“We’re looking into everything at the moment. I’m off to see Ross next, so I have no intel on what’s happening with the Underground, but I have to tell you, Sloan, that there’s some pretty incriminating evidence stacking up against April right now, not just the cuts and bruises.”
“Do you really think she could have done it?”
Chief Meyers was noncommittal. “Stranger things have happened. Not many, but you never know.”
I left feeling conflicted. It would have been smartest to leave the situation alone, and yet I felt strangely compelled to help April.
Bad idea, Sloan, I heard my inner voice respond. April Ablin is your nemesis. Would she go out of her way to help you?
Probably not, I answered back. But then again, I wasn’t sure. April was annoying, but she had shown flashes of kindness. Usually followed up with some kind of a snarky response or underhanded comment. The most appealing reason to help April wasn’t entirely selfless. If she owed me a favor, maybe I could get her off our backs once and for all about making Nitro more “in line” with Leavenworth’s aesthetic, as she constantly liked to remind us.
April had been insisting—no, demanding—that we adhere to the village’s guidelines on businesses in the downtown corridor. Much to her chagrin, we were well within our right to do whatever we determined with the interior of Nitro’s building, while ensuring that the outside façade remained a replica of a German utopia. According to city code, every commercial building in the village had to maintain a Bavarian aesthetic, but there were no regulations about interior designs. Garrett had been extremely cautious about adhering to city code when he began renovations on his great-aunt Tess’s inn. He had given the inn’s chocolate brown balcony and spires a fresh coat of paint and stained the lion’s head that was carved into the peak of the roof. From the outside, Nitro looked like it belonged in a pastoral village. The inside was where Garrett’s vision for blending his love of science and the craft of brewing came to life. I liked the fact that we got the best of both worlds—German charm and modern designs. Nitro wasn’t alone. Sure, there were a handful of businesses that went all in with the German kitsch, decking their interiors with cuckoo clocks and lederhosen, but most of our fellow business owners in the village opted for a more modern store layout inside.
I headed for the German deli. There were many unanswered questions, like how had April injured her arm if she hadn’t killed Kristopher? And why was she meeting Kristopher in her office this morning? I wished that I had had more time with her.
The deli had red, yellow, and black German flags strung above the front door. It was one of the most authentic shops in town. I weaved through rows of imported German candy—licorice, marzipan, Black Forest gummy bears. I always liked to stop and browse the interesting imports in the housewares aisle like German pottery, spätzle presses, and Feuerzangenbowle, a terracotta fire punch cup set.
There was a short line waiting for sausages and the house special—sauerkraut made daily in huge vats. A mural depicting a scene from an outdoor German market had been painted behind the deli counter. I drooled at the sight of giant cured pickles and the scent of fresh baked bread.
“Sloan, what can I get you?” the butcher asked when it was my turn. He was a portly man with a wide smile. I’d never seen him without an apron and matching white butcher’s hat.
I had been eyeing a platter of Kartoffelkloesse, simple but delicious German potato dumplings. The melt-in-your-mouth dumplings were stuffed with buttery croutons and best eaten with warm sausage gravy.
“I’ll take a double order of the dumplings with extra gravy, and a side of the red cabbage and apples.”
“Excellent choice.” The butcher packaged up my lunch order. I hoped that Kat and Garrett would enjoy a classic German feast, since I had originally suggested picking up sandwiches. I didn’t think that they would mind. One of the benefits of living in Leavenworth was the vast array of authentic Bavarian cuisine. The dumplings smelled so delicious that I briefly considered keeping them all for myself.
As I left the deli, I couldn’t stop thinking about April. Chief Meyers was right. It didn’t look good for her. If Hans hadn’t held her back, she might have pummeled Kristopher last night. Had her obsessive love for Leavenworth finally gotten the best of her?
CHAPTER
NINE
ON MY WAY FROM THE deli, I made a quick stop at the pizza shop to place an order that I could pick up on the way home later.
