Beyond a Reasonable Stout

by Ellie Alexander

  “I saw Ross arguing with someone about keeping the bar open. Was that one of your officers?”

  The chief scowled. “Nope. Not my guy.”

  I took a bite of my strudel, but like last night, stress had deadened my taste buds. “I can’t believe that. Ross has always been so professional.”

  Chief Meyers shrugged. “Sloan, if I’ve learned anything in this line of work, it’s that people show you what they want to show you and nothing more. There’s no gray area when it comes to serving minors. If Ross has been breaking the law, he deserves to lose everything, and I’ll be the first one to tell him so.”

  “I agree.” We took state regulations seriously at Nitro, as did every pub and brewery owner I knew. I couldn’t believe that Ross had knowingly been serving minors. It made me wonder if I had written him off as a potential suspect too soon. Maybe since Kristopher had been so vocal about the issue, Ross had decided to silence him permanently.

  “So it wasn’t just Kristopher leading the charge against him?”

  The chief finished her strudel. “Kristopher was leading the charge, that’s for sure. He filed a number of reports with us. We didn’t take them very seriously because of the other trouble that he’d been stirring up. I figured he was trying to make an example of Ross in order to lend support to his cause, but we’re going to go back through the old reports and compare them with what we learn from the state.”

  “Wow, I’m really surprised by that. Like I said, Ross has always struck me as being very professional.” Who was I kidding? After having my world turned upside down by Ursula last night, my judgment should not be trusted.

  “You want this?” I passed my strudel to Chief Meyers. “I’m not hungry.”

  She glanced at her fitness watch and then to the flaky pastry. “Aw, why not?”

  “What about April?” I asked as she helped herself to a bite.

  “She’s still on my list.” The chief gave me a funny look.

  “For real?”

  “All I can say is that she is still officially on my list.” She didn’t elaborate, but from the emphasis she put on “officially,” I had a feeling she was speaking in code.

  One of her deputies arrived for his shift. The chief clammed up. I told her I would continue to stay on alert and let her know if I learned anything new. I left the office and wandered aimlessly. Had Ross really been overserving and serving minors? If Kristopher had found proof, that could give Ross a strong motive for murder. To be honest, I hadn’t spent much time at the Underground. It was popular amongst tourists because of its atmosphere. Maybe I’d stop by for lunch later and see if I could learn anything from his bartending staff.

  The light crews were already at work a few blocks away. I wondered if the thousands of tourists who would come to see our village illuminated for the holidays had any idea how much preparation went into the event. There wasn’t any sign of the press. They were either getting a slow start or a bigger and better story had broken elsewhere.

  I made my way to the gazebo. I had to call Sally. We had something tangible to work with—names, a potential arrest record, and the fact that it was highly likely I was in Leavenworth in the 1970s.

  The bench was cool to the touch. I closed my eyes and took a long, slow breath before calling Sally. My heart pounded in my chest as the phone rang. I wanted to tell Sally everything Ursula had told me last night, but we had agreed to keep our phone conversations to surface topics. Sally had suggested that until we found out how deep the cover-up of my parents’ identity ran, it would be better to discuss important details and our plans in person.

  She didn’t answer. I hesitated. Should I leave a message?

  At the last minute, I decided to leave a very upbeat message about Alex’s soccer game, midterms, and preparing for the light festival. I invited her to come out for a weekend to see the display in person. If anyone was tapping her phone (and it was more likely that we were both being overly paranoid), they wouldn’t be able to get anything from my message.

  Now what? I wasn’t ready to head to Nitro yet, but there wasn’t much open in the village short of the pastry and coffee shops. I thought about taking a morning walk to Blackbird Island, but I noticed Heidi pull into a parking spot across the street in front of her hotel, the Hamburg Hostel. I decided to go say good morning. The Hamburg reminded me of Hansel and Gretel’s cottage, with intentionally weathered stucco and storybook architecture where none of the rooflines are straight or plumb.

  I got up and crossed the street. “Hi, Heidi,” I called.

