The Cure For What Ales You Page 7

  This was also news. I made a mental note. Marianne could have been paranoid about being followed, or she could have been up to something else.

  Bozeman changed the conversation. “Anyway, you guys got anything new on tap? Maybe I’ll have to stop by later, avoid the crowds at the Festhalle, you know?”

  “I do know. It’s going to be a mob scene today. Come by anytime. We’ll be pouring our new spring line all weekend.” I glanced at the smartwatch Alex had insisted I buy for myself. I had to admit that I enjoyed tracking my steps, especially since living in the village and walking everywhere. On brew days I usually logged well over twenty thousand steps. There was something rewarding and slightly obsessive about knowing how physically taxing brewing could be. “I should get going,” I said to Bozeman, leaving him with a half wave.

  After I was a block away, I thought of a dozen other questions I could have asked him.

  It’s not your battle, Sloan, I reminded myself as I returned to Front Street and headed to Nitro. I loved walking through the village at this hour. Sunlight kissed the baroque rooftops, two red-tailed hawks drifted in the cloudless blue sky framed by a fortress of craggy alps, and the early hum of excitement hung in the air as shop owners prepped their storefronts for the parade. The rounded glass windows at the Nutcracker Shoppe displayed delightful spring nutcracker bunnies, a nutcracker with a pineapple crown, a rainbow ballet soldier, and a farmer bearing a basket of his garden’s bounty. Das Bonbon enticed potential customers with a droolworthy assortment of marzipans formed to resemble cherries, pears, and wild blackberries. The toy store had wisely catered to its youngest audience. I paused, remembering when Alex would beg us to visit the shop to spend his allowance on giant wand bubbles and a wooden xylophone.

  When I arrived at Nitro, the pub’s front door had been propped open with our chalkboard sign that read COME ON GET HOPPY NOW!

  The bistro tables had been set up with mason jar vases filled with bunches of spring wildflowers. Kat was awake and stringing green and white bunting cut in the shape of hop cones from the top of the door frame to the fence.

  “Wow, you’re up and at it early,” I said with a grin.

  Kat twisted a thumbtack into the bunting. “Big day. I’m so excited for the parade.”

  “On that note, I brought you a gift.” I held up the bag.

  She climbed down from a step stool and tied off the bunting. “Can I see?”

  I handed her the bag. “The top dress is for you.”

  Kat pulled out the girly dress and held it over her shorts and T-shirt. “This is amazing, Sloan. Thank you so much! It’s so pretty, and it will cover my backside, which I greatly appreciate.”

  “It will look lovely on you.” I tucked the bag over my arm. “Have you started breakfast? Should I get going on that?”

  “That would be good. I made coffee, and water for tea is already heated, but our flowers got delivered so I started decorating.”

  “Keep at it. I’ll make breakfast, and we can regroup in an hour or so. Is Garrett already awake, too?”

  “Yep.” Kat fluffed the ruffles on the dress. “He’s in the brewery.”

  “Have fun with the decorating.” I left her with a wave. Inside, the tasting room was still dark. A huge box of wildflowers sat at the bar, along with two floral crowns and a package of pastel colored mints in the shape of tulips.

  “Morning,” I called to Garrett, who was checking the gravity of our Pucker Up IPA.

  “Hey, Sloan.” He pushed back his chemistry goggles.

  “How’s the gravity looking?”

  He studied the sample. “Right where it’s supposed to be.”

  “That’s what we like to hear.” I pointed to the kitchen. “I’m getting started on breakfast. Need anything?”

  He siphoned a taster from the clarifying tank. “Want to try it?” Garrett offered me a sample.

  Before I could respond, Kat raced into the brewery. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a police officer across the street. He’s just staring at the pub. It’s kind of creeping me out. Is there something going on out there?”

  “Oh, that would be because of me.” I told them about the murder at Hotel Vierter Stock, leaving out the details of my relationship with Marianne.

  “That’s terrible.” Kat’s cheeks lost their flush of color from running inside to find us. “That poor woman. Who would do something so awful? And in the middle of a festival weekend.” She shuddered at the thought.