When I arrived at Nitro, I noticed that Kat had propped the open sign on the sidewalk. She waved as I came inside. There were five or six people I recognized drinking afternoon pints at the bar and at a few of the high-top tables. I didn’t stop to mingle. Instead, I stopped at the bar to check in with Kat.
“How’s it going?” I rested the food on the edge of the distressed wood bar. “I got us lunch.”
Kat tucked her abundant curls behind her ears and leaned over to take a whiff. “Wow. That smells awesome.”
“Are you ready for a break?”
She shook her head. “No. If you don’t mind, I’ll take my break after you eat. I just poured a taster tray for that table by the window. I’m trying out some of what you’ve taught me.” She reached under the bar and pulled out a notebook. “I jotted down notes on what each of them usually drink, and I made guesses on which of our beers they’ll like the best. I told them that I’m training, and they thought it would be fun to put me to the test. Once they finish the taster tray, we’re going to compare my guesses with the beers they actually liked best.”
“I love it. Let me know how it goes.” I crossed my fingers for her and picked up the food.
Garrett was in the office. I knocked on the door and held up the bag. “Lunch is delivered. I’ll get it plated up in the kitchen. Come on in whenever hunger calls.”
He shot me an okay sign. “Thanks. Be there in a sec.”
I went to the kitchen and divided the dumplings into three portions and slathered them with gravy. I heated the first plate. Once the microwave dinged, I put in the second plate and scooped the red cabbage salad onto the warmed plate.
“What is that smell?” Garrett asked, coming into the kitchen.
I handed him the warm plate. “Give it a try. I hope you like it.”
“I know I like it. I don’t have to taste it, it smells amazing.” He cut into one of the puffy dumplings.
I followed suit. The buttery pastry melted in my mouth, as did the spicy sausage gravy. “I saw April Ablin.”
Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I don’t know what to think. April doesn’t seem like a killer, but she wasn’t acting like herself. You missed most of the action last night, but she was seriously ready to jump on Kristopher. I’ve never seen her that furious. Her face was as red as the cranberries.” I went on to tell him about the scratches and bruises.
“I can’t believe I missed it. By the time I left everyone was gone.” Garrett helped himself to another bite. “Did Chief Meyers mention the cause of death?”
“No, she didn’t, and I didn’t ask. I should have.” I kicked myself internally. Why hadn’t I asked Chief Meyers when I’d had the chance?
“It’s not your job, Sloan.” He stabbed his fork into one of the dumplings. “I’m sure the chief is investigating every angle and lead.”
“Right, but if there was a fight that led to Kristopher’s murder, then it’s no wonder that the chief arrested April. She alluded to the fact that there was circumstantial evidence pointing to April.”
Garrett was thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t see April as a killer, but I guess stranger things have happened.”
“That’s verbatim what Chief Meyers said.” I dipped a bite of dumpling in the gravy. “The problem is now I feel like I have to help April. How did that happen?”
Garrett threw his head back and laughed. “It’s the con of being a nice person, Sloan. Maybe you should try being mean for a while.”
&n
bsp; “Maybe.” The conversation shifted. We discussed beer recipes while we finished our lunch, then I went to relieve Kat at the bar.
“Well, how did the tasting quiz go?” I asked, glancing toward the front table where the group was sipping pints.
“Not bad.” Kat showed me her score sheet. “I got two out of three. The last one threw me because the woman said that she doesn’t like hops and usually drinks ciders. I suggested our honey wheat ale, since it’s not hoppy and a little sweet. Guess which her favorite was?”
“Pucker Up?”
Kat folded her arms across her chest and glared. “How did you know? I don’t get it. She said she doesn’t like hops, and that’s the hoppiest beer we serve.”
“True. And, honey wheat would definitely appeal to a non-hops lover, but Pucker Up is brewed with Citra hops. It has such an intense citrus flavor, much like a cider. I’m not surprised she liked it.”
“I bow down to you.” Kat gave me a half bow. “I was way off on that one. I guess I have a lot more to learn.”
