Beyond a Reasonable Stout

by Ellie Alexander

  The journalist was from a Seattle news station. They had pulled old stock footage of Kristopher from ribbon-cutting ceremonies and more recent clips of him campaigning against beer and its many evils. I sat up and scooted closer to the screen when a grainy picture from the early nineties appeared. I paused the TV and replayed it three times.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. In the old footage, April Ablin was standing next to Kristopher. According to the reporter, the picture was from Kristopher’s first election. April must have been in her early twenties. She looked younger, but otherwise much the same. With one glaring difference. April wasn’t wearing a dirndl or a single piece of German clothing. In its place, she wore a T-shirt that read KRIS FOR COUNCIL.

  April had not only known Kristopher for decades, but had supported his campaign? Had my initial reaction to her arrest been correct? She had obviously had some kind of relationship (either professional as a supporter of his campaign or maybe a friendship) with Kristopher. Why hadn’t she mentioned anything about it to me?

  I watched for a few more minutes while the reporter shifted her focus to Leavenworth’s response to Kristopher’s controversial plan to ban alcohol. She cut to footage of the huge Oktoberfest crowds.

  Forget it. Why am I getting involved in this? I thought, changing the channel. I didn’t owe April anything, and if she was withholding important details like the fact that she had campaigned for Kristopher, how could I trust her?

  I landed on old reruns of The Brady Brunch—the perfect complement to eating my pizza and drinking my beer in peace. If only my concerns could be like those of the Brady family, who were entangled in a dispute over who had dibs on the attic bedroom. The Brady Bunch epitomized the idea of family when I was a kid. During stays at particularly challenging foster homes, I would imagine myself as one of the Brady clan.

  When I finished my dinner, I went to check on the boys. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t a single crumb left in any of the pizza boxes.

  “Anyone up for a dessert break?” I brought out the dessert pizzas and toppings.

  The boys wasted no time making space for the dessert pies. They slathered sweet toppings on the crust. I baked the pizzas for ten minutes until the marshmallows, chocolate chunks, cookie dough, and caramel melted together in an oozing, bubbling, gooey lather.

  “Careful, it’s hot,” I cautioned as I delivered the sugar bombs to the table.

  Alex caught my eye. “Thanks, Mom, you’re the best.”

  “Mrs. Krause is the best,” one of his friends echoed.

  I made my exit. I wasn’t fishing for compliments. Knowing that my son had a stable childhood and that he felt protected and loved was my only mission in life.

  I tried not to let angry thoughts at Mac creep in. When I had first caught him shagging the beer wench, I had been almost stoic. Fuming, yes. But I had been able to keep my emotions in check. As the weeks had worn on, however, I was finding it more difficult to maintain any level of calm, even at the thought of him. Hans had told me that what I was experiencing was normal. That I was moving through the stages of grief. He was probably right, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  At some point, I must have fallen asleep because I woke to the sound of the front door shutting.

  “Mom, you still awake?” I heard Alex call.

  “Yeah. One sec.” I rubbed my eyes and walked down to the kitchen.

  “You weren’t awake, Mom.” Alex knew me too well.

  “I might have drifted off,” I admitted. “But I heard the guys leave.”

  “Sorry. I told them to be quiet.”

  “They were. Don’t worry.” In truth, I hadn’t slept soundly since the day Alex was born. I remembered many nights spent listening to his breathing pattern on the baby monitor and racing in to check on him at the slightest cough or sniffle. Some of my girlfriends used to complain about the sleepless nights with young babies. I never minded. My connection to Alex was the deepest form of love I had ever experienced. I welcomed the sleepless nights. They confirmed our bond.

  “Go back to bed, Mom.” Alex loaded dishes in the dishwasher.

  “How did studying go?”

  “Good.” He rinsed a plate in the sink. “I feel good about it.”

  His quick response alerted me that there was something he wasn’t telling me. I went around to the opposite side of the counter and pulled out a barstool. “Is there something else going on?” I asked, sitting down.

