Death on Tap Page 6

  “Hey, you made it,” I said.

  He glanced at Bruin and then read the whiteboard menu behind me. “Wouldn’t miss it. Sloan, right? What should I try?”

  “They’re all good, but since Garrett used your hops in the Pucker Up, you have to taste that first.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. I wasn’t used to wearing it down, and it kept falling in front of my face.

  “Your hops!” Eddie dropped the conversation he had been having with Garrett and interrupted. “What does she mean your hops, man?”

  I wondered why Eddie was reacting so strongly. Had Van promised him proprietary hops, too?

  Before Van could answer, I made the mistake of looking up. Mac was headed straight toward me, with the beer wench tagging behind.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  GARRETT, CONSUMED WITH SERVING THE lengthy line of customers, didn’t notice as I swayed. What was Mac doing here? Where was Hans? This couldn’t be happening. Not tonight.

  I tapped Garrett’s shoulder. “I need to grab something in the kitchen. Be right back.”

  He flashed me a thumbs-up, but before I could escape, Mac’s eyes had locked on mine.

  Oh no.

  Bruin, plenty of pints in, was oblivious to the panic that was surely evident on my face. Eddie, on the other hand, focused his black, eagle-like eyes on mine and then turned slowly to see what I was looking at.

  He swiveled around with force and puffed his chest. “What’s that hussy doing here?” he said loud enough for the entire bar to hear.

  Mac stopped in midstride and glanced around the room to see if Eddie was referring to him. Eddie kept his gaze locked on the beer wench.

  I felt like I was in some sort of waking nightmare where nothing made sense. Why was Eddie standing up for me? I’d met him a number of times over the years when we’d gathered as local brewers to promote tourism and at festivals and fairs, but we’d never had a connection beyond that.

  The buzzing room became eerily quiet. Conversations hushed, and glasses stopped clinking. Eddie’s beady eyes remained locked on the beer wench. “God, I hate that cheating little witch.”

  Garrett gave me a look as if to ask what was going on. I waved him off and made my way to the front of the bar. Keeping my gaze away from the beer wench, I marched over to Mac and pulled him by the expensive shirtsleeve to the hallway.

  “What do you think you’re doing here?” I hissed at Mac. Spit flew from my lips, landing on his immaculately groomed face.

  “Easy, easy, baby.” Mac held his hands in the air, motioning like he was petting a cat. “I came by to wish you and the competition well.”

  “With her?”

  “With who?”

  “Mac. Don’t do this.” I put my hands on my hips. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. I can’t believe you would bring her here—tonight. That’s low. Even for you.”

  “Who, Hayley?” He pulled a silver lighter with his initials monogrammed on the front from his back pocket and flicked it on and off. “You look smoking hot tonight, Sloan.”

  “Don’t use her name.” I folded my arms over my chest. “You’re smoking again?”

  “No!” Mac flipped the lighter off and stuffed it back into his pocket. He moved closer and lowered his voice. “I didn’t bring her. She followed me here. I made a mistake, but I promise I didn’t bring her. I’m trying to shake her.”

  We both turned as Eddie’s voice became louder in the bar. “You’ve got some nerve, showing your face here, you little cheat.”

  I brushed past Mac into the doorway to see what was going on.

  Garrett and a staggering Bruin were holding Eddie. He reminded me of an overly carbonated bottle of beer about to blow its cap.

  Hayley, the beer wench, chewed on an unlit cigarette. Eddie puffed out his chest like he was about to break free. She cowered and inched her way toward the door.

  “That’s right, keep backing up. No one wants you here.” Eddie heckled her. His posture, like a boxer waiting to throw the first punch, baffled me. Why was he suddenly my protector? Or was there more to it? Could he have had a fling with her, too? There had to be something else between them.

  As Hayley backed her way out of the pub, Bruin tried to pull Eddie away, but Eddie threw him off. The motion made Bruin lose his footing. He swayed. The crowd gasped. Garrett caught him with his free hand. This was more drama than Leavenworth had seen in years. Everyone was captivated.