“You’re doing great. Remember, I’ve been in this business for twenty years, and I’m still learning new things every day,” I reassured her. “Potato dumplings and sausage are waiting for you in the kitchen. Microwave it for a minute and then serve yourself some red cabbage on the side.”
“Thanks.” Kat grinned. “You and Garrett are the best.”
I took over the bar and sent her on break. I felt maternal toward her. She wasn’t that much older than Alex. It was also no secret that I had attachment issues. Bouncing between foster homes during my early and late childhood had meant that I had developed a thick skin and a natural skepticism about people’s motives. I didn’t trust easily, with one exception—the Krauses. Their unconditional love for their sons and for the community of friends they had created in Leavenworth had given me a glimpse into what it meant to have a family. Under the protection of their caring arms, I had slowly let down my guard. It hadn’t come easy. Otto and Ursula were persistently patient. They must have recognized that my sense of abandonment ran deep. Deeper than even I could see. I remember many evenings gathered around their family table. After dinner Ursula would brew a strong pot of coffee and bring out one of her wonderful desserts. She and Otto would regale us with stories of the old world while we sipped coffee and savored slices of cake.
In the early days of knowing them, I didn’t say much. I was more comfortable listening. Ursula would ask gentle questions to draw me out. She never ventured into the territory of my past or asked anything that might trigger an emotional response. Our conversations typically drifted to food and the art of brewing. Hans and Mac would have fiery debates about Der Keller’s future. Mac was always on the hunt for the newest trend. Hans wanted Der Keller to maintain its well-earned reputation for being one of the founders of craft brewing in the region. He wasn’t opposed to expanding the brand, but he was cautious in his approach. Mac, on the other hand, wanted Der Keller on every tap from the northernmost corner of Washington to the southernmost corner of California. From there he had grand plans for national expansion and exporting to Germany.
Der Keller had a large distribution area throughout Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Northern California, but none of the other Krause family members were interested in expanding brewing operations like Mac. Leavenworth was home. As Otto would say, “When you live in a place as beautiful as ziz, why would you ever want to leave?”
Ursula had a way of reining Mac in without crushing his dreams. It was a balancing act that I was always impressed with. Her watchful eyes would follow along as he expressed his desires to conquer the beer world. She would allow him to talk, listening without interruption. When he would finish, she would clasp her hands together and nod. “Ja, ziz is a vonderful idea, son. It is good if you spend some time zinking and planning it. You can give us a proposal, ja?”
She was a master. Mac would never follow through with the level of work that any of his grand schemes required. She knew it. And so did he.
I should have been more like Ursula. The realist in me could never get past some of his most outlandish ideas—like franchising Der Keller in all fifty states. If I had gone along with his dreams, would things have eroded between us?
“Sloan. Hey, Sloan.” A voice brought me back into reality.
I looked up to see Hans on the opposite side of the bar.
“I’m going to guess that the faraway look in your eyes has nothing to do with beer, am I right?” Hans propped one elbow on the top of the bar. “The counselor is in, if you pour me a pint.”
Hans was joking, but he wasn’t far off. He had inherited his mother’s ability to size someone up in a matter of seconds.
“Pouring pints is what I do. What can I get you?” I motioned to the tap handles.
Hans didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take a Pucker Up IPA while you’ve still got it.”
I reached for a cold glass, angled it under the tap handle, and slowly began to pour.
“Don’t worry. This is our bestselling beer. We’re going to keep it on rotation throughout the year.”
Hans watched me pour.
“I’m guessing you heard about April?” I asked over my shoulder.
He rested a tan forearm on the bar. “The rumor mill has been working overtime, that’s for sure. I can’t picture April as a killer. She has too much to lose.”
I glanced at the bar and tasting room. There were only four customers in the pub. Two older gentlemen were playing chess at a high-top table, and a younger couple was sampling one of our taster flights.
