was true. Mac had bought me pepper spray and made me swear that I would keep it in my purse. I’d thought it was ridiculous. Why would I need pepper spray in Leavenworth? He claimed that I might bump into a drunk college student or a vagrant passing through town. I disagreed. Nothing dangerous or sinister happened in our remote village, but I didn’t want to argue with him, so I stuck it in the bottom of my purse and forgot about it.
Now I fumbled through my purse trying to find it and trying to stay as calm as possible. My fingers landed on the small tube, and I yanked it out of my purse.
Something rustled in the gazebo. I held the pepper spray in one hand and repeated, “I’ll use this if I have to.”
Although I had no idea how. I’d never bothered to read the instructions because I never thought I would actually have a need for it.
I waited and listened.
The wind kicked up leaves and made the branches on the oak trees sway and quiver. What was wrong with me? Why would someone follow me? It’s just the wind, Sloan, I told myself, and raced on to my car. I kept the pepper spray clutched in my hand until I unlocked the front door, then quickly locked it again once I was safely inside.
Usually, I prided myself on being self-sufficient. I didn’t like feeling vulnerable and on edge like this. Alex was probably right. Hopefully, once I was home, I could relax, put this insane day behind me, and get some much needed sleep.
I pulled out onto Front Street. Relax, Sloan. You’re fine.
As I navigated out of downtown, I noticed a single headlight in my rearview mirror. At first I couldn’t decide if someone had a headlight out, but then I heard the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine. I didn’t think much of it until I turned onto the highway and the motorcycle swerved to the side and zoomed up to my window.
My heart lurched. The rider was dressed in a black leather jacket and matching black leather pants, and had a black motorcycle helmet shielding their face. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and eased off the gas.
The motorcycle didn’t pass
me. Instead it slowed and kept pace with my speed.
Keeping a firm grasp on the wheel, I turned to face the driver. Was something wrong? Could my brake lights be out? Was the rider trying to get my attention?
The driver pointed at me and then made a slicing motion across their neck.
What the hell?
My pulse pounded.
I wondered if I should pull over or slow down, but before I could decide what to do next, the cyclist revved their engine and sped off.
Maybe it hadn’t been the wind when I was walking through town. Maybe I had been followed. Could the motorcycle rider have followed me through the square and to my car? Why the slicing of the throat?
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just been warned. But why and about what?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
WHEN I GOT HOME, ALEX stared at me with concern. “Mom, are you okay? You look pretty messed up.”
“I do?” I stared at my jeans.
“Your braids look like Pippi Longstocking, and you look like you just saw a ghost or something.”
Why did he have to be so astute when it came to reading me? “I’m fine, bud. Tired, that’s all.” I kicked off my shoes and smoothed my hair. “Did you eat?”
“I had some soup. I saved you some.”
“You’re the best.” We went into the kitchen, and I warmed up a bowl of chicken corn chowder in the microwave.
Whenever I make a pot of soup, I double the recipe and freeze half of it. That way, when I’m in need of a quick and easy meal, I can grab a container of soup from the freezer and have dinner ready in a matter of minutes. The creamy steaming chowder smelled delicious as I removed it from the microwave and added a healthy dose of fresh ground pepper to the top. To make the chowder, I sauté onions, celery, garlic, carrots, and russet potatoes in bacon fat. Then I cover the veggies in homemade chicken stock, add shredded chicken, and frozen corn. I let it simmer on low for an hour until the potatoes are soft. When it’s time to serve, I purée corn in the blender and add it in, along with heavy cream. Then I finish it with bacon and shredded Irish cheddar cheese. It’s Alex’s favorite soup—it’s like comfort in a bowl.
Alex poured himself a glass of chocolate milk and opened a bag of peanut butter pretzels. He pulled out a barstool and sat next to me as I ate my soup. “Did you talk to Dad?”
I blew on the spoon and took a bite of the savory soup.
“I went to see him before I came home,” I said to Alex, and took another bite of the corn chowder.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine. You don’t need to worry. I’m sure that Chief Meyers is going to drop the charges tomorrow.”
“That’s good news, right?” He stuffed a handful of crunchy peanut butter pretzels into his mouth. The kid could eat around the clock and never gain an ounce of fat.
“Right. And, seriously, I know that things are crazy right now. I want to try and keep things as normal as possible for you.” I choked back a sob. “On that note, how’s your homework situation?”
“Mom, you’ve already said that, like, a million times, but I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle it.”
I reached over and ruffled his hair. “I know you’re not a kid, but it’s still my job to look out for you.”
He chugged his chocolate milk. “You’re such a mom.”
“Guilty as charged.” I scarfed down the rest of my soup, finally realizing how hungry I had been.
“My Xbox is calling,” Alex said, putting his glass in the sink. “See you in the morning, Mom.”
As I watched him lope down the hallway, I felt even more frustrated with Mac. Why would Mac risk our family’s stability for the beer wench? What did he know about her other than that she had the body of a twenty-year-old? The fact that she and Eddie had been a couple and had had a nasty breakup made me wonder if she could have decided to off him. But how? Eddie wasn’t a huge guy, but he must have weighed close to one hundred and seventy pounds. How could Hayley have moved him?
