Death on Tap Page 8

  I agreed and walked with her to the front. She left us with instructions not to touch anything in the brewery until the county crew finished their investigation. “I’ll be back in an hour or two. You hold tight. Don’t let anyone in unless they have one of these.” She tapped her badge.

  After she left, I locked the front door behind her. “I may need to rethink your policy on locking front doors,” I said to Garrett.

  He didn’t smile. “I wish I had been wrong about that.”

  “What did Chief Meyers say to you?”

  “She asked a bunch of questions about why I decided to move to Leavenworth. I got the sense she was hoping that I would confess that I was running from the law or part of the witness protection program.” He pushed his dark hair from his eye.

  “I guess that means you’re not.”

  He shook his head. “Sadly, no. I’m just a guy who wants to brew.”

  “And it doesn’t look like we’re going to be doing that anytime soon,” I replied. “Hey, on that note, did she happen to mention what we should do about the tank?”

  “Actually, yeah.” He handed me a business card. “She told me to call these guys. They specialize in cleanups like this.”

  I shuddered. What a terrible job. “Do you want me to call them?”

  “That would be great. If we can have it drained and scrubbed clean, that would be so much better than having to buy a new one. Honestly, I’m not sure I could swing it. That thing set me back over twenty grand.”

  I knew he was right. The cost for purchasing commercial brewing equipment was astronomical. “Let me see what I can find out.” I went to the office to call the cleaning crew. It took me three attempts to dial their number. My brain seemed to be functioning at half capacity. I was sure that it was due to the stress of finding Eddie and the fact that Chief Meyers had both my husband and my new boss at the top of her suspect list.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  AS PROMISED, CHIEF MEYERS RETURNED and instructed Garrett on the next steps in the investigation. She directed him to his office so they could go over everything “in private.” Since I wasn’t needed, I decided to take a walk around the village. I could use a shot of fresh air, and maybe another shot of espresso.

  The early fall sun warmed the brick sidewalks. Soon our little hamlet would transform for Oktoberfest. Giant tents would be erected across from Der Keller, and the village square would fill with garlands of fall foliage, pumpkins, and bales of hay. Oktoberfest wasn’t a single weekend in October, but rather a continual party from mid-September through November. We would see thousands of visitors each weekend, who would come for the revelry and beer, and to dance the polka until the wee hours of the morning. Every hotel, lodge, and bed-and-breakfast would be booked for those months. Kegs would flow freely, and weekend German-style parades complete with old-world barrels and keg-tapping ceremonies would draw everyone into the village square.

  For the moment, Leavenworth was mine, and I appreciated the calm before the festive storm. I turned onto Front Street and headed toward the gazebo. Massive purple, pink, red, and white cascading flower baskets hung from the street lamps, along with crimson banners reading WILLKOMMEN.

  I passed The Happy Rooster, a kitchen and spice shop, and Das Shoppe of das Sweets, a candy shop with a droolworthy display of caramel apples in the window. The hills to the east were dotted with brilliant fall color. It always felt magical when the wooded mountains surrounding the village began their shift into a new season. The air smelled of baking pretzels and apple cider. At Creekside, a restaurant with a year-round covered outdoor patio, German music was being piped from inside. I paused for a minute to listen to the upbeat sound and then continued on to Strudel.

  “Sloan, how are you?” The bakery owner greeted me from behind a long glass case full of German sweets and pastries. “Looks like you’re brewing today,” she said, taking note of my jeans and work boots.

  “I was, but my plans changed,” I replied. “I could sure use an espresso and maybe one of your cherry strudels.”

  “You got it.” She fired up the espresso machine while I drooled over the golden strudel that had been dusted with chunky crystals of sugar. There was nothing more delectable than German pastry, in my opinion. Over the years, Ursula had taught me how to make Gebäck, or Kleingebäck, as she called it. German pastry was known for its flaky crusts and delicious fillings like apples, nuts, and berries. Spending hours in Ursula’s cluttered kitchen learning how to bake recipes passed down from her grandmother and hearing stories from her life in Germany had been one of the best parts of being a Krause. If Mac and I split, I couldn’t fathom having to give up Ursula. How could he have done this to me? I felt a wave of panic and anger begin to well inside and grabbed the pastry case to steady myself.

