The Cure For What Ales You Page 13
“Don’t listen to anything she says. She doesn’t speak for the village.”
“It seems like it. I understood when I bought the hotel that there might be resistance at first from an outsider coming in, but I thought by now people would be over it.”
“Is it more than April?”
He moved closer. I could smell stale coffee on his breath. “Yeah, it’s my staff, too. They’re constantly complaining.”
“About what?” I moved away again.
“Everything. The previous owners had different protocols for everything. I thought the village was going to have a chill vibe, but it’s the opposite. People are so uptight.”
“How so?” I wondered if he would bring up Sara.
“Look, you’re about my age, right? I think there’s a certain sense of having to be politically correct about everything these days. One of my staff members freaked out that I put my hand on the girls’ shoulders. What’s the big deal?”
Unwanted touching was a pretty big deal to me and could easily put him in legal trouble, but I let him talk.
“They were claiming that they were going to file a lawsuit against me. Yeah, right. What judge is going to take that case?”
Had he read my mind? “Your staff is threatening to sue?”
“Not anymore. I think that it all blew over, but like I said, I wasn’t expecting everyone to be so rigid and intent on following the rules. I thought this was a mountain town with a bunch of ski bums and river rats.”
“We have a lot of that, too.” I wasn’t sure how to respond.
Fortunately, Jay got called over to the front desk. I took that as a sign that it was time to make my exit.
I had learned a couple of important things tonight. The first was that I suspected Eleanor and Russ were having an affair. I wasn’t sure how or if it related to Sara’s death. One hypothesis was that she had walked in on them and they freaked out. Maybe it was a crime of passion—literally.
But, then again, Jay seemed like a much more likely suspect. He had blatantly admitted to sexually harassing his female staff. What did he mean by not being worried about a lawsuit any longer? Had it blown over as he stated, or could it be that he killed Sara to put an end to future legal action?
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
I LEFT THE LOBBY and stepped outside. Darkness had settled over the craggy mountain peaks. The garden was illuminated with tiny golden string lights. John waited for me next to a bubbling fountain. I glanced to the room where Sara had been killed. Yellow caution tape still stretched across the door. Marianne was nowhere in sight, which I hoped was a sign that she was getting some much-needed rest.
That’s what you need, too, Sloan. A restful night’s sleep might make everything clearer tomorrow.
A brisk breeze made me wish I had brought a sweatshirt. I rubbed my arms, and as I wound through the grassy area, I heard voices and stopped. Vienna and Bozeman were huddled next to a lilac bush.
“Please, Bozeman,” Vienna begged. Her long hair shimmered under the golden lights. She had changed out of her housekeeping uniform into a pair of skinny jeans, flip-flops, and a thin sweater that hit her at the knees.
“We’ve already gone over this, Vienna. You need to stay out of it.” Bozeman’s tone was harsh.
“But I could help. You should let me. The staff is talking, and rumors are starting to spread.” She tried to grab his arm.
“No!” He yanked it away. “You need to drop it and get out of here. I’m tired. I need to go find my dudes and grab some beers. We’ve been working twelve-hour days, and I’m not sticking around to fight with you when I’m off the clock.”
“But if you would just listen to me. I have an idea that might help,” Vienna pleaded.
He threw his hands in the air. “Nope. I’m outta here. See you tomorrow.” In a slick move, he jumped like a hurdler over the low fence and took off.
Vienna stared after him. For a minute I thought she was going to follow him, but instead she hung her head and turned in my direction. I walked straight toward her. “Good evening.”
“Oh, hi. I didn’t know we weren’t alone.” She sucked in a breath.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just on my way home.”
She looked even younger under the glow of starlight. Tears welled in her eyes.
I stepped closer. “Are you okay?”
“Bozeman can be such an ass. He won’t let me help him.” She pulled her hands into the sleeves of her sweater.
“Why does he need help?”
“It’s just work stuff. It’s not a big deal.” She clammed up. “I should go. It’s late, and I have to be back here bright and early tomorrow. You’d think having everyone depart would make my job easier, but it’s actually worse. We’re going to have to turn over every room. It’s going to be a long day.”
“I can walk out with you.”
“No, that’s okay. I have a couple things to get out of my locker.” Vienna started to move toward the lobby, but froze. She was looking at something behind us. “On second thought, yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here. I can deal with my locker tomorrow.”
Vienna hurried to the gate. I followed her, taking a quick look over my shoulder to see what had made her change her mind. It wasn’t what. It was who. Jay lurked near the lobby doors. Was that why he’d been hanging around? To try and catch Vienna alone?
I shuddered at the thought.
“Did you have a chance to speak with Chief Meyers about what we talked about earlier?” I asked.
“Not yet. We were slammed. I’ve been running from room to room restocking toiletries and making beds. I’ll try to find her tomorrow, if there’s time.” She didn’t sound very likely to follow through.
“Wasn’t Chief Meyers at the hotel most of the day?” I had thought that she and her team had been on-site investigating Sara’s death.
“Yeah.” Vienna stopped at the corner and pointed down the street. “I’m heading that way to the shuttle stop.”