“Me too. Although I think she’s hiding something. I’m just not sure what.” I capped off Hans’s pint with a frothy layer of foam. “Do you know much about Ross?”
“Ross?” Hans took the pint and looked thoughtful for a moment. “The owner of the Underground?”
“Yeah.” I nodded and took another quick look to make sure no one was listening. “He’s been in Leavenworth a long time, right? I can’t remember, but I feel like the Underground opened when Alex was in preschool.”
“That sounds right.” Hans smelled his beer. I recognized the familiar step immediately. Any professional brewer smells and appraises a beer before drinking it. Brewing was ingrained in Hans whether he realized it or not. The irony was that Hans had a much more natural gift when it came to his palate than Mac.
“Why do you ask?”
“I went to see April at Chief Meyers’s office, and she told me that Ross and Kristopher got in a fight after the meeting last night, and earlier I noticed that the bar is shut down. Ross said something about electrical issues, but he was begging whoever he was talking to when I saw him to keep the bar open.”
“Really? I don’t know anything about the Underground being shut down, but I can ask around.” Hans closed his eyes while he took a sip of the beer. A hint of a smile passed across his face. “You and Garrett sure know how to brew, Sloan.”
“Thanks.” I appreciated the compliment.
He took a larger sip and then rested the pint glass on the bar. His hands were rough from years of being scuffed up from sandpaper. “I’m trying to think through how everything went down last night. It was so…” He searched for the right word.
“Not Leavenworth-like?” I offered.
“Yeah. Come to think of it, after the fight broke up, Kristopher came back to Der Keller about fifteen or twenty minutes later. He was still trying to rile people up and was handing out campaign brochures to anyone who would take one.”
“Let me guess—no one bit?”
Hans raised his pint glass. “Not a single person.” His light brown eyes met mine.
“Hmmm. I’m not sure how that plays into the timeline of his murder. I saw him with April, Ross, Conrad, and Valerie on my way to the car. April claims he and Ross were fighting when she left, but maybe she is lying.” I reached under the counter for a Tupperware of popcorn and a bag of Doritos. Garrett and I had learned early on that we both shared a serious addiction to
the nacho-cheese chips. “Do you want something to snack on with your beer?”
Hans started to refuse. “I’m good.”
I cracked open the Tupperware and held it out for him to smell. “It’s your mom’s recipe.”
“Sloan, you’re killing me. You know I can’t refuse, and I’m trying to work on my waistline.” He pinched his khaki Carhartts.
“Yeah, right.” I filled a small bowl with the flavorful popcorn and handed it to him.”
He took a handful. “Back to Kristopher. Nothing happened. Kristopher spouted off a bunch of statistics on how alcohol is a detriment to society and Leavenworth’s youth, but no one paid attention. By that point, it was so late that everyone wanted to go home.” Hans paused. “You know, come to think of it, I did see Ross heading over to talk to Kristopher when I walked my parents to their car. I didn’t see them fighting, but Ross was moving toward Kristopher.”
“Hold that thought.” I left Hans briefly to check on one of the tables who were giving me the universal signal they were ready for another round. After refilling a couple of pint glasses, I returned to Hans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to derail the conversation. Did you need something, or are you just here for the beer?”
“Sloan, I’m always here for the beer.” Hans grinned. He drank another large sip to prove his point. His physical appearance was so different from Mac’s. Hans was taller and leaner, with muscular forearms from lifting heavy pieces of wood and running his table saw. “But, yeah, I am here on business. Mac wants the three of us to meet sometime this week to talk about next steps for Der Keller.”
A gnawing feeling churned in my stomach. “Okay.”
“Hey, I’m not thrilled about it either, but I have learned over the years that the best way to deal with my brother is head-on.”
“I’m in the not-at-all camp right now.” I was also in the I-don’t-have-another-choice camp. For Alex’s sake, I had been putting on a good front when it came to dealing with Mac. And then there was the issue of our ongoing partnership in Der Keller.
Beyond a Reasonable Stout Page 7