  “I hear that there’s been some trouble at the new brewery this morning,” the bakery owner said as she poured a shot of espresso into a paper cup.

  “Word travels fast.”

  She laughed. “You should know that by now, Sloan. There are no secrets in Leavenworth.” Handing me my coffee and pastry, she gave me a sympathetic look. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Thanks.” I returned her smile and held out my pastry bag and coffee. “I think for the moment, this will do the trick.”

  “You let me know. I’m only a few shops away,” she called as I walked to the door.

  I knew that her concern was genuine, and while I didn’t want to talk about what had happened to Eddie, I felt warmed by her kind words. As I started back to Nitro, I ran into Mac—literally.

  “Sloan, baby, slow down. What’s your rush?” He caught me by the forearm, jostling my coffee and causing it to splash on my sleeve.

  I shook myself free from his grasp and wiped espresso from my fingers.

  “Where’s your ring?” He caressed my ring finger.

  “Off. I took it off,” I said, and wiped my hand on my jeans. “What are you doing here?”

  He glanced around us. “Here? As in on the sidewalk? Last time I checked, it was a free country.” Across Front Street, workers were beginning preparations for Oktoberfest, twisting garlands of leaves around the blue and white striped Maypole in the town square.

  “You know what I mean.” I furrowed my brow. “Are you following me?”

  “No, come on, Sloan. I’m getting a coffee. I can’t believe you’re not wearing your ring.” His ash blue eyes pierced me. But that trick didn’t work anymore. He reached for my hand again, and I yanked it away. “Why are you so jumpy?”

  I ignored his comment about my wedding ring and stared at his light eyes. “Haven’t you heard?”

  “Heard what?” He shifted his weight and stuck one hand into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “About Eddie.” I took a sip of the espresso. It was thick and smooth, without a hint of bitterness.

  “What about him? I seem to recall you forcing me out of the pub last night. Did something happen with him after I left? He looked sauced.”

  Mac, unlike Garrett, was completely transparent. I had no trouble reading him, and could tell that he had no idea what I was talking about. Although staring at his puffy face, from years of overindulging in his product, made me reevaluate everything about our relationship. What if I’d been wrong this entire time? I’d never known Mac to have a violent side—impulsive maybe, but not violent.

  “He’s dead.” I waited for his response.

  “What?” Mac took a step back and scowled. “What are you talking about, Sloan?”

  “I found him this morning.” I squeezed the paper cup and nearly popped the plastic lid off. “He’s dead.”

  “You found him.” Mac puffed out his chest and reached for my arm.

  I ducked from his attempt to console me. “Haven’t you talked to Chief Meyers? She was looking for you.”

  “No. I just got here, but why would she be looking for me?” Sunlight filtered through an ancient oak tree, making his light hair appear almost whi
te.

  A young couple in matching running gear approached us. I grabbed Mac and pulled him around the corner. “She’s looking for you because I think you’re her top suspect right now.”

  “What?” Mac’s ruddy forehead wrinkled. “Me? Why? I left. You saw me.”

  “I know, but then what? Where were you last night?”

  He kicked a pebble on the sidewalk and stuck both hands into his jean pockets. “At the hotel.”

  “All night?”

  Staring at the ground, he didn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah, why?”

  “You should talk to Chief Meyers.”

  “Sloan, baby, it’s me. Why are you freaking out?”

  “She found your lighter by the fermenter.”

  “So?”

  “So that’s where Eddie’s body was.”

  He dug around in his pockets. “No, I’ve got my lighter right here.” His jaw tightened as he took his hands out of his front pockets and checked his back pockets. “It’s not on me. I had it last night.”

  “Did you come back to Nitro last night?”

  Mac squinted and then looked at his feet and said, “No.” His squint was a telltale sign that he was lying. Had he come back to the brewery after I left? Why?