“Okay. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, but I really want to encourage you to share your experience with Chief Meyers. You can’t let Jay get away with this. She’ll know what to do, and she’ll be extremely discreet and have your best interests at heart.”
“Thanks, I’ll see if I can find her tomorrow.” Vienna left to catch the shuttle. I had a feeling she was blowing me off, but maybe she was late for the bus.
Leavenworth ran a shuttle service to different stops through the village, the outskirts of town, and to Wenatchee and Lake Wenatchee, shuttling tourists and hotel and restaurant staff back and forth on busy festival weekends. The chamber encouraged workers to use the shuttle service in order to reduce the number of cars on the highway and coming into town. In fact, at a recent chamber meeting, a group of business owners had proposed banning vehicles from Front Street. Their point was that only allowing pedestrian access would provide more flow during festival weekends and allow restaurant owners to take advantage of more outdoor seating. Garrett and I had thrown our support behind the idea.
I turned in the opposite direction and walked through the village to get home. The air had grown chilly under a canopy of stars. The hazy streaks of the Milky Way cast a pale glow above. An opaque moon rose over the jagged ridgeline of Mount Stuart.
By the time I made it home, I’d begun to regret declining Mac’s offer. It would have been nice to have company, but I pushed those thoughts away and crawled into bed. What I needed was a good night’s sleep. Hopefully by morning things would start to make sense. I intended to take my own advice that I had just offered to Vienna and call Chief Meyers first thing. In the blur of evening activities, I realized I had yet to inform her that Forest may or may not be in town and there was a possibility he could be making an appearance at Nitro tomorrow.
When I unlocked the house and left John at his post, I noticed a plain envelope had been slipped beneath the door. There was no name on the envelope, but I assumed it must be for me. I open
ed it to find a grainy Polaroid inside. The photo was of Marianne when she was much younger. In it, she was standing in front of a brick schoolhouse with her arm wrapped around another woman, who had to be Claire. The sisters could have been twins. Claire was slightly taller and wore glasses, but otherwise, they shared the same olive skin, defined cheekbones, dark hair, and smiling eyes. They looked carefree, as if they were ready to take on the world.
A wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was nice to see them in their bell-bottom jeans and flowery blouses posing for the picture, each with one hand on her hip and a goofy grin.
Why had Marianne left me the photo?
She was impossible to get a read on. Every time I came to the conclusion that she was delusional, she did something like this. There had to be some truth to her story. The scrap of my old baby blanket, this picture, were they clues? Or was it her way of trying to connect?
My sleep was less than restful. I did manage to drift off a couple of times but was woken with night terrors. After the second nightmare, I gave up. My T-shirt was drenched in sweat, and my skin was clammy. It was nearly six, so I decided to take a long hot shower and get an early start to what I imagined might be a strange day.
The shower helped revive my energy, as did a steaming cup of coffee. I pulled on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and a lightweight sweater and left for Nitro. No one was stationed on my front porch, but a different squad car was parked in the driveway. I gave the officer a wave as I approached the vehicle. The words SEATTLE POLICE were painted in blue on the side of the white squad car.
He opened the door and stepped out of the car. “Morning, Mrs. Krause, I’m Officer Downs, and I’ve been assigned to your protective duty. My approach might be different than what you’ve experienced so far. I’m going to be within a few feet of you at all times.” Officer Downs reminded me of Sasquatch. He was easily well over six feet with a burly body and bushy beard. I had felt safe under the watchful eye of John, but there was nothing to worry about with Downs on duty. He looked like he could snap anyone attempting to harm me in half with one move.
“Hi, thanks for being here—I’m relieved to hear it, actually. I’m heading in to work at Nitro. Do you know when Chief Meyers starts her day?”
“She’s working around the clock with the murder investigation and the arrival of our team. Why? Did you need something?”
“No. I’ll call her.” I thanked him and walked into the sleepy village. Nothing would open for a few hours. Sundays tended to be leisurely, with visitors sleeping off a night of fun. Fortunately the coffee kiosk near the gazebo opened early. I stopped to pick up lattes for Garrett, Kat, and myself, taking in the early morning splendor of the village while I waited for the barista to make our drinks. Vendor tents had been closed tight. The faint smell of roasted nuts lingered in the air. Blue jays hopped on spindly feet, collecting any remnants left behind last night. A cleaning crew rumbled along the street, picking up garbage and giving the stunning flower displays a healthy watering.
Nitro was equally quiet when I unlocked the front door and showed Officer Downs inside. He did a sweep of the first floor before taking up a post in the front while I got to work in an empty kitchen. It was one of my favorite times in the brewery. I enjoyed puttering around in the kitchen or tinkering with our brews while everyone else snoozed upstairs. Since we wouldn’t serve our overnight guests breakfast for a couple of hours, I had time to bake something special, but before I got started, I placed a call to the chief. I got her voicemail and left a message detailing what Hans had told me last night and that there was a chance Forest could make an appearance at the pub.
I felt relieved knowing that she was looped in, so I focused my attention on my morning bake—beer bread cinnamon rolls. We tried to infuse our pub fare, including our breakfasts, with our product. It was a way to allow our guests to fully immerse themselves in the craft beer experience and showcase our beer. Much like my banana bread, the beer would add a hint of zest to the cinnamon rolls and help activate the yeast.