  Her arms were loaded with bags. “Good morning, Sloan.”

  “Can I help with that?” I asked, pointing to the back of Heidi’s truck, where a dozen more paper bags had been stacked on top of each other.

  “Would you mind?” She shifted one of the bags in her arms. “They’re not heavy. There’s just a ton of them. It’s a fun holiday project I’ve been working on at home for our guests coming for the winter light festival. Take a look.”

  I opened one bag and was immediately engulfed in the scent of holiday spices.

  “Aren’t they cute?” Heidi asked. “I made individual packets of mulling spice. We’ll leave them in each guest room as a little holiday gift. Guests can either add them to their tea while they stay or take them home as a memento.”

  “They smell amazing,” I said, reaching for a handful of bags.

  “You should smell my dining room. I was up until midnight assembling the last of them.” Heidi looped the bag over her arm.

  The Hamburg was one of the smaller, boutique properties in town. Heidi had owned it for as long as I had known her. She went beyond the call of duty for her guests, offering them personalized service and add-ons like her handmade mulling packets. It was one of the many reasons that the hotel was booked year-round. That and its whimsical, unique design. The front of the property had a picket fence, moat, and small pond. At Halloween time, Heidi played upon the hotel’s fairy-tale theme and decorated the grounds with oversized spiders and cobwebs draped from the dark wooden shutters.

  “Go ahead and put those on the front welcome counter,” Heidi directed me as we entered the hotel. Inside the hotel, the fanciful theme continued with garlands of ceramic sweets intertwined along the wood-beamed ceiling, a gothic chandelier, and gleaming hardwood floors.

  I set the fragrant spice packets on the welcome desk carved in a baroque style. Then we returned to her car to get the rest of them.

  “Now I’m craving mulled wine,” I said. The scent reminded me of the village during the winter light festival, where I would stroll through vendor booths in Front Street Park, sampling sugar doughnuts, fried potato pancakes, and steaming mugs of what Otto and Ursula called Glühwein—which, literally translated, meant “glow wine.” It was made with citrus fruits, spices, and sugar and served at traditional Christmas markets.

  Heidi reached into one of the bags and tossed me a few packets. “Take some. They’re great in wine, and actually I tried one in my morning coffee with a splash of cream and a couple tablespoons of dark chocolate syrup. It was amazing.”

  “That does sound good.” I took a whiff of the spices. Heidi had included whole cloves, cinnamon sticks, star anise, and dried orange peels. “We’ve been playing around with making a beer inspired by mulled spiced wine.”

  “You should do that. I bet it would be a huge hit, especially at the Christmas markets.” She pointed down a hallway that was adorned with travel style posters from the German Alps, more of the hand-painted candy garland, and prints of German cottages. “Do you want to come to my office for a minute?”

  “Sure. As long as I’m not keeping you. Are you headed for a workout?” I noted her yoga pants and warm-up jacket.

  “No. I’ve already worked out. I’m up at the crack of dawn. Once I got serious about exercise and weight loss last year, I made a commitment to exercise daily. Since I’m so swamped with the hotel, the only time I have is in the early morning. I’ve gotten used to it. The go
od thing about being up at the crack of dawn is that the gym is never packed. Usually it’s just me, Ross, and—well, it used to be Kristopher.”

  “Got it.” I followed after her, tucking the spices into my purse. I filed that piece of information into my head for later.

  Heidi’s office was upstairs at the end of another long hallway. She expertly weaved past guests, greeting everyone by name and encouraging them to partake of breakfast, which was being served in the charming dining room. I almost considered inviting myself to breakfast. The buffet looked tempting, with platters of pastries, sausages, and fruits. Guests savored coffee and tea in front of a roaring stone fireplace.

  When we arrived at her office, she opened the door and waited for me go in.

  There were more ski travel posters, along with the sketches from the original architectural plans for the Hamburg Hostel on the walls. International magazine articles, touting the property for its incredible German hospitality, location, and comfortable beds had been framed on the bookcase behind Heidi’s desk.

