The Cure For What Ales You Read online

  I tried to push the tidal wave of emotions deeper inside. I had to stay focused. There was no one I trusted, aside from Garrett and Chief Meyers in the short term. If I could help Chief Meyers figure out who killed Sara, then I might be able to have a better sense of whether Marianne should be believed.

  That’s what you need to do, Sloan. I stood and rotated my shoulders. I had one mission—find Sara’s killer. Once I accomplished that, I could shift gears and put energy into what to do about Marianne.

  The bachelorettes had finished their beers and were moving on for shots at the Underground. I wanted to caution them to pace themselves, but I doubted it would do any good. I returned to the pub, where the crowd had dispersed. The twins cleared tables and bussed dishes. Garrett wiped down the bar with a cleaning mixture.

  “Everyone took off, huh?” I noted.

  He squeezed a towel into a bucket of cleaning solution. “You nailed it, Sloan. The question now is whether we stay open for the remainder of the evening or close up shop and go enjoy the fun?”

  “In my experience with Maifest, the Festhalle tends to be the gathering spot for the night. It’s your call. I’m sure if we stay open we’ll get a handful of people in but nothing like this afternoon.”

  We had discussed the possibility of an earlier closure when making our plans for the weekend, but decided to play it by ear based on the crowds. That was one of the pros of running a smaller operation. We could make decisions like that on the fly. Der Keller on the other hand, couldn’t open their large tasting room, restaurant, and patio without ample time to staff up.

  “I vote close,” Garrett said. “That way we won’t need to worry about running out of beer tomorrow. I had quite a few people tell me that they’re going to stop in on their way home for growler fills.”

  “That works for me.” I didn’t elaborate, but if we closed Nitro early, it would give me a chance to do some more digging into Sara’s murder. Maybe if I could prove that Sara’s death wasn’t connected to me in any way, shape, or form, Marianne would back off. And if that ended up being the case, I could work with Chief Meyers to get her the help she seemed to be in desperate need of.

  “Consider it done.” Garrett directed the twins to help Kat clean up the outdoor seating. I took on the kitchen, making sure everything was in order and ready for breakfast prep tomorrow.

  Normally, I would have hung around and waited for the rest of the crew to head to the Festhalle together, but I wanted to be alone. “See you over there later?” I said to Garrett on the way out.

  “You bet. I’m going to finish tallying today’s profits and head out in a while.” He pointed to his German costume. “That is, as soon as I change. I’m sure I’ll find you over there.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Outside, I took a moment, breathing the warm apple-blossom-scented air and considering my options. I could head to Hotel Vierter Stock, or I could join the party in the Festhalle. My decision was made for me when a familiar face appeared on the sidewalk.

  “Oh, hello. Sloan, right?” It was Eleanor, the winemaker I had met at the hotel earlier when Marianne had interrogated her.

  “Yep, good memory. Nice to see you again.” I glanced to Nitro’s patio. “Were you coming in for a pint? We’re closing up, since the crowd seems to have moved to the Festhalle, but I’d be happy to do a tasting for you.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t trouble you for that. It’s not a big deal.” She wore a pair of beige slacks and a silky blouse. A large diamond ring glinted on her left hand.

  “No, please. I’d love to.”

  “Are you sure?” She hesitated. “I can gladly come back another time.”

  “Absolutely. Garrett is cleaning up. It’s lovely out here. We can sit on the patio if you like.”

  “That would be great. To tell you the truth, I could use a reprieve from the noise. The music is fun, but it’s so loud. Does that make me sound old?” She twisted her wedding ring.

  “No. I feel you on that. It’s one of the reasons we like this location. Close enough for tourists to walk and find us, but not so close that the bar rattles from the drums on busy weekends like this.”

  “Smart.” Eleanor pointed to one of the tables. “Should I take a seat?”

  “Make yourself welcome. I’ll go pour a tasting flight.” I returned to the bar.

  Garrett raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were taking off, Sloan.”

  “I was, but we got a last-minute customer wanting a taster flight, and I couldn’t turn her down.”