Or what if Eddie was already on the landing? Maybe she seized the opportunity and bashed his head in. The access hatch was at waist level, so if she clubbed Eddie on the back of the head, he could have fallen in. All she would have had to do at that point was stuff his legs inside.
That made logical sense. The question was what was Eddie doing with Garrett’s fermenter? Could he have been trying to sabotage the beer?
Questions ran through my head as I walked to the bathroom. What I needed at the moment was a long hot bath and to put everything else out of my mind. I filled the tub with blistering water, added a handful of lavender and rosemary sea salts, and lit a collection of fragrant candles lining the windowsill. Then I cracked the window and slid into the foamy water. Living in the country allowed me the luxury of bathing with the window open. I loved the feeling of cool fresh air funneling in from outside while I was soaking.
I let the tension and stress of the day melt away as I breathed in the steamy, herbed air. At some point I must have dozed off, because I startled awake when a gust of cold air blew out one of the candles. That’s your cue to get out, Sloan, I told myself as I drained the tub and dried off with a towel. I checked on Alex—some habits died hard—before I headed to bed. The intensity of the day must have taken a toll on him, too. He had fallen asleep on the couch with his Xbox game still playing on the TV and his controller tucked under his arm. I shut off the TV, moved the controller to the coffee table, and covered him with a fleece blanket. I couldn’t resist planting a soft kiss on his forehead.
Since I had kicked Mac out, I hadn’t been sleeping well, but with the day’s events, I had no trouble falling asleep. The minute my head hit the pillow, I was fast asleep. I woke the next morning to the sound of Alex moving around in the kitchen. Tying on a soft cotton bathrobe, I padded down the hallway to find him making eggs and toast.
“Morning, Mom.” He greeted me with a wide smile.
“Someone is up early and chipper. What time is it?”
He scrambled eggs on the open flame like a pro. “Not that early. You slept in.”
I glanced at the clock on the coffeepot. It was after seven thirty. “I did!”
“It’s good, Mom.” Reaching for a plate, he scooped eggs onto it and passed it to me. “You need to eat. I’m forcing breakfast on you whether you want it or not.”
“I want it. It looks and smells incredible. Thanks.” I took the plate and kissed the top of his head. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine. I got a text from Dad this morning.”
“Already?” Waking up at seven thirty might have been sleeping in for me, but Mac would have considered it an ungodly hour. He preferred to start his day once the sun was fully overhead. It was a brewer thing. Most brewers tended to work late nights since pubs didn’t open until the afternoon.
“He said he has an early meeting with the police chief and wondered if I wanted a ride to school.”
Thank goodness. Mac had listened for once and was taking my advice.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I told him that would be great. I thought maybe you would sleep later.”
“That’s sweet, and these are fantastic.” I pointed to my plate of eggs. Alex was a natural cook. It was in his DNA, plus he had also benefited from many cooking lessons with Ursula. His eggs were light and fluffy, and scrambled with spicy Italian sausage and red peppers.
The toaster dinged. That was another luxury item that Mac had insisted on purchasing for the kitchen, not that he ever used it. It was a top-of-the-line model with a shiny butter-yellow finish and more settings and dials than a small airplane. It could bake a pizza or simply brown toast.
“You want some?” Alex asked as he removed two slices of bread and began liberally slathering them with lemon curd.
“I’ll stick with your eggs.” To prove my point, I stabbed the eggs and took another bite. “Delicious. When is your dad coming?”
Alex looked at his ce
ll phone. “Soon. I better get moving.” He folded a slice of toast in half. Lemon curd oozed out of the sides. He licked his hand and consumed the entire piece of toast in one bite. Then he inhaled eggs and gulped two glasses of orange juice.
“Do you need a lunch?” I asked, standing to put my plate in the sink.
“Nah, it’s Thursday, and that means pizza party in math class.”
For Alex a pizza party in class was a bonus day of fun, but growing up in the foster care system had meant that class parties were often the only kind of party I had experienced as a kid. The first time I ever had a birthday party was when I turned thirteen. The foster family I was staying with then had eight other kids, but my foster mom made sure that everyone’s birthday was recognized with a family dinner and a birthday cake. She even asked me what kind of cake I wanted. I was so floored by her kindness that I couldn’t answer. I’ll never forget that meal. It wasn’t fancy, and quite honestly she wasn’t the best cook, but that birthday meal was the best thing I had ever tasted. We had tacos with gobs of nacho cheese and beans out of a can, and she made me a pink strawberry layer cake with strawberry jam and marshmallow cream frosting. It was the most beautiful cake I’d ever seen, with mounds of cloud-like frosting and pink sprinkles. When I learned from my social worker a few weeks later that I’d been placed in a new foster home, I cried for two days.
“Pizza party, that’s fun,” I said to Alex, shoving my memories back inside.
“It’s better than a test,” he replied with a grin.
A honk sounded outside.
“That’s Dad, I gotta run. See you tonight.” He kissed my cheek, grabbed his backpack, and ran for the door.
I was both relieved and irritated that Mac had blared the horn instead of coming inside. It was probably better. I didn’t want to get in any kind of a disagreement in front of Alex. After I put our breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and got dressed, I decided to head to Nitro. Garrett wouldn’t be moving yet, which would give me time to work on my test batches and clear my head. Today was a new day, and I couldn’t wait to start steeping grains and boiling hops.
Death on Tap Page 12