  I sighed. “Mac, you have to go talk to Chief Meyers right now. Did anyone see you go back to the hotel? Did you talk to anyone?” I swallowed hard and then asked the question I was dreading. “Was anyone with you last night?”

  “NO! No, baby, I swear. I went back to my hotel and crashed. I was out cold.”

  I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not. He was too quick to respond, but there was a small part of me that almost wished that he had said he was with the beer wench. If he really spent the night alone, that meant he didn’t have an alibi.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  MAC AND I HAD STARTED to walk toward Nitro when, speak of the devil, the beer wench rounded the corner. She stopped in midstride when she spotted us. Her long hair was twisted in a bun at the top of her head, making her look like a gazelle. She wore a pair of skintight black yoga pants and a low-cut, formfitting tank top that didn’t leave anything to the imagination, and she was puffing away at a cigarette. Did she think that practicing yoga would cancel out the nicotine; for that matter, did she even know what yoga was?

  I felt sick to my stomach. The image of catching her and Mac was burned into my memory. I wanted to flee, but instead pursed my lips and brushed past her. As I walked by, I caught a huge whiff of her smoke and coughed louder than I needed to. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but she didn’t have much to be proud of either.

  “Uh, Mac, I need to talk to you,” I heard her say.

  Mac muttered, “Not now.” His heavy footsteps thudded behind me. “Sloan, wait up.”

  I didn’t bother to turn around and quickened my pace, which was slightly challenging in rubber boots.

  “Sloan, wait,” he huffed.

  There was no chance that I would stop and risk making a scene in broad daylight. I waved to the owner of the stein shop, who was wiping down his stained-glass window, and sprinted toward Nitro.

  Mac caught up to me just as I reached the front door. “Sloan, stop.” He grabbed the back of my flannel sleeve. “Hold up. Let me talk.”

  I whipped around and glared at him. “What?”

  “There’s nothing between me and Hayley. It was a stupid fling. You have to believe me. It’s always been you—only you.”

  “Only me? Really?” My anger was starting to get the best of me, and I didn’t like the feeling.

  “Baby, please,” he pleaded.

  “Stop calling me baby!” I yelled, and threw my hand over my mouth. “Mac, I’m not doing this now,” I hissed. “Chief Meyers is inside, and you need to talk to her.” I ended the conversation by carefully opening the door and inhaling through my nose. Keep it together, Sloan, I told myself.

  Inside Nitro there was no sign of Garrett at the bar. They must still be in the brewery, I thought as I tossed my empty coffee in the trash, left my strudel on one of the tables, and headed for the back. Mac tagged after me.

  To my surprise, the cleaning crew had already arrived. A team of workers wearing bright yellow hazmat suits were assembling hoses and five-gallon buckets of industrial cleaner. Chief Meyers directed her team to snap pictures, dust the tanks for fingerprints, and gather clear bags of hops and other evidence. When she noticed Mac and me, she turned to one of her officers. “That should do it. Get shots of each tank and close-up shots of the office.”

  Garrett was leaning against the office door. She walked toward him and waved Mac and me over. “We’re about done here,” she said to Garrett. “As soon as my team clears out, you’re good to go ahead with cleaning.” To Mac she snapped her fingers and pointed at the office. “A word, right now, Mac.” The disdain in her tone was clear.

  Mac gave me a squeamish look, which I’m not ashamed to admit made me slightly pleased.

  “It’s crazy in here,” I said to Garrett, who moved out of the way for Chief Meyers and gave Mac a look I couldn’t decipher.

  He nodded to the crew in hazmat suits. “They showed up about five minutes after you left.”

  “That’s speedy service. They told me they would be out right away, but I can’t believe they are that fast.”

  “I guess it goes with the territory.” He sounded dejected.

  “Right.” I wasn’t sure how to console him. I’d never been in a position like this either, but our only option was to forge ahead. “Okay, so now what? They get the tank cleaned. Actually it looks like all the tanks are going to need a good scrubbing. Is that fingerprint dust?”

  “It’s everywhere.” He sighed. “Do you think we should dump everything and start new?”

  “What did Chief Meyers say?”

  “She said it wasn’t necessary, but what if the dