Beyond a Reasonable Stout

by Ellie Alexander

  “Did he back off?”

  April shook her head. “No. That’s why we were going to meet yesterday. I had consulted an attorney. I planned to give Kris a cease-and-desist order. That’s why Chief Meyers has focused her attention on me.”

  “Motive,” I replied. Without asking, I poured her a cup of coffee and added a splash of cream. I set it in front of her and then poured a cup for myself.

  “Thanks.” April wrapped her hands around the cup. “Yes, but I’ve explained that he didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. Why would I kill him when the only thing I needed to do was hand him a piece of paper?”

  Fact-check that later, I thought to myself. To April, I said, “Or why wouldn’t you just come out and say what you said to me if Kristopher had gone forward with the ad campaign? Everyone in town would have understood that your views had changed.”

  April frowned. “I guess, but I wasn’t about to let Kris take advantage of my celebrity status like that.”

  Celebrity status? I choked back a snicker. Don’t go there, Sloan.

  “As you can see, it’s all circumstantial evidence,” April continued. “Chief Meyers doesn’t have anything on me, which is why she had to release me.”

  “That’s good news, then. You don’t have anything to worry about.” I leaned against the back of the bar and sipped my coffee.

  “Oh, go slow, Sloan. You’re not getting off that easy. You made a promise to help me.”

  Had I promised? Or was April trying to get me on a technicality?

  “You have to help figure out who the real killer is. I won’t let my stunning reputation as Leavenworth’s ambassador be tarnished by this terrible affair. Have you spoken to Ross yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What have you been doing while I’ve been stuck in jail this entire time?” Her hands remained glued to the coffee cup. She hadn’t taken a sip.

  “This ‘entire time’ is only a single day, April. And for your information, I’ve been working.”

  She scoffed. “Working? You mean brewing beer? That’s hardly a top priority. There’s been a murder in town and your best friend is accused of doing it, and instead of pouring every ounce of energy into solving the case, you’ve been pouring pints?”

  April, my best friend? Oh, good lord, help me.

  “I can’t have anything to do with this. In fact, I think it would be wise if we weren’t seen around the village together for the next few days. That way no one will suspect that we’re working together. Start with Ross. I’m telling you he had it out for Kris and he was strong enough to do it.”

  “What do you mean strong enough?” My curiosity was piqued.

  She finally took a sip of the coffee. I recognized the strategy all too well. She was trying to buy time to formulate her words. “I mean in terms of killing him.”

  I frowned. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Okay, here’s the thing. I had two—no three—strikes against me. That’s why the chief arrested me. Kris was killed in my office, I had a nasty fall and look like I’ve been in a fight.”

  “And number three?” I refilled my cup.

  She cracked her knuckles. “They think he was killed with something that belongs to me. They haven’t found the murder weapon yet, but they’re convinced they know what it was.”

  “What is it?”

  April’s shoulders heaved. “My ceremonial ribbon cutting scissors. I overheard the chief on the phone. They think that there was an argument that turned violent, and that Kris’s killer grabbed whatever was nearby. That happened to be my ribbon cutting scissors. They can’t find my scissors. They’re missing. The chief has asked me a million times when I saw them last. I can’t remember.” She looked to me for moral support.

  “Those giant scissors?” I flashed to a memory of a picture of April at the grand opening of The Nutcracker Shoppe, holding a pair of silver scissors that must have been two feet long.

  “Yes, I loved those scissors. They symbolize our wonderful business community here in the village. When I got to my office that morning, I noticed that there was a sun-bleached outline on the wall where the scissors usually hang, but I didn’t take them down. The killer must have yanked them off the wall.” She pressed her nearly full cup of coffee back to me and stood up. “I have to go. See what you can learn from Ross and let’s meet in my office later. Use the back entrance.” With that she left.

  It might have been a mistake, but I believed her. Her story made sense, and no one in Leavenworth had a bigger ego than April. Plus, I had learned something very valuable—how Kristopher had been killed.

  I dumped April’s coffee into the sink. What had I gotten myself into? April wasn’t going to let this go. I was committed now. The only good thing was that she wanted to keep a low profile. That was fine by me. The less we saw of one another, the better for me. And the faster I figured out who killed Kristopher, the sooner April would be out of my hair.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  I WATCHED APRIL SLINK DOWN the sidewalk. She kept her head low and glanced behind her every so often as if she was worried that she was being followed. She wasn’t.

  Once April was out of sight, I went to top off my coffee and brew a fresh pot. The scent must have roused Garrett and Kat, who both shuffled into the kitchen not long after the aroma wafted upstairs.

  “How did it go last night?” I asked Kat, handing her a mug. “Did it ever pick up?”

  “Not really.” She rubbed her eyes. “I got a bunch done on the room designs, though, so that’s good.”

  Garrett removed a carton of heavy cream from the fridge. “She wouldn’t let me see her ideas until you two go over them, but I could tell from everyone’s reaction in the bar that I’m going to like them.”

  Kat gave me a sheepish smile. “I hope you guys love them. There is one thing. We’re going to need to find someone with some artistic talent to design or draw some of the funny beer sayings for the yeast room.”