  Garrett wasn’t as easily contented. “Does Chief Meyers have any suspects?”

  “Not yet, at least as far as I know.” That was true. I didn’t know that Marianne was a suspect, although I guessed that the chief had her on a short list.

  “Such sad news, with the festival this weekend, too,” Kat added. “I wonder if it was a guest. I know there was a group that got pretty out of hand last night.”

  “Could be,” I replied. “Chief Meyers is on it. As you both know, she doesn’t miss much. It’s just an extra precaution to have one of her team members nearby.”

  Garrett looked like he wanted to say more, but thankfully he didn’t.

  “Team meeting in an hour?” I asked. “I’ll bring muffins.” With that, I went to the kitchen to start breakfast before Garrett had a chance to dig deeper into why the chief would feel compelled to place an officer on watch. I whipped up a batch of lemon blueberry muffins, with a splash of our Lemon Kiss IPA and juicy fat blueberries that I had found at the market earlier. Then I scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, and peppers together. Within a half hour, I had a platter of muffins, fresh fruit, and the scrambled eggs delivered to the communal breakfast table upstairs. After I finished the dishes, I plated the extra I had set aside for our team and took it to the front. The twins had arrived.

  “How was the rest of the night?” I asked them, handing everyone plates.

  “Easy. We drained the kegs, but that’s a good thing, right?” Jack unwrapped a muffin from its paper liner. “We missed you, Kat. You disappeared.”

  “Oh, I ran into some friends, and we ended up at the Festhalle.”

  “There was one group that was wild, though,” Casey added. “We had to cut them off. That’s the first time I’ve ever had to do that.”

  “It won’t be your last,” Garrett said.

  I cradled my coffee. “Kat said something similar. Were they tourists?”

  “No. I know one of the guys. He was a couple years older than us in school.” Jack devoured the muffin in two bites. It reminded me of Alex. Where did teenage boys, or young adults in Jack and Casey’s case, put their food? I swear I would stock up on groceries only to have them vanish in an hour when Alex was home.

  “Yeah, his name is Bozeman, but in high school they used to call him Boozeman.” Casey laughed. “I guess some things don’t change.”

  “I just met him,” I replied. “He works as a groundskeeper at Hotel Vierter Stock, right?”

  “Yeah, he’s part of the group I saw last night at the Festhalle,” Kat said, stabbing her egg scramble. “He got into a huge fight with a couple of women. I don’t know what happened. I heard the screaming on my way back here.”

  “When was this?” My curiosity was on high alert.

  “Late. Maybe midnight. Twelve thirty.”

  “We cut him off at ten when the Sip and Stroll ended,” Jack said. “He and his friends must have gone to the Festhalle or one of the bars.”

  “I’m surprised anyone else would serve him. They were all pretty drunk.” Casey chimed in. “This is really good, by the way.” He pointed to his nearly empty plate.

  Garrett shifted gears to our plan for the day. I had trouble concentrating. I couldn’t stop thinking about Bozeman. Who were the women he was arguing with, and if he was drunk, could that have led him to do something rash like kill Sara?

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  THE REST OF THE morning was a blur of activity as we prepared for the busiest day Nitro would experience since IceFest.
Having Jack and Casey had been invaluable. They were steady workers and brought new energy to our small crew. Since everyone in town would participate in the parade, our plan was to open Nitro after the Maipole dance, the last event of the annual promenade along Front Street. Jack helped Garrett transfer new kegs to the front. Casey restocked pint glasses and made sure we had a supply of recycled plastic glasses in case we needed them. I had a feeling the odds were good that could happen. We would constantly rotate empty pint glasses from the front to the kitchen, where we would run them through our industrial dishwasher. That process didn’t take long. The issue was cooling the glasses. There’s nothing worse than serving a cold pint in a scalding hot glass. It ruins the beer. Disposable plastic glasses aren’t ideal either, but they will do in a pinch.