  “The consummate customer service from Sloan Krause.” Garrett gave me a half bow.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my motives weren’t entirely pure. Sure, I never pass up an opportunity to showcase our craft, but more than anything, I wanted to talk to Eleanor alone and see what she might know about Sara’s murder.

  “This one’s on me,” I said, as I poured sample beers into our tasting glasses. “That way you don’t have to balance the accounts again.”

  “Just call it on the house, Sloan.”

  I poured myself a pint of the Lemon Kiss and took everything outside.

  Eleanor put down the menu she’d been reading when I set the tasting tray in front of her. “I was reading your descriptions. It’s funny how many similarities there are between craft beer and wine. Everything sounds delicious. Where should I start?” She gazed at the tasting tray.

  “Like with wine, you should begin with our lightest ale—the hibiscus rose—and work your way to the hoppier IPAs. Typically we would end with a black IPA or stout, but we don’t have either on tap at the moment. Since we’re a nanobrewery, we have limited runs for each season. If you had been here in January, you would have found three or four stouts on tap, but right now it’s light spring offerings, and we’re already in the middle of planning our fall line.”

  “You’re able to be so much more nimble than we are in the wine industry.” She picked up the first taster. The ale had a subtle rose tint, the color of ballet slippers. “Aging wine takes longer, as I’m sure you know. We only do a yearly release. Bottling never gets easier. Every year I’m a bundle of nerves. I’m crossing my fingers and toes hoping that the wine is going to be a success, but never quite sure. Do you get that feeling when you brew?”

  “Yes, it’s a nail-biter every time we brew. Of course, we only have to wait a few weeks to see how a beer has turned out.”

  Eleanor tasted the ale. I appreciated that she took her time to smell the aroma and let the beer linger on her palate. She was obviously a craft expert herself. “This is wonderful. Refreshing and herbal. Very unique. My husband is an avid beer drinker. He would love this. He’s not a wino, which is a constant issue with us. I keep trying to convince him that if he would involve himself in the process of harvesting grapes and making the wine with me, he might appreciate it more, but I can’t convince him.” She blew out a breath and made a face. “Husbands, what can you do with them?”

  “I hear you on that topic, and I’ll just say that I agree and leave it at that.” I chuckled. “Your husband didn’t join you on this trip?” I thought back to our interaction at the hotel. I could have sworn there was someone else in Eleanor’s room.

  “No.” She swished the beer like mouthwash, another telltale sign she was a professional. “He hates crowds and schmoozing. I’m on my own. That’s why it’s so nice to spend some time with you. It’s always hard to travel and not know anyone in town. It can get lonely.”

  “I’m sure.” Her words made me appreciate that my job didn’t require much travel. Hop and grain vendors delivered to us. We didn’t distribute our beer outside of Leavenworth, and Garrett and I had concurred that when and if we started doing the beer festival circuit, we would hire younger staff to manage those events. In the Pacific Northwest, rarely a weekend went by when there wasn’t a beer festival within a hundred-mile range. Sour ale festivals in the spring, fresh hop festivals in the fall, winter ale festivals in the winter, the list went on and
on. Beer festivals were a great way to raise a nanobrewery like Nitro’s profile and often led to partnerships with distributors, but we weren’t ready to take that next step yet.

  Eleanor swallowed the sip of beer she had been swishing. I thought about how to naturally steer the conversation to Sara’s murder without coming on too strong. She gave me the perfect opportunity.

  “I have to admit that I needed something like this. The aroma makes me want to slow my breathing and inhale. Today has not been what I had imagined at all. I thought we—uh, I mean.” She shook her entire body, as if trying to reset. “What I meant to say, was that I was hoping for a relaxing day. I had plans for a long sleep in, breakfast in bed, maybe an afternoon nap after the parade, but the police have been in and out of the room next to mine. I can’t stop thinking about that poor housekeeper.”

  “It’s horrible,” I agreed.

  “She was very helpful when I was checking in. We had a long conversation about wine. I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  “How did wine come up?”

  “She noticed my wine boxes when I was unloading my car. She was very thoughtful and told me that she would get someone to help so I didn’t have to lift the heavy boxes and carry them into my room.”

  “That was kind of her.”