  “I know just the person,” I said. “My son, Alex, wants to be a graphic designer. He helped us with the bar menus. I’m sure he’d love to help with the room renovations.”

  “Do you think he would do it?” Kat asked.

  “I’m sure. It’s great for his portfolio. He’s already starting to think about college and design programs. Most of them require a portfolio of sample work.”

  “Awesome. When can he come by?”

  “Maybe after school. I’ll text him and ask. He has midterms this week, so I know his class schedule is swapped around, which means he might have some extra time.”

  “Cool.” Kat added enough cream to turn her coffee as pale as wheat. “Do you want to take a look at what I found and then we can show Garrett our sketches?”

  Garrett grabbed a bagel. “I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll be in the office if you need me, but you probably won’t.”

  “Nah, we won’t, will we, Kat?” I teased.

  “My own pub, and I’m not even needed.” Garrett pretended to be hurt. I enjoyed his playful banter. Garrett was serious about brewing. I appreciated his calculated approach to the process, but I also appreciated that he had a lightness about him too.

  “That’s what happens when the women are in charge.”

  “Hey, more power to you.” Garrett said, balancing his coffee and bagel. “I was raised by two strong women—my mom and Aunt Tess—so I’m all for letting you two take control. I’m not an idiot. You’ll get no pushback from me.”

  We chuckled.

  Then Kat clicked on her phone and scrolled through a dozen images she had saved. We picked our favorites, printed them out, and added them to the ever-growing design file that was overflowing with clippings from magazines, paint swatches, and our notes. “Hopefully, Garrett will like the ideas.” Kat tucked her phone into her pocket.

  “Garrett would be happy if we covered every wall with old grain sacks,” I said.

  Kat was about to shut the file, when she remembered something, and start
ed flipping through the piles of assorted papers. “I almost forgot. Someone called here for you last night. I wrote down her name and number on the back of one of these pages.”

  My stomach dropped. I knew who had called. I didn’t need to see the paper. It had to be Sally, my former social worker.

  Sally had been responsible for placing me in foster care and checking in periodically over the years. Most foster families I was placed with didn’t work out. That meant that I spent more time than usual in Sally’s office. She had been my one touch of stability in a rotation of constant change. Sally had introduced me to classical music and sparked my interest in baking and food. She had been the one to suggest that I attend culinary classes at the local community college and had even helped me get scholarship money.

  She and I had lost touch once I married Mac, but recently she had resurfaced. We had met at Nitro a few weeks ago, when she showed up with my original case file. Everything in the file had been wiped clean. It was as if my early years in state care didn’t exist. Sally was concerned. She had confessed that she had often wondered about my situation. Orders to move me from house to house didn’t come from Sally, but rather from her supervisors. She had explained to me that this wasn’t typical protocol. She had also told me that she had once tried to adopt me. That news had stung in the most wonderful way. As a child I had dreamed of venturing into Sally’s office for a monthly check-in appointment and her leaning over her messy desk and telling me that I had a permanent home with her.

  Sally had become convinced that her boss didn’t want her or anyone else to find my birth parents. When I had started asking about my past, she went searching for her old files only to find that her notes had vanished. She was sure that someone had intentionally destroyed her notes to make sure I wouldn’t have a sliver of information to go on in my search for my birth parents.

  I had lived for years under the assumption that my parents didn’t want me, that they had abandoned me on the steps of a hospital because they didn’t care. Sally’s revelation changed that. She thought that the reason they left me was the opposite—because they loved me too much and they were in some kind of trouble that would put me in danger.

  Part of me had wondered if Sally might have been a bit paranoid. But then she showed me the file and explained that she made one inquiry for me and suddenly every note in my file vanished. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Sally had driven to Leavenworth and refused to discuss anything at length over the phone for fear that someone might be listening. She had been on her way to meet her sister for an Alaskan cruise right after our meeting. We had agreed to be back in touch upon her return. She had made it clear that, in the interim, I should leave the subject alone. We were going to have to figure out a calculated approach.

  Kat found the note. “Um, Sally. She said you’ll know what it’s about.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Here’s the number,” Kat said, starting to rip off the top half of a glossy magazine page.

  “I have it.”

  “No. She was very clear. She told me to give you this number and said to tell you it’s new.”

  “Okay.”

  Kat ripped the rest of the page and handed it to me. I folded it into a square and tucked it into my jeans pocket. I had the sense that Kat wanted to know more. I changed the subject. “Let me text Alex about stopping by after practice and then we can go bombard Garrett with our ideas.”

  I tried to keep my fingers steady as I texted Alex to ask him if he’d be interested in working on the design project. I already knew the answer but wanted to shoot him a text while it was fresh in my mind. The keypad felt even smaller than normal as I attempted to type a coherent message.

  Had Sally found something new? Or was she just calling to check in? I hadn’t spoken to her since she had left for the cruise. We had agreed to reconvene once she had returned and had a chance to do some covert digging into what happened to my case files. I wasn’t about to risk calling her from here. I would have to wait until later and return her call from the privacy of home.

  To get my mind off Sally and Kristopher, Kat and I pitched our plans to Garrett over more coffee.