  There were some brewers who had recently embraced the trend of serving their beers at room temperature, but Garrett and I were old-school. We preferred to serve Nitro’s offerings at a cool yet drinkable forty-six to fifty degrees. Temperature is one of the finer points of craft beer that tends to get overlooked. Drinking a beer at the preferred temperature allows our customers to really taste the subtleties in every pint. Too warm, and a beer ends up flat. Whereas if a beer is served too cold, between thirty-eight to forty degrees, it reduces the carbonation and the beer loses its aroma. In fact, we had been on a mission at Nitro to ban the term “ice-cold beer” from our clients’ vocabulary. No beer should be served ice-cold—ever.

  When I gave tours of the brewery, guests were often shocked at how much technique goes into pouring a perfect pint, from the temperature of the glass to the style. I loved getting to share my craft beer knowledge and showcase our brewing process. It never failed to amaze me how many people were shocked by the amount of time and effort that went into each pint. Part of our tour was designed to educate visitors about our use of local ingredients, partnerships with organic farms, and handcrafted brewing methods.

  I would tell our tour participants that they could definitely drink a beer straight from the bottle or can, but as a brewer, I always recommended pouring a beer into a glass. First and foremost, drinking a craft beer from a pint glass ensures that the drinker will be able to experience the beer’s aroma. Drinking a beer from the bottle cuts off that sensory experience. A beer’s aroma can completely alter how we perceive flavor. The same goes for being able to see a beer. A pint glass can showcase a beer’s color and clarity. Not to mention those tiny effervescent bubbles that erupt from the bottom, swimming and popping up to the foamy surface.

  The twins would be responsible for keeping the bar stocked and managing food orders. Kat, Garrett, and I would work the bar. We had extended our outdoor seating into the back alley. Kat had set up extra tables and decorated them with more bunting, twinkle lights, and flowers. We anticipated a continual rush throughout the afternoon and evening.

  After reviewing assignments, we split up to change. I slipped on my German dress, tightened my braids, and finished the look with a pair of knee-high white socks and black patent leather shoes. I added a light blush to my cheeks and a soft, creamy shadow to my eyes. Then I applied some shimmery lip gloss. With my olive skin, I didn’t need a lot of makeup, but this was a special occasion. I stood back to appraise myself. Not bad, Sloan. The dress was romantic and flirty, and the makeup masked my lack of sleep.

  I returned to the tasting room, where Kat danced in wearing the dress I’d given her. Her skin glowed. She had twisted her bouncy curls into a messy bun. “Sloan, I’m in love with this dress. Thank you again.”

  “It looks great on you. You can keep it.”

  “What? No, I couldn’t.” She smoothed the front of the Bavarian frock.

  “Kat, listen, after you’ve lived in Leavenworth for a few years, you’ll have a closet full of German dresses. It’s a prerequisite to becoming a full-fledged citizen. Take this as a gift, please. My closet is not in need of any more dirndls.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Yes, it’s meant for you.”

  “Yay!” She did another twirl.

  Garrett stepped into the front, and both Kat and I gasped. I had never seen him in anything other than shorts, jeans, and T-shirts. Since Nitro didn’t subscribe to the Bavarian vibe inside, he had never donned a costume. I had to admit that he looked like a natural in his black lederhosen, crisp white shirt, suspenders, and knee-high socks.

  “I never thought I would see the day that Garrett Strong would be wearing lederhosen,” I teased, ignoring the fluttering feeling in my stomach.

  “Only for the parade. And, I’m going to do my damndest to avoid April Ablin like the plague. She can’t see me in this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  That was true.

  “By the way, I got you two a gift for the occasion.” His eyes drifted to me. For a second, we held each other’s gaze. I caught a fleeting look of longing before he squared his shoulders and smiled at me and then Kat. “You both look lovely, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Kat looked to me. “A gift, really?”

  I shrugged.

  Garrett picked up the two floral headbands resting on the bar. “When I ordered flowers for the pub, the florist asked if I wanted to add in any hair accessories for my female staff, and I thought why not? You don’t have to wear them if they’re cheesy. She mentioned that a lot of locals wear them for the parade. I guess they’re kind of a tradition for Maifest.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Kat swooned and donned her flower crown.