For the rolls, I started with yeast and sugar. Once the yeast had activated, I added flour and a cup of our Pucker Up IPA. I allowed the dough to rise before forming it into a large rectangle; generously slathering it with butter, cinnamon, and sugar; and rolling it into a log shape. I sliced the dough into hearty rolls and set them in the oven to bake.
Garrett wandered into the kitchen as the scent of the spicy rolls began to waft from the oven. “Hey, Sloan. What are you doing up this early?” He rubbed sleep from his eyes. I wondered if I had woken him, since he was in a pair of sweats, slippers, and a heather gray T-shirt that read MY BLOOD TYPE IS IPA. “And why does everything you bake have to smell so good?”
I chuckled and offered him a latte. “You might need to zap this in the microwave. Consider it a peace offering.”
He clutched the coffee. “If you bring me a latte, I’ll pretty much forgive you for anything.”
“Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night. It’s going to be a busy day anyway, so I figured I would get to work now.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on, Sloan? Or are we going to keep pretending that everything’s fine?” Garrett eyes were etched with concern.
“Is it that obvious?”
“No, but you’ve trusted me with your story, Sloan, and I can tell there’s more going on. I hope you know that you’ve got a listening ear if you need it.” He took off the plastic lid and added a half spoonful of sugar to his coffee. “Plus there’s a guy in uniform in the bar who nearly had me in a headlock when I came downstairs, so yeah, I think something is up.”
“Sorry about that.” I winced. “I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of an Officer Downs headlock.”
Garrett pretended to massage his scalp. “Tell me about it.”
He was right. My breakup with Mac had taught me that closing myself off to the people who cared about me wasn’t what I needed. This past year had brought an unbelievable amount of change. Some of it hard. Some of it rewarding. The most important lesson that continued to resonate was that I had created a community of friends around me. Friends like Garrett. If Forest was really here and really coming after me, I needed his support now more than ever.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
EVERY DETAIL POURED OUT of me as we sipped our lattes and waited for the beer cinnamon rolls to bake. When I finished, I expected Garrett to lecture me on not saying something sooner, but instead he leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Wow, Sloan, thank you for trusting me. I can’t imagine what you must be going through, but I want you to know that I’ll support you however I can, and if Forest shows up here, he’s going to meet my mash tun paddle and an entire Leavenworth armada.”
“That might be difficult, given that we’re landlocked,” I joked.
“It’s a figure of speech. You know what I mean. He’s not welcome here, and the minute he steps onto my property, I’ll have him arrested.”
The timer dinged. I went to check on the rolls.
“What does Chief Meyers think?” Garrett asked.
“I haven’t talked to her yet. I left her a message earlier. She obviously knows everything Marianne told her, but I am worried that the news from Hans might prove her right.”
“We can’t be too careful.” Garrett surveyed the kitchen like he was trying to assess our weapons cache.
The industrial kitchen was stocked with plenty of bread and cheese knives, but I doubted they would provide much protection if Forest was really as dangerous and savvy as Marianne had described him.
“There’s a chance this is a figment of Marianne’s imagination,” I said. “Don’t forget that. I’m still not convinced that she hasn’t inflated the danger, or she could be connected to Sara’s murder.”
“Sure, but then who was the guy asking about you? You said yourself that you didn’t keep in touch with any of your professors from school. It’s a pretty odd coincidence, don’t you think?”
Garrett ran his fingers through his hair. “Sloan, we need a better plan. I think you should go find Chief Meyers now. The more I think about it, we can’t minimize this. I’d rather err on the side of being overly cautious than take a chance. If Forest is the reason you were placed in protective care, then I’m inclined to believe Marianne’s dire warnings. Maybe we need to lock everything down.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” I cautioned. “That’s what Officer Downs is here for. Up until now, the police have been keeping an eye on me from a distance. I think the official term they used is a personal perimeter, but not any longer. He’s going to be inside at the bar today. You saw him. He’s not going to let anything happen to me.”
“Rash?” Garrett sloshed some of his coffee as he spoke. “Sloan, if the man who murdered your mother is in town, he’s here for one reason—you. We can’t be too careful. I’m not willing to take a chance on this. We have to do something right now. I’m glad that Officer Downs is going to stick by you, but it’s not enough.”
“What do you want me to do?” I moved to the sink to wash my hands. I had found a hop-infused soap at the farmer’s market a few weeks ago, and anytime I scrubbed up in the kitchen, the calming scent of hops helped to center me.
“I want you to go to the police station. Wait there until the chief arrives. She needs to know everything. Don’t wait for her to come to you. Take Officer Downs.” He set his paper cup on the counter. “While you do that, I’m going to make sure every door and window in this building is locked tight. There are so many windows and extra doors here, it’s ridiculous.” When Garrett inherited the historic building, which was originally a brothel in the late 1800s, then a diner and guesthouse during his Aunt Tess’s reign, he spent countless hours reworking the space to make it functional as a brewery and tasting room, including closing off numerous unnecessary exits in the back.