  “When can I start ripping down wallpaper?” Garrett flexed his muscles.

  “Have you ever tried taking down wallpaper?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “It’s the worst. It’s not an easy process.” I explained how removing wallpaper involved steaming and hours of scraping.

  “That doesn’t sound fun.” Garrett frowned.

  “No, but we have the time now, so if we’re going to do it, we might as well take the plunge.”

  “It sounds like we need supplies,” Garrett said.

  “We need to start by taking everything out of each room and then assessing what we might be able to repurpose and what we need to donate. I was thinking that since we’re in the fermenting process, we can use the brewery as temporary storage.”

  “That works for me. What’s first?”

  “First I’ll swing by the hardware store and get wallpaper stripper, scrapers, and rubber gloves. Do you two want to start bringing the furniture down and stacking it in the brewery? Kat already knows some of what we think might be worth keeping, right?”

  Kat nodded. “There are some real treasures up there. We’ll try to salvage as much as we can. My generation loves anything that’s been upcycled, so Sloan and I decided not to throw anything away until we’ve gutted, cleaned, and painted each room.”

  Garrett looked a bit like a deer in headlights. “Just tell me what to do and how much this is going to cost me.”

  I laughed. “That’s the other goal with reusing some of your aunt’s original furniture. It will cut our costs in half.”

  “Now, that is music to my ears.” His smile made his entire face light up.

  They went to start moving loads of furniture. I grabbed my wallet and jacket. The hardware store was on the opposite end of the village from Der Keller. I kept a quick pace. I didn’t want to risk a run-in with April or Mac. At the moment I couldn’t decide which would be worse.

  Downtown was humming with press activity and preparations for the light festival. April might not have been paranoid after all. I avoided three reporters, all of whom thrust microphones in my face, asking for a comment on the recent murder. “No thanks,” I replied, hurrying across the street. The hardware store was nearly empty. I found the supplies we needed, along with some new paint samples to try.

  “Good morning to you, Sloan,” the owner replied. “We’ve had a regular rush for a Friday.”

  “Oh, really?” I thought he was kidding as I glanced around the vacant store. “Have people been hiding out from the barrage of press?”

  “Uh-huh. And Ross, the owner of the Underground, was just here. I guess he’s painting the outdoor walkway. It’s that time of year. Everyone wants to get projects done before winter sinks in and the tourists come back to look at the pretty lights strung up in trees.”

  “Right.” I paid for my things. I should have gone straight back to Nitro, but knowing that Ross was working on an outside project was the perfect excuse to take the long route. Thankfully, that would keep me away from the eager reporters as well.

  I headed toward Blackbird Island. Sunlight filtered through the trees and glistened on the Wenatchee River like falling confetti. The mountains rose like sturdy towers. I paused and took a cleansing breath. This is why you live here, Sloan.

  Then I continued on to the bar. The Underground’s stone façade and intricate stained-glass windows always reminded me of a castle. In order to enter the Underground, guests descended down a pressed-stone ramp into the basement of the property.

  When I arrived at the bar, there was painter’s tape stretched between two chairs to block the entrance. The closed signs were still posted. Ross stood on the sidewalk. He was dressed for painting in a pair of old holey jeans and a sweatshirt. His bald head reflected the sunlight.

  “Hey, Sloan.�
� He stopped stirring a bucket of forest green paint. “What’s going on?”

  “Projects.” I held up a bottle of wallpaper stripper. “Great minds think alike, huh?”

  “I guess it’s that time of year.” He didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

  “What are you painting?”

  Ross pointed to the entrance that led to the tunnel underground. The old green paint was chipped and cracking. “Touch-up. Nothing special, but they’re saying it might snow by the first of next week, so I figured I better get a jump on the outside.”

  “Are you doing interior projects too? Didn’t you say something about an electrical issue?”

  A strange look crossed over his face. “Yeah, that’s right. Electrical and some other stuff. We had to shut down for a couple days to get it all done.”

  Was it possible that I had misinterpreted what I had seen yesterday? Maybe Ross had been arguing with a contractor about needing to stay open during repairs.

  He stabbed the stir stick in the paint bucket. “That’s the plan, if I can get the state liquor board off my back.”

  “Why?”

  “Kristopher.” He sighed. “I don’t have proof that he’s the person who called in a complaint with the state, but I mean—come on—he’s the guy.”

  “What happened?” I couldn’t believe that Ross was willingly telling me about Kristopher.

  “He called in a complaint on every business with a liquor license in town.” He wiped green paint on his sweatshirt. “Have you had a nice visit from the state yet?”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t worry. You will.”

  “Kristopher was trying to shut you down?”

  “He was trying to shut everyone down. I think he realized that his shot at election wasn’t looking good, so he decided to try for an alternative—to personally call in violations to the state liquor board.”

  “What were you violating?”

  “Nothing. Kristopher knew that. He didn’t care. He was on a singular mission. I’m not sure he was thinking rationally.” Ross picked the stir stick up again and began to circle it through the thick paint. “Keep an eye out. I would expect a nice visit from the state any day now if I were you.”