  “Did you know her?” Eleanor finished the hibiscus rose ale. “I know Leavenworth is small, but I’m not sure how small.”

  “We’re pretty small, but not quite that small. I know most people in town, but Sara, like many hotel and restaurant workers, didn’t live in town. She commuted from Wenatchee. I’ve seen her around, but I didn’t know her well.”

  “Such a shame.” Eleanor placed her hand over her heart. “I received a notice from the front desk that there have been some break-ins recently. I can’t help but wonder if it’s connected. It’s a bit unsettling. I hate to say it, but my first thought was housekeeping staff. They have access to the guest rooms. It would be easy enough to steal cash or credit cards and stick them in a uniform pocket. I considered changing hotels, but everything is booked, and management said that they’re working with the police and encouraged guests to lock up valuables in our in-room safes and report anything suspicious immediately.”

  “Really?”

  “Not exactly what I expected from a small town like this.” She pulled her wedding ring on and off her finger.

  “I can assure you that that’s not normal. The joke around town is that the only reason anyone ever locks their front door is to keep the bears out,” I said. “Leavenworth is very safe.”

  Did break-ins at Hotel Vierter Stock lend more credibility to Marianne’s claims that her files on Forest had been stolen? Maybe Sara had been the culprit. If she had been caught in the act while rifling through a guest’s personal belongings, that certainly could have gotten her killed. And then there was Vienna. She also had access to guest rooms. She had admitted that she needed the job. What if, in her desperation for cash, she had turned to theft? If Sara found out, that could be another reason that her job was in jeopardy, more so than getting in trouble for texting, and it gave Vienna a motive for murdering Sara.

  “The woman who you were with this morning, she knew the housekeeper, right?” Eleanor asked, shaking me from my thoughts.

  “Marianne? I don’t think so, why?”

  Eleanor picked up the taster of our honey wheat ale. “I can smell the sweetness in this. It almost reminds me of our riesling.”

  “I can see that,” I agreed. “What were you going to say about Marianne?”

  “This is lovely, quite impressive.” She raised the taster. The straw-colored ale caught the sinking light, making it appear as if it were glowing. “I assumed that she and Sara were connected. I saw them talking privately yesterday before Sara was killed.”

  This was news.

  A sudden coldness hit me at the core. What could that mean? Sara and Marianne had spoken? Marianne had insisted, multiple times, that she had never met the housekeeper. My heart thudded in my chest.

  “Do you remember when?” My smile felt stiff as I asked the question.

  “It was early afternoon. Not long after I finished checking in and unloading my wine. I don’t remember for sure, but I would guess maybe one or two.”

  “Where were they?” I didn’t want to spook Eleanor by asking too many questions.

  “In the garden. This is going to sound strange, but I could have sworn that they were arguing about the security cameras. Maybe I heard wrong. Marianne seemed to be upset about the cameras. From Sara’s response, I got the impression that Marianne had tried to dismantle them, but again, I could be mistaken. I was leaving my room when they were arguing, so it wasn’t as if I was within earshot.”

  “They were arguing?”

  “Yeah.” Eleanor polished off the honey wheat ale. “Marianne was furious.”

  That changed everything. Marianne and Sara had been fighting. Could that mean Marianne had something to do with the housekeeper’s death? I wasn’t sure, but I knew one thing—she had lied to me.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  ELEANOR DIDN’T STAY LONG. She finished her tasting flight and invited me to stop by the hotel lobby later so she could reciprocate with a wine offering. “I’m having a few other wine friends meet up around nine. Please join us. I’d love to share our wine with you and introduce you to some of my colleagues. The Yakima Valley really is such a community when it comes to vineyards. That’s why we’re here to build lasting partnerships and raise up the region as a whole.”

  Her sentiment was similar to what I had experienced in the craft beer world. Patrons were often taken aback when we recommended they visit Der Keller while staying in the village, or talked up one of our guest beer taps. There was a deep sense of connectedness when it came to brewing, one of the many reasons it was the perfect career choice for me. Sure, there were the occasional head brewers who tended toward paranoia and jealousy, but in general as brewers we understood the inordinate amount of work involved in crafting quality ales. Garrett, Hans, Mac, Otto, Ursula, everyone I knew in the industry lived by the creed of raising up one another. We also had a special pact to finish any beer we ordered, even if it was undrinkable.