  Alex kept his back to me. I had learned that it was easier for him if we didn’t maintain eye contact while having difficult conversations. “Dad asked me about my plans earlier.”

  A chill ran down my spine. I pinched the top of my thigh to force my voice to remain neutral. “Oh yeah? Your plans for what?”

  “For moving in with him.” Alex barely spoke above a whisper.

  “Did you say ‘moving in with him’? Where? He’s staying at a hotel.” I felt like my insides were being ripped out.

  Alex turned to me. “I know. He said he’s starting to look for a place. He wants me to come with him to give him feedback on which places I like, and then he asked what I wanted to do long term. Whether I want to stay and live with you or move in with him.”

  Rage pulsed through my body. Why would Mac put Alex in the middle? We had already discussed this and decided that we were going to proceed slowly so as not to disrupt Alex’s school and social life. Alex had been staying with Mac at his hotel every few nights, and I had made it clear that Mac was welcome to see Alex as much as he wanted.

  I’d been reading every book I could get my hands on about divorce and best practices for making the transition as painless as possible for teenagers. Everything I had read talked about the importance of not throwing the other parent under the bus. As much as I wanted to rail on Mac, I inhaled deeply and pinched my thigh harder.

  “I hadn’t heard that Dad’s looking for a place. He and I were supposed to have dinner with Uncle Hans, but I postponed it so that I could be here tonight.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “No, I wanted to. I love getting to see your friends, and honestly, I was wiped out from the day.” I realized we hadn’t talked about Kristopher’s murder. Odds were good that news had hit the high school. The gossip mill didn’t miss much, not even schools in Leavenworth. I changed the subject momentarily to buy myself time before diving into the subject of Mac. “Did you hear about what happened to Kristopher Cooper?”

  “Yeah, our poli sci teacher told us about it. That’s so crazy. He was killed, right?” Alex loaded dessert plates into the dishwasher.

  I gave him a very condensed version.

  “They think April killed him?” Alex scrunched his nose. Then he ripped a hunk off one last slice of the dessert pizza. “I mean, she’s kind of over the top, but you don’t think she could have done it, do you?”

  “No,” I responded honestly. April wasn’t telling the truth about something, but I still didn’t think she could be the killer.

  “Carly’s mom said that the newspapers and TV stations from Seattle are going to turn this into a circus.”

  “I was watching the news earlier. They’re already in the village and reporting live from the scene of the crime.”

  Alex shook his head. “Great. The one time it’s slow around here.”

  “Exactly.” I had composed myself enough to continue the conversation about Mac. “Back to Dad, I support you in anything you want to do. If he’s looking for a more permanent place, you should definitely go check it out with him—if that’s what you want to do.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t meet my eyes.

  “He and I will figure out the rest. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “I know.”

  “No, really. I don’t want you to worry about it, okay?” I tried to make eye contact with him, but suddenly he appeared to be fixated with his slice of dessert pizza.

  “Mom, I know. I know. I get that you don’t want me to worry or that y
ou don’t want me to feel like I’m in the middle, but the thing is, I am in the middle.”

  “But—” I started to respond.

  He cut me off. “Mom, look. It’s just the way it is. Half my friends’ parents are already divorced. I’ve seen how it goes, and I appreciate that you and Dad aren’t being awful to each other, but I’m going to be in the middle.” This time he met my gaze. His eyes held a depth that nearly took my breath away. From a young age, Alex had been an old soul, wise, kind, with a deep inner knowing. My job as a parent was to give him the tools he needed to navigate adulthood and a soft shoulder to rest his head on.

  I massaged my jaw. “You’re right, but my point is that we can follow your lead. You’re old enough to make your own decisions, and we will both respect that. By putting you in the middle, I mean neither of us are going to say it’s him or me.”

  “Duh, I know.” Alex stuck out his tongue in an attempt to be funny.