  “Don’t you start with me either, old man. I’m done with your crap.” He shot Garrett a nasty look and stalked out the door.

  “You better go after your girlfriend,” I said to Mac. “You wouldn’t want Eddie catching up with her. He seems pretty fired up.”

  Mac started to say something and stopped. As he raced out the door, he yelled, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  So much for a low-key opening night.

  I took a minute to catch my breath. “I’m so sorry about that,” I said to Garrett, returning to the bar and smoothing my dress.

  The crowd resumed conversation, but the tone had changed. People gushed with nervous excitement. They’d talk about this for weeks to come. Why did I have to be in the middle of it?

  “Why would you be sorry?” Garrett asked.

  “I think that was about me.”

  Bruin, who rested his head on his hand and swayed to music no one else could hear, gave a cackle. “You? What are you talking about, Sloan?” He raised his hand as if to swat a fly and almost fell off his barstool.

  Garrett reached over the wooden counter to steady him. “Easy there, man.”

  Bruin winked at Garrett and rose on shaky feet. “You remember what we talked about. Don’t worry about Eddie. I’ll take care of him.”

  As Bruin started to fall forward, a local grabbed him and guided him toward the door. Bruin’s hat tipped to one side, and he teetered out of the bar.

  “What was that all about?” I asked, returning my attention to Garrett.

  “Nothing.” Garrett didn’t look up as he poured a frothy pint.

  The rest of the evening passed without incident. Sometime after midnight, we finally ushered our last guest out and closed the door. I collapsed on a chair. Garrett joined me with two mugs.

  “Cheers!” He offered me a raised glass.

  “Not sure if we should be celebrating,” I said, taking the glass from him and breathing in the scent of the hops. I took a long sip.

  “We survived, didn’t we?”

  “I guess.” I laughed. “Look at this mess.”

  Empty pint glasses and paper plates littered the tables and the bar. The food station had been wiped clean, and the candles had burned out.

  “Leave it,” Garrett said. “Let’s deal with it tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sounds good to me.” I savored the IPA. “Listen, I want to thank you for giving me this opportunity, and I completely understand if you want to let me go.”

  “Why would I want to let you go?” He stretched his long legs onto an empty chair and rolled up his shirtsleeves. I hadn’t noticed how freckled his arms were before.

  “You know, because of Mac.” I twirled a strand of hair. “I’m sorry he made a scene. People are going to be talking about it for weeks.”

  “Exactly.” Garrett grinned. “And they’ll want to keep coming here to talk about it.”

  I gave him a weak smile.

  His tone became serious. “Sloan, don’t sweat it. I couldn’t have done this without you. For a soft opening, I would say that was a success. Go home and get some sleep.”

  Easy for him to say. The entire town wasn’t talking about him.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  I SLEPT THROUGH THE SOUND of the birds chattering the next morning, waking to my alarm clock blaring. I should have turned it off. Garrett had told me not to come in before ten, but once I was awake, the odds of sleeping again were slim to none. I figured I might as well get a jump on the cleaning.

  After a cup of strong coffee
and a long shower, I tugged on a pair of jeans, a thin flannel shirt, and my rubber boots. No self-respecting brewer would brew without boots. The process involved constantly hosing down the brewery floor. During my early years at Der Keller, I’d quickly learned why brewers wore waders and boots. Without a solid pair of waterproof boots, my jeans would be soaked. I twisted my hair into two braids and drove to Nitro brimming with energy. I couldn’t wait to actually brew this morning.

  The sun threaded through wispy clouds. The streets were deserted, except for the maintenance crew, who woke before dawn to water the hanging baskets and tidy up the cobblestone streets. I didn’t bother to rouse Garrett when I entered Nitro. He must have crashed as hard as I had last night. He’d forgotten to lock the front door.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim light inside. It smelled like spilled beer and leftover food, probably what the aftermath of a fraternity party must look like. Something about the space felt off. I tugged the wooden mini blinds. Light filtered in through the slats, casting a hazy luminosity and revealing dust particles floating in the air.