  To Eleanor, I said, “Thanks, I’ll see how long I last, but I might take you up on that.”

  Garrett and I kept a few bottles behind the bar for wine drinkers. We prided ourselves on being able to convert the most insistent beer-averse visitors, but there were still occasions when customers asked for a glass of vino. It might be nice to rotate some regional options into our small collection of artisanal wines.

  After bringing in our glasses and checking on the pub one last time, I made my way to the Festhalle. The grounds had been transformed into a floral extravaganza. It looked like a scene from The Sound of Music. The dazzling show of colors and alluring aromas made me feel almost light-headed. It was nearly impossible to take it all in. Gorgeous overflowing flower baskets hung from vendor tents. Rows and rows of fresh herbs, potted strawberries, and veggie starts lined tables. There were bundles of wildflowers and an assortment of floral jewelry for sale, including everything from the crowns that Garrett had bought for Kat and me to dainty bracelets, earrings, and bountiful necklaces dripping with ranunculus and wisteria. Intermixed with the floral booths were crafters selling local honey, fudge, mountain jams, fresh produce, and handmade art.

  I spent some time wandering between the booths, sampling blackberry preserves and chocolate orange fudge. It was hard not to feel upbeat while mixing in with the happy festival crowds. Kids licked creamy lemon ice pops and devoured bratwurst sausages. The music in the Festhalle pulsed outdoors. My cell phone buzzed. Relief flooded me when I looked at the screen and saw Sally’s number.

  “Sloan, how are you holding up? I got your message.” Her normally steady tone was animated. “I can’t believe it. Marianne is really there? In the village?”

  I wound my way to a less crowded area of the market farther from t
he thumping beat of the music. “I know, I can’t believe it either.” I told her about Marianne’s bizarre behavior and my continued confusion.

  As always, Sally had an innate ability to calm me. Her even, reassuring style returned as we talked through different possibilities. “Sloan, I’m inclined to believe her,” Sally said as we wrapped up our conversation. “It matches my earlier theory that she could have been the person who placed you in care. I was wrong about the Krauses and their involvement, but much of what she’s saying adds up—Forest, your mother, you. I’ve said since the first day you tiptoed into my office that whoever left you did it out of love. Please stay safe and keep me posted.”

  When we ended the call, I felt better. Just hearing Sally’s voice was a reminder that I wasn’t alone. I weaved back through the booths toward the Der Keller beer tent at the far end of the market. It stood out from the sea of white awnings with its baby-blue-checkered pattern. Massive strings of spring garlands with bouquets of roses, lilies, and greenery had been strung around the tent.

  “Hey, Sloan,” Hans called as I walked up to the elaborate temporary bar handcrafted from giant slabs of wood and roped with more aromatic garlands made from hops and assorted greenery. He held a Der Keller pint glass at an angle beneath the silver tap handle and slowly poured a light copper Maibock. The classic German spring pale ale was made with malt imported from Munich and Vienna. It was one of the most popular beers Der Keller brewed with its toasty aroma and fruity hops.

  “How did they manage to sign you up for tap duty?” I asked, coming around to the side of the tent so as not to be in the way of waiting guests. The Der Keller tent was more like a small city. As opposed to the six-by-six-foot tent we had erected last night for the Sip and Stroll, the Der Keller tent took up nearly half a block. The inside of the massive canopy had been transformed to resemble the pub and restaurant. Giant balls of twinkle lights hung from the ceiling. There were dozens of tables draped with red-checked plastic tablecloths. Every table had a large vase with red, yellow, and black carnations and miniature German flags. Flower garlands were strung from each side of the tent, and a stage that rivaled that of the Festhalle offered even more entertainment options. Festivalgoers swayed from left to right, balancing steins as they moved to the beat of the band. A handful of people danced in front of the stage as barmaids deftly carried a half dozen heavy steins in each arm. Kids chomped on bratwursts and waited in line to get their faces painted like unicorns and superheroes.