  I didn’t feel like laughing. I had known this issue was going to arise sooner or later, but I had put faith in the fact that it would be later. I couldn’t believe that Mac was looking at houses, but in his defense, he’d been at the hotel for weeks now. His move was going to force the issue.

  Alex wrapped the half of a slice of dessert pizza in tin foil. “Dessert for my lunch tomorrow.”

  “Too bad there aren’t any other leftovers.”

  “It’s cool. Tomorrow is taco bar.”

  I could tell that Alex was done with the conversation. I kissed him good night and dropped the subject. Now the odds of falling asleep again were definitely against me. Mac and I might not be on the best of terms, but there was no way I was letting him rope Alex into our problems.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  THE NEXT MORNING, I TEXTED Mac first thing telling him we needed to talk ASAP. He responded with a heart-shaped emoji and “Miss you too, baby.”

  He was trying to rattle me. I had told him at least a million times never to call me baby.

  We agreed to meet at Der Keller for lunch. I wasn’t looking forward to sitting down with him, but it had to be done. After getting Alex off to school and myself organized for the day, I wanted to get to Nitro early. We had days of work ahead of us to get the upstairs transformed for guests. If I could get an early start while things were quiet, all the better.

  However, as I steered my Mercedes (an old birthday present from Mac) onto Front Street, I quickly realized that there was going to be nothing quiet about the morning. News media vans lined the street. Reporters were camped out in Front Street Park near the gazebo and set up on the steps of the police station. I counted at least five vans and dozens of reporters and camera crew. Obviously, Kristopher’s murder had made headline news. Great.

  I parked in front of Nitro. The air felt oppressive and strangely still after the past few days of breezy mornings. I wondered if it was the calm before the storm—literally and figuratively.

  As I was getting my things out of the back of the car, I heard a harsh whisper behind me. It made me startle.

  “Sloan! Sloan, over here.”

  I looked around and spotted April limping toward me. She wore a baseball hat, dark sunglasses, and a black trench coat. If she was trying to look inconspicuous, she was just the opposite.

  For the first time ever, she didn’t have a spot of makeup on. I could make out every freckle on her face. Instead of aging her, her clean skin gave her a more youthful appearance. She must have been in bad shape, because April without layer upon layer of makeup and sans a frilly German dress with an apron was almost unrecognizable.

  “You’re free?” I tried to make a joke.

  “Not funny, Sloan.” April glared at me as she limped closer.

  “Sometimes humor is the best medicine.”

  April clasped the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “Sloan, I don’t have time for humor. I have a splitting headache, and I’m only out because Chief Meyers has me on village arrest.”

  “Village arrest?” I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck.

  “Yes, I’m not allowed to leave the village. I can’t even go as far as Safeway. Chief Meyers wants me within walking distance of her office.” She pushed her sunglasses down and darted her head from the left to the right. “You weren’t followed, were you?”

  “Followed? I work here.” I pointed behind me to the Nitro sign hanging above the patio. “At least you’re not in jail, right? Can we talk inside? I’m freezing.”

  She did another survey of the area. “Fine.”

  I unlocked the front, set my things down on one of the high-top tables, and turned on the lights and heat.

  “Why is it so cold in here?” April asked. Her lips had a bluish tint that matched the nasty bruise on her thigh.

  “Good question.” We kept the brewery at a steady sixty-eight degrees. If the temperature got too low, it would stop the yeast from fermenting. With temps starting to drop into the thirties, it was time to adjust our heat settings.

  “What’s going on, April? You asked for my help, but you’re not telling me everything. I know it. You’re limping, you’re bruised and scratched and acting like you’re in the Witness Protection Program.”

  “It’s the press. I can’t let them see me like this. My reputation is at stake.” April removed her sunglasses. “I told you everything yesterday. I was supposed to meet Kristopher at my office. When I got there, he was already dead, and Chief Meyers thinks I did it.”

