Death on Tap Page 22

  “That’s what I heard, too.”

  “He doesn’t. He doesn’t have any hops. There’s nothing out there on the land. It was a scam. We have more hops at the farmhouse than he does.”

  “What?”

  Mac sighed. “Yeah. I got hosed.”

  “But he brought in boxes of hops to Nitro. Garrett and I created new beers specifically around those hops. I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know where he got those, but they’re not from his land. I went out there last week. It was a stupid move to invest without seeing the farm, but it sounded like a sure thing.”

  I tried to make sense of what Mac was saying, but I couldn’t. “Wait, you’re serious. Van doesn’t have a hop farm?”

  “Nope. It’s a dust bowl.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t started planting yet?”

  “No. He left town.”

  “What?”

  Mac nodded. “He left town with my money, and I have nothing to show for it.”

  “And your mom knows?”

  “I had to tell them. They weren’t happy. They told me that they’d taught me better when it came to business. The look of disappointment on their faces was worse than losing the money. Mama was going to talk to Der Keller’s lawyer today. If they can track Van down, we should be able to get our money back—if he hasn’t spent it.”

  “But I thought Van wanted to brew? He had me taste his home brew. He said he was interviewing with Bruin.”

  “I don’t know. That was probably a scam, too. The guy is no brewer. I can’t believe I got taken so easily.”

  I’d been so focused on April, maybe in part because I wanted her to be the killer, that I had overlooked Van. He was running a scam. What if he had pulled off the biggest scam of all? My mind began to spin with possibilities. What if Van had killed Eddie?

  Alex interrupted my thoughts. “Hey, Hans and I are done upstairs. Opa called and said he might just stay the night.”

  Mac shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Maybe we should go try to strong-arm him.” He winked at Alex.

  We decided to part ways. Mac and Alex would go back to the hospital and try to convince Otto to come home for the night. I had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t leave Ursula’s side, so I packaged up a container of hot soup and a bag of peanut butter cookies just in case. Hans would go to Der Keller and give the staff an update. I wanted to at least check in with Garrett.

  Downtown was a short walk from the Krauses’ house. It felt good to be outside and breathe in fresh air. It was after seven, but the sky was already beginning to darken. In the next month, it would be dark by six. I turned the corner onto Main Street and ran right into April.

  “Sloan, darling, how are you? I heard the terrible news that Ursula took a little tumble.” April had on yet another gaudy costume. This time it was orange and black plaid, with matching tangerine lipstick. She reminded me of a pumpkin.

  “More than a little tumble. She broke her hip in three places.”

  April fanned her face with her hand. “Oh, no! So terrible, and to such a sweet lady.”

  Her sincerity was about as genuine as her fake lashes. Maybe it was because I was on edge and feeling particularly protective of Ursula, but I couldn’t take one more minute of her fake attitude.

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” I said, plastering on a smile.

  “Yes? About your house?”

  “No, about Eddie, actually.”

  A look of panic flashed on her face. She blinked rapidly. “What about Eddie?”

  “Well, it’s interesting. Rumor has it that you two had a fling.”

  April’s face lost its color, making her makeup look even more garish. “What?”

  “That’s the word around town. You and Eddie, I would have never guessed.” It wasn’t my proudest moment, but it did feel good to give April a taste of her own medicine.

  She stepped back. “It was nothing. Really. I can’t believe how gossipy people can be around here.”

  I had to hold back a laugh. Sucks to be on the other side, doesn’t it?

  “I think everyone is surprised because you made it seem like you and Eddie weren’t exactly friends.”

  “We weren’t.” She rolled her eyes. “It was a fling. Nothing more. I tried to tell Eddie that, but he wouldn’t let go. He was absolutely obsessed after I broke it off.”

  “You broke it off?”

  “It was never going to work. He refused to listen to my advice about blending in more around here, so I told him we were through.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “He wrote me a stack of love letters, kept sending flowers, candy, but I told him I wasn’t interested anymore. Poor thing. I think I broke his heart.”