  “Have a seat. Can I get you anything—tea, coffee?” Heidi pointed to an expensive coffee maker near her desk.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” I took a seat.

  She made herself a cup of tea.

  “The hotel looks amazing. I haven’t been inside since the renovations.” I had watched progress on the Hamburg over the last few months. The hotel had undergone major updates including electrical, plumbing, and a new roof.

  “We’re pleased with the end result, but the remodel process was not fun.” Heidi sat down and cleared a space for her tea. She pushed aside a stack of papers, which I realized were Kristopher’s campaign posters.

  Without thinking, I pointed at the stack. “Were you campaigning for Kristopher?”

  She looked shocked for a second. Then she picked up the stack and dumped it into a recycling bin next to her desk. “God, no. He wanted me to, but I refused. Can you imagine what would have happened to our bookings if he had managed to win the election? As of right now, we are booked every weekend through the end of the winter light festival in March. If Kristopher’s ridiculous plan had been approved, I guarantee nearly every guest on the upcoming calendar would have canceled their stay.”

  We had been over this before, but I nodded anyway.

  “I told him that he was going to single-handedly ruin everything we had worked so hard to build in Leavenworth when he was here the other night,” Heidi continued.

  I didn’t react, but I wondered if Heidi had slipped up. What did she mean, that he was here the other night? Kristopher had been at the Hamburg Hostel? Why?

  If she had slipped, she didn’t notice. “He and I went round and round for ages. It was so maddening. He refused to listen to any reasonable argument. He was dead set on banning alcohol. And it doesn’t make sense, because Kristopher loved Leavenworth. That much I truly believe. But why did a man who loved this village so much want to destroy it? That’s what I can’t get past. I was fuming. He didn’t have a good response. He just kept repeating over and over again that he had his reasons.”

  Since she had mentioned twice now that Kristopher had been in her office, I figured it was fair game to ask a few follow-up questions.

  “When was Kristopher here?”

  Heidi’s eyes bulged. “Um, uh. He stopped by after the town meeting.”

  “Why?”

  She picked up a pen with the Hamburg Hostel’s logo etched on the side and clicked it open and shut. “Uh, well, he…” She paused for a minute as if trying to think of an excuse why Kristopher would have been in her office on the night that he was killed. “He dropped off that stack of campaign flyers.” She pointed the pen toward the recycling bin. “It was pretty forward of him, if you ask me. He had to have known that everyone was at the town meeting, and I guess he decided that he would make a last-ditch effort with the business owners here in the village to try and sway us. It didn’t work. I told him I wasn’t budging. Unless he changed his stance on alcohol, I wasn’t about to vote for him.”

  “He was campaigning after the meeting?” Something about her story didn’t add up.

  Heidi nodded. “Yeah, ballsy, isn’t it? I came back after leaving Der Keller to grab more supplies for the mulling spices, and Kristopher happened to be here. He was trying to convince my front desk staff to hang up the flyers. He told them that I had approved it and I was a huge campaign contributor.”

  “Was that true?”

  “All lies. I called Kristopher out in front of my staff. I told him that if he ever pulled a dirty, sneaky stunt like that again, I would call Chief Meyers and have him arrested.” She twisted the zipper on her warm-up jacket.

  “And how did he respond?”

  “He shrugged it off. It was bizarre, Sloan. I swear that he thought he was actually going to win.”

  “Really?” No one I had spoken to about Kristopher thus far had mentioned anything about him thinking he had a shot at the election.

  “I assumed he was delusional, but now I’ve started to rethink that. What if he had something on Valerie? I wouldn’t put it past him to have tried something ugly at the end. I don’t know, maybe I’m just imagining things, but our conversation was weird. He didn’t act like a man about to lose.”

  Heidi’s phone rang. I took that as my excuse to duck out. I wasn’t sure what to believe. She had met with him in private the night he died. I got the sense there had been more to their conversation that she had withheld. Her perspective on Valerie lined up with what I already knew, but then again maybe she was trying to shift the focus from herself.