  The crowns had been weaved together with fragrant green bay leaves, eucalyptus, sprigs of rosemary, and lavender, and entwined with pale white orchids, spray roses, and magnolias. It was a sweet gesture from Garrett. I was acutely aware that we were far from being alone at the moment, but that didn’t stop my heart from racing or the way my body wanted to pull toward him. Ever since things had blown up with Mac, I’d been careful not to let my heart open to anyone new, but there was no denying that my growing attraction to Garrett was threatening that.

  “Too weird, Sloan?” he asked.

  “Not at all. I’m with Kat. They’re gorgeous. Thank you.” With that, I placed mine on my head, drinking in the dainty scent of the blooms.

  “No one can accuse Nitro of not being in the Maifest spirit,” Garrett said. “They look great on both of you, but let’s make a promise right now, that the minute the parade is done, we change back into our T-shirts for the afternoon rush.”

  “You won’t get a complaint from me,” I replied.

  Kat shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m kind of vibing on this look. I might have to wear it for the entire day. After all, Maifest is only once a year.”

  Ah, to be in my twenties again. I was glad that at least one of us embraced the Bavarian spirit. Actually, there was no part of me that longed to return to my youth. I enjoyed the wisdom and confidence that came with age. Some of the decisions I’d made in my early twenties, like marrying Mac, had come to haunt me.

  Jack and Casey had finished setting up the back area and changed into lederhosen, too.

  “Whoa, you guys look awesome,” Kat said, reaching for her phone. “Let’s take a group selfie before we go.”

  I watched Jack push Casey out of the way so he could stand next to Kat in the photo. “Say prost!” Kat snapped shots of us standing in front of the taps.

  We headed outside to find Front Street packed with families noshing on pastries and sipping German chocolate mochas. Kids raced through Front Street Park, chasing balls and bubbles. A trio of accordion players piped out upbeat tunes in the gazebo, and the street vendor tents were already bustling with activity. People were selling flower wands, crowns, earrings made from rose petals, and Bavarian-style leis. The longest line was at the caramel corn tent, where the sweet smell of huckleberry and green apple caramel corn drifted my way. The Bier wagon, decked out with kegs and flowers, stood at the ready to lead the procession. Bernese mountain dogs with yellow daisy collars trotted like regal ambassadors, stopping to be petted
by their adoring fans.

  Spring celebrations like Maifest dated back thousands of years. Originally a pagan holiday signaling the return of spring and fertility, the joyful merrymaking had evolved over the years. Villages in Germany had marked the occasion with parades and dancing around the Maipole, which was believed to bring good luck and great wealth to the village and its inhabitants. The arrival of spring and the reawakening of the earth after winter’s cold darkness was most certainly cause for dancing in the streets in my opinion. The budding apple and pear trees agreed with me, putting on a fragrant blossoming show for our weekend guests.

  “April said we’re supposed to congregate between the library and pool,” Kat told us as we blended in with the crowd moving west along Front Street toward the highway.

  I assumed that we were being followed by John, my personal protection team, but I didn’t turn around to check. At the gathering site I spotted so many familiar faces that I was immediately whisked into conversation after conversation. Catching up with friends was a welcome distraction from the last few hours.

  Ursula and Otto came up to me as I moved to take my place in the parade line.

  “Sloan, over here!” Ursula called. Her silky gray hair was wrapped in two braids around the crown of her head. She and Otto wore matching outfits like last night, only this time in bright spring greens and pinks.

  “How was the dance? You two looked pretty great up there last night,” I commented, greeting them with a hug. It was a relief to know that I didn’t have to worry about their past. Part of me wanted to tell Ursula about Marianne. After all, she had known Marianne. She might be able to lend insight into whether she had thought Marianne was stable those many years ago, but I resisted the urge. I had made a promise to Marianne, and if there was any chance that she was telling the truth about Forest, I didn’t want to put the Krauses in harm’s way.

  “We stayed out later zan we have in years.” Otto’s light blue eyes twinkled. “Once Ursula is on ze dance floor, she will not leave.”