  I wasn’t sure that I believed her. I wouldn’t have put it past April to claim that she was the one to break it off just to save face. Then again, after Mac’s revelation about Van’s scam, I had no idea who to believe at the moment. Was everyone in Leavenworth lying?

  “What about Hayley?” I asked. “I heard they were dating, too.”

  “Yes, that’s true. I think she was a rebound for him. He was trying to make me jealous, but of course it didn’t work.”

  “With Hayley?”

  “Exactly. I think he figured that if he pranced around town with a young piece of eye candy, it would get under my skin, but I told him to go for it. Of course, as you know, his eye candy only had eyes for your husband.”

  Only April could find a way to work in a dig at me in the middle of a conversation about her secret affair.

  “Did you tell this to Chief Meyers?”

  “Of course. I gave her Eddie’s love letters. I bet they had a laugh over that at headquarters. Let’s just say that the man did not have a way with words.”

  I couldn’t picture tattooed Eddie pouring his love for April out on paper. For that matter, I couldn’t picture Eddie and April. I guessed the old adage about opposites attracting was true in their case.

  “You’re not implying that you think I had something to do with Eddie’s death, are you?”

  “Not necessarily, but as you know, everyone is a suspect.”

  April shook her head. “Not me. Police Chief Meyers took me off her list very early on in her investigation. Now, if you want to talk suspects, I have some ideas.”

  “Who?”

  “You know that supposed hop farmer you pointed out a while ago? What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. He’s a hop farmer and home brewer, but otherwise nothing.” I wasn’t about to share what I had learned about Van from Mac with April.

  She moved closer and lowered her voice. “I have it on good authority that he’s not who he says he is, and I think Eddie realized that.” I thought back to opening night at Nitro and how Eddie had started to confront Van about the hops being his. How had I been so blind? Van must have been stealing hops from Bruin. Everything was beginning to make sense. Hops were hard to come by. With no hop farm, Van must have been skimming from Bruin’s reserve.

  For a moment, April actually sounded sincere, but then she slipped back into her singsong fake voice. “It’s tragic. I think it got him killed.” April and I agreed on something.

  “I told Chief Meyers, and while she’s unable to disclose details of the case to the general public, I believe that, due to my high status in the community, she made an exception.”

  “How so?”

  “Well.” April paused and looked around us as if to make sure that no one was listening. “She clearly hinted that she was on to Van as well. If you ask me, there’s going to be an arrest in the case soon and Van will be behind bars.”

  A group of tourists with Leavenworth maps and matching German hats appeared across the street. April smoothed her skirt and dashed away. “Sorry, duty calls.”

  I felt sorry for the travelers, but not sorry enough to try and rescue them from April’s clutches. I continued on to Nitr
o, more convinced than ever that Van had killed Eddie.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-ONE

  GARRETT LOOKED SHOCKED WHEN I showed up at Nitro. “Sloan, you didn’t need to come in.”

  “I couldn’t stay away. The beer was calling me.” I winked. “Ursula is doing fine. There’s nothing I can do for her right now, so I’d rather stay busy if that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s great,” Garrett said, nodding to the crowded pub. “I’ve been pouring pints with both hands for the last hour.”

  “Let me give you one of mine.” I grabbed an apron and tied it around my waist, feeling a sense of relief knowing that Ursula was well cared for and that I was back where I was supposed to be.

  “Garrett, you never signed that contract with Van, did you?”

  He shook his head. “No. Why?”

  I told him everything I had heard from Mac and April. Garrett listened with an expression I couldn’t read. When I finished, he rested his chin in his hands. “I was leery of the guy from the first time I met him. Who gives a business owner a contract for that kind of cash on a dusty piece of paper? I scanned it and sent a copy to my friend in Seattle, he said it was bunk. But, I knew for sure Van was up to something the day that he had you taste his home brew. And God, that beer. That was the worst home brew I’ve ever tasted.” He shuddered. “That tipped me off. Not that every hop farmer is a brewer, but a hop grower is going to understand basic flavors and how to bring that out in a beer.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Chief Meyers asked me not to.” Garrett’s face was glum.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Sloan. She was tracking him and asked me for my help. The deal was that no one—even you—could know. I’ve felt terrible having to keep this from you.” He twisted a bar napkin in his hands. “You have no idea.”