  I carted dirty dishes and empty beer glasses to the kitchen. The industrial dishwasher looked like a relic. It took me a half hour to figure out where to put the soap. When it finally chugged and clanged to life, the sound was so loud that I was sure it would wake Garrett. Next, I wiped down the countertop and organized the dishes I’d brought from home.

  All of a sudden, something crashed. I jumped and let out a little scream. Had a pot fallen off the rack?

  I opened the dishwasher and was assaulted with hot steam. Hey, at least it was working.

  Wiping steam from my face, I peered inside. Everything looked to be intact. Crossing my fingers, I closed it and hit start.

  Thud! There was the sound again. Was it coming from the tasting room?

  I raced to the front to see. My boots squeaked on the floors. The doors were wide open. Early morning light seeped in like a spotlight. How had that happened? I knew I’d shut them behind me when I had come in. Was Garrett awake? I hadn’t heard any movement upstairs.

  “Garrett?” I called, looking over my shoulder.

  Nothing.

  After securing the front door and locking it, I went to work putting the taproom back together. As I wiped the bar with a mixture of water and bleach, I opened the glass door to the refrigerator under the bar and found the box of hops that Van had delivered the day before.

  Oh no! I’d forgotten to tell Garrett that they’d arrived. He’d wanted them in the fermenter yesterday. There was a small window for dry hopping, and I didn’t want to be the cause of him missing it. With the pub smelling fresh, I grabbed the hops and headed to the brewing tanks.

  As I scurried toward the back, I kicked something with my foot. Hoisting the box of hops under my arm, I bent over to see what it was.

  What is this doing here? I thought as I picked up Mac’s lighter with my free hand. There was no mistaking the initials MK etched in the expensive lighter. Had Mac been snooping around Garrett’s beer tanks?

  Dropping the lighter, I shifted the box of hops and climbed the ladder leading to the landing for the access hatch. Placing the box on the platform, I tugged on the stainless steel circular window that opened at the top. It wouldn’t budge.

  Odd.

  I checked the latch. It looked like it had been pounded with a hammer. Huge dents and scratch marks marred the side of the brand-new tank. Garrett should get this replaced, I thought. The tank had to be under warranty. Throwing my full body weight into it, I yanked the silver latch with one hand and held tight to the ladder with the other. After my third attempt, the lock finally came loose, nearly knocking me off my feet. I stooped over to pick up the box of hops resting at my feet.

  A blast of aromatic citrus hit my nose. I took in the scent of clover, honey, fruit, and a hint of spice. How Van had managed to infuse such a bountiful array of flavors into his hybrid hop was amazing to me.

  I scooped a handful of the tangy hops into one hand and took another whiff. The scent triggered memories of last night. Leave it to Mac to find a way to mess up my first night. Between him prancing around with the beer wench and Eddie’s weird behavior, I was sure that everyone in Leavenworth would be buzzing with gossip about Nitro’s grand opening. Garrett seemed to think that any chatter was good for business, but I wasn’t sure that was true. If he couldn’t get the local community behind him from the start, Garrett was going to face an upward struggle to carve out his place in Beervaria. The fact that he’d decided to bulldoze any trace of his aunt Tess’s German inn and go with a sterile beer lab vibe wasn’t going to attract tourists. Our beer was going to have to be the best in town if we wanted to compete.

  The sound of a door slamming upstairs spooked me. I dropped a few of the hops on the landing.

  Focus, Sloan, I told myself as I reached into the fermenter to dump in the hops.

  To my horror, I spotted something in the tank. What was that? I blinked twice and leaned closer. Once my mind caught up with what my eyes were seeing, I let out a scream that rivaled Alex’s night terrors as a young child. There was more than beer in the tank. Eddie’s face, bloated with beer and death, bobbed on the top.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  I NEARLY FELL OVER BACKWARD. Clutching the handrail that ran the length of the platform, I tried to steady my breath. Had I had one pint too many last night? I didn’t feel the slightest bit hungover, and internally I knew that I wasn’t imagining what I had just seen, but at the same time, my brain couldn’t comprehend how Eddie’s body had ended up in the fermenter.