  I sighed and left for Nitro. Maybe brewing would clear my head and give me a fresh perspective on who in this quaint, calm village could have murdered Kristopher.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  HANS DELIVERED URSULA’S STEAM MACHINE as promised. He peered into the front window while Kat and I were taking inventory of our barware over a leisurely cup of coffee. One issue with running a successful pub is keeping pint glasses in stock. Glasses tend to break and have a way of wandering off—either by accident or not. Craft beer fans collect pint glasses, which was one of the reasons we sold our logoed barware and T-shirts, but even so there were a handful of people who snuck out with a free souvenir of their visit to Nitro. It didn’t make Garrett angry. He had said, “Hey, if they loved our beer that much, I’m flattered. Not to mention that it’s ongoing branding to have our pint glasses in circulation, right?”

  Kat pointed to the window. “Uh, I think you’re wanted outside.”

  Hans tilted his head to the side and stuck out his tongue when I looked up from my inventory sheet.

  My heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face Hans. “That’s our steam cleaner.” I dug my fingernails into my thigh. You can do this, Sloan.

  “Morning, sis.” Hans greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. I tried not to stiffen. “I have a special delivery for you.”

  I propped open the door for Hans to bring the machine inside. “Thanks. I can’t wait to give it a try.”

  He scowled. “Can’t wait, huh?”

  I forced myself to chuckle. “You know what I mean. And, trust me, if you had tried scraping layers of old wallpaper all day, you would be excited about steaming, too.” I hoped my voice sounded normal. “Have you talked to your mom?”

  Hans wrinkled his brow. “This morning? No, why? Is something wrong?”

  “No.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He stared at me as if he was worried that I was experiencing short-term memory loss. “We just saw her last night, remember?”

  “Yeah.” Heat warmed my cheeks. “I had a question about how to use the steamer.”

  Hans wasn’t buying it. “You? Sloan, you’re the first person everyone calls when they don’t have the manual or to troubleshoot brewing equipment. I’m pretty confident that you can figure out how to use a wallpaper stripper.” He gave me a strange look but dropped it as we walked t
o the bar.

  Kat clapped. “The stripper. Yay!” She tried to lift her left arm and then let it land on the bar top with a heavy thud. “Honestly, I’m so sore I can’t even lift my arm over my head. That thing is going to be a lifesaver.”

  “Too bad I have a client order to finish, otherwise I’d be almost compelled to join you.” Hans’s eyes twinkled.

  “I’m done with you.” I tried to banter with Hans like usual, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  He stabbed himself in the chest with his index finger. “Some thanks I get for your special delivery.”

  Kat reached for a pint glass. “I could pour you a beer.”

  “That’s more like it, but no thanks,” he said with a wink. I had a feeling he had picked up on my unease. His tone was almost too jovial. “Good luck wrestling wallpaper. I’ll stop by later to see how it works.”

  “Cross your fingers.” Kat crossed several of hers.

  Hans left with a wave, but not before giving me one last look of concern. Kat and I finished the inventory sheets before Garrett came downstairs.

  “You got the machine?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee.

  “That’s been sitting in the pot for an hour. You might want to warm it up.”

  “Nah. The caffeine is the same cold or hot.” He held up his mug, then pointed to the steam machine. “You guys want to go fire this thing up and see how it does?”

  Kat nodded. “Yes, I want to get the wallpaper off, so we can get on to the fun stuff.”

  Ursula had not oversold the machine’s capabilities. We were still hot from the steam and damp with sweat by lunchtime, but the wallpaper peeled off in long strips.

  “At this rate, we’re going to be done by end of day,” Garrett announced, stepping back to survey our progress. We had removed all the wallpaper from the first two guest rooms and were a quarter of the way through the third room. Our teamwork was paying off. We had a system that appeared to be working. Kat and I would score and spray the walls and then Garrett would run the steamer over them. Next, we would take turns using oversized putty knives to pull back the paper.