  My head hurt trying to make sense of what Garrett was saying. “What? You’ve been working with Chief Meyers?”

  “Yeah, since before we opened. She and Aunt Tess were close, and Chief Meyers had gotten a call from a colleague in Wenatchee. Van had tried a similar scam there, but was working under a different name. She thought it was a prime opportunity to ‘bust him,’ in her words. I had strict orders to play along. That was fine when I didn’t know anyone here. I was the new guy in town, so it made sense. But then I met you, and you’ve been so helpful and great.” His voice caught. “Knowing that you and Der Keller could be hurt by Van’s scam and not being able to say anything has been terrible.”

  I thought about our lunch at The Carriage House and how many times Garrett had seemed distant when I had asked him questions. It all was beginning to make sense. “So there was no rumor in the beer world about Mac’s investments. You knew the whole time?”

  He swallowed and ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah. Can you forgive me?”

  What was it with men lying to me? I had trusted Garrett, and while I knew that his reasons were different than Mac’s, it still stung to know that he’d kept so much from me. “But Chief Meyers kept asking me about you—I don’t understand.”

  “I think that was a test for me. She hammered it home that if anyone knew, I could blow the whole thing.”

  That was fair. I considered it for a moment and thought back through every interaction I had had with Van. Why hadn’t I put the clues together earlier? Everything he had said had been a lie, from his nonexistent hop farm to his horrible home brew. He had to be the killer. But why? I voiced my questions aloud. “So did you and Chief Meyers suspect Van all along? Why did Van kill Eddie?”

  “No, no!” Garrett tossed the napkin on the counter. “I had no idea. The only thing the chief and I were working on was Van’s scam.”

  “But you must have wondered.”

  He picked the napkin back up and folded it into a square. “To be honest, Sloan, at first I thought maybe Mac did it.”

  “Me too.” I frowned.

  “Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. It had to be Van, and as for why, well, until the police find him, it will be hard to know.” He traced the outline of the napkin with his index finger. “My guess is money. Greed. Eddie must have figured out his scam. Caught him stealing hops. Van snapped. You’ll have to talk to Chief Meyers. I’m sure she has other theories in the works.”

  I had a million more questions, but the sound of a pint glass banging on the bar shook me back to the present. A thirsty customer winked and pointed to the empty glass. I plastered on a smile and took my place behind the bar.

  Throughout the night, Garrett caught my eye. Each time he would shoot me a look of apology. I wasn’t exactly angry with him—more hurt—but I wasn’t ready to talk either.

  After we closed, Garrett tried again. He poured us both pints. “A peace offering?” He raised one glass in the air.

  At that moment, I spotted a man peering in the windows, and my heart froze. I recognized the overalls right away. Was that Van? It couldn’t be, could it? The man made eye contact and flew past the window. “That’s Van!” I shouted to Garrett and, without thinking, grabbed his arm and ran toward the door. The pint glass Garrett was holding shattered on the floor and sent beer spraying.

  “Sloan, wait!” Garrett yelled, but he followed after me.

  Van, or someone who bore a remarkable resemblance to him, took off down Commercial Street toward Waterfront Park. I called after him, but he didn’t stop. I ran track in high school and still have a decent stride. I took off after him at a full sprint. I didn’t have a plan in mind; I just knew that I had to catch him. Garrett huffed behind me. “Sloan, slow down. Let’s call Chief Meyers.”

  The man sprinted down the hill and headed toward the entrance to Blackbird Island, a grassy park in the middle of the Wenatchee River. I hesitated for a second and followed after him. My lungs burned, and I had to breathe through my nose to keep oxygen flowing.