  As much as I wanted to flee, I grasped the hatch again and double-checked. That was definitely Eddie, and he was definitely dead. My stomach sank and the smell of hops suddenly made me queasy.

  Now what? This couldn’t be happening. Was I in some kind of a waking nightmare?

  With one eye open, I peered into the tank again to triple-check. Yep. He was dead.

  Move, Sloan, I commanded my wobbly legs and started down the ladder. As soon as I made it to solid flooring, I raced into the office to call 911. The operator who answered seemed to be having as much difficulty as I was grasping the fact that someone was floating in our fermenter. Things like this didn’t happen in Leavenworth.

  The operator told me to stay put and wait for the police to arrive. I paced back and forth in the small office. Who could have done this? There was no way that Eddie had ended up in the tank without help. Was there? I thought back to everything that happened last night. Had Eddie come back after Garrett and I closed up? Why? Could any of this be connected to yesterday’s break-in? Maybe Garrett was hiding more than a recipe in here.

  Should I wake Garrett? This was his pub after all. He deserved to know.

  Before I had a chance to consider whether I should wake him, I heard the sound of someone yelling, “Police,” in the front. I shut the office door and hurried to the bar.

  “Sloan, what are you doing here?” Police Chief Meyers greeted me with a surprised expression. Her khaki uniform and brown tie made her look more like a forest ranger than an officer of the law. However, the gold star badge pinned to her chest said otherwise.

  “I found Eddie!” I blurted out, wondering if I sounded as crazed as I felt. “He—well, his body is in the tank.”

  “Show me.” She didn’t waste any time trying to console me, which I appreciated. Her bulky frame moved with purpose as I led the way to the back of the brew house and pointed to the ladder.

  “He’s in there,” I said, keeping my boots planted firmly on the concrete floor.

  Despite the fact that Police Chief Meyer’s belt was cinched so tight it must have been cutting off circulation to her waist, she climbed the ladder with ease and muttered under her breath after opening the hatch and getting a glimpse of Eddie’s body. “Well, that’s a body, all right.” She adjusted her pants and tugged a walkie-talkie free from her belt buckle. “Dispatch, I’m gonna need you to call Chelan County and have them
send the coroner.”

  She stuck the walkie-talkie back in her belt, reached for a spiral notebook in her pocket, and focused her steely eyes on me. “I’m gonna need you to walk me through what happened here, Sloan.”

  I explained how I’d arrived to find the door unlocked.

  She held up a finger to stop me. “And that’s different than usual.”

  “Yeah, Garrett is new to Leavenworth and insists on locking everything up.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She made a note and waited for me to continue.

  After I told her everything that had happened since I arrived this morning, she frowned and asked, “When was the last time that you saw the deceased?”

  I knew that she knew Eddie as well as me. Police Chief Meyers was what we called a “lifer.” She’d grown up in Leavenworth and had been in charge of the town’s small police force for the last fifteen years. Usually, her duties involved issuing citations for illegal parking and urinating in public, especially when busloads of drunk frat brothers rolled into town for Oktoberfest.

  “He was here last night for the grand opening,” I said, pointing toward the front.

  She must have picked up on my hesitation, because she followed my gaze and asked, “Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “He was in rare form.” I told her about how he had verbally assaulted Hayley and how Bruin had tried to calm him down.

  As she finished asking me questions, Garrett appeared from upstairs. If possible, he looked more disheveled than he had yesterday. I wondered if he had slept in his clothes from last night. Had he had more to drink after I left?

  “What’s going on?” he mumbled, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

  “Garrett, this is Police Chief Meyers,” I said. “She’s here because there’s been an accident.”

  He rubbed his eyes harder and straightened his back. “Right, hi, Chief. Accident? What kind of accident?”

  Police Chief Meyers stepped forward and pointed behind her. “There’s a dead body in your fermenter.”