  “I’m beginning to agree with her, April. You’re a mess. You’re obviously injured, and you refuse to tell me why. Unless you come clean, the only logical explanation I can come up with is that you killed Kristopher.”

  “NO!” April responded in a shrill tone that was so loud it probably had woken Garrett and Kat. “I fell mountain biking. I’ve been trying to use extra makeup to cover up all of the bruises and scratches, but it came off. That’s all. I’ve been bruised for a couple of days. There was a tour group in town from San Francisco, and when their biking guide canceled because he had the flu, I stepped in. That’s what I do. I would do anything for this town, you know that, Sloan. It’s my duty as Leavenworth’s ambassador.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Like kill off the one person threatening to change our way of life.”

  “No! How many times do I have to say it? I did not kill Kris.” Her voice wavered, like she was about to cry.

  I moved toward the bar and flipped on more lights. April followed me.

  “Why are you being so weird about falling on your mountain bike? Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning?”

  April sat on a barstool. “Because it’s embarrassing.”

  “More embarrassing than being arrested for murder?”

  She rested her chin on her hands. “No, I told Chief Meyers what happened on the bike. She had to do her ‘due diligence,’ as she called it, and track down the tour group to confirm my story. I didn’t say anything because I bruised my body and my pride.”

  I walked behind the bar and opened a canister of coffee beans. If I was going to deal with April this early, I needed more coffee. We kept a stash of coffee, teas, and assorted fancy sodas for designated drivers and anyone who didn’t imbibe. “April, I was watching the news last night and they showed old footage from Kristopher’s first campaign.”

  Any color that was in her face evaporated.

  “I saw you,” I said as I scooped coffee into the industrial pot and added water. “You were standing next to him—wearing one of his campaign T-shirts, and you’re the only person in town who calls him Kris. If you want my help, you have to start being honest with me.”

  “It’s not what it looks like.” She gnawed on her fingernails, which were still painted with mini Oktoberfest flags.

  “What is it, then? You either have to tell me everything or go find someone else to help you.”

  “No, no, please. I can explain.”

  Seeing April beg was poetic justice.

  �
��You’re right. I did campaign for Kris, but that was many, many years ago. I was just starting my career. I was working as an administrative assistant for the real estate office, and the owner, who I eventually bought the business from, was a good friend of Kris’s. He was a backer of Kris’s campaign, and I volunteered. I went door-to-door. It was great exposure for me. Working on his campaign launched my career. It cemented me in Leavenworth. I owed him for that.”

  “I don’t understand.” The coffee started to percolate, filling the cavernous bar with a wonderful aroma.

  “When I first met Kris, I was impressed with his values and his vision for growing our community. Over time, our visions of Leavenworth’s future veered in very different directions. I sympathized with his frustrations, don’t get me wrong. I know that the festivals bring in a certain level of unwanted outcomes—like extra garbage and excessive drinking. But without them, we would be bankrupt. Kris and I met on more than one occasion, and I tried to negotiate with him to find a middle ground and some viable solutions for better crowd management, but he wouldn’t budge.”

  “Is that why you were meeting with him yesterday?”

  April lifted one hand, then the other as if weighing the question. “I suppose in part. Kris was getting ready to run a last-ditch advertising campaign. He knew he was trailing Valerie, but he thought that he had a secret weapon.” April paused and pointed to her chest. “Me. He found that old footage that you saw in the news, and he wanted to rerun it with an updated slogan about how Leavenworth’s welcome wagon has endorsed him for over twenty years.”

  “Let me guess, you didn’t give him permission to use your endorsement?” I removed two ceramic coffee cups from the open shelves next to the taps and then found a carton of cream in the mini fridge.

  “No way.” April looked aghast. “Can you imagine? He wouldn’t listen. He was going to run the ads without my consent. I told him that if he did, I would take him to court.” She pressed her hand lightly on the bruise.