  “How did you learn to run like this?” Garrett gasped between words. He had a size advantage over me, but was struggling to keep pace.

  “He’s getting away.”

  We crossed over the footbridge. The smell of dank fall was everywhere in the leaves rotting on the side of the bridge, the slippery moss snaking up the trees, and the crisp air.

  “Sloan,” Garrett puffed. “Stop. This is crazy.”

  He was right. What was I doing? Maybe my stress level had finally reached its boiling point. This was stupid. Instead of chasing after Van, I should stop and call the police. Slowing my pace, I stopped under an antique streetlamp and reached in my jeans pocket for my phone. Only, in my hurry to chase after Van, I had left my phone and everything else at Nitro.

  Damn.

  Garrett caught up and came to a stop. He hunched over and placed his hands on his knees. “Thank God. Seriously, are you a closet marathon runner or something?”

  “Do you have your phone?” I ignored his question and the chill settling in my body.

  “Huh?” He pondered my question for a minute, still trying to steady his breathing. “No.”

  I considered our options. We could continue after Van on the wooded island and risk him attacking, or we could return to town to call for help and risk him getting away. Neither sounded great, but I decided the wiser plan would be to return to town for reinforcements. Chief Meyers could have her team surround the island and block the exits going out of town.

  “Come on,” I urged Garrett, as I turned around and started up the hill. It was only about a quarter of a mile back to the nearest shop. Of course, not many of the shops on this end of town were open late.

  We had just started up the slick sidewalk when I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I stopped and spun around. “Did you hear that?”

  There was no sign of movement nearby and no other sounds.

  “No.” Garrett followed my eyes to the foggy lamppost.

  I must be jumpy, I thought, and picked up the pace. Again, I heard the sound of thudding feet behind me. My pulse quickened. This had be
en a dumb move. What if Van had a weapon? He’d killed once. What would stop him from doing it again?

  In the distance, through the misty fog, I could see the glow of the streetlights along Front Street. Every muscle in my body ached as I crested the hill and raced toward the closest shop.

  I sprinted to the door and tugged on it. Locked.

  Damn. I shivered in response to the cool air and the adrenaline pumping through my body. Why had fall decided to descend in all its gloomy glory tonight?

  “Sloan, this way!” Garrett yelled and pointed to Brat Haus, a dive bar. I sprinted toward the bar and thrust open the doors. A wave of stale smoke assaulted my face. Washington State hadn’t allowed smoking indoors for years, but the residual smell of cigarettes was layered on the pub’s dingy walls. A few heads turned when I stumbled inside, but mainly everyone was focused on a woman in a miniskirt and tube top singing karaoke on a small stage.

  “I need a phone!” I shouted over her off-key voice to the bartender. At the same time, Garrett asked a man nursing something on the rocks for his phone. The bartender handed me a cell phone.

  I punched in 911, and the minute the operator answered, I launched into an explanation of chasing after a fugitive. I’m sure they thought I was crazy, so I had to repeat the story three times and beg to talk to Police Chief Meyers before they finally got her on the line.

  “Chief Meyers here,” she said in her gruff voice.

  “Chief Meyers, it’s Sloan Krause. I know where Van is. He’s on Blackbird Island. Garrett and I followed him.”

  She perked up at this news and asked me a few brief questions about the direction I’d last seen him running and how long ago I left him. I gave her as many details as I could remember. A few seconds later, the sound of shrill sirens wailed past Brat Haus and the blue, red, and white lights of the squad cars lit up the karaoke stage.

  I probably should have stayed where I was, but I had to see if they caught him, so I headed back down the hill, completely unaware that I’d left Garrett behind. Every police car in Leavenworth must have been called out to the scene. They blocked the top and bottom of the hill. There were police officers on the footbridge. Flashlights danced off trees, and the sound of barking dogs filled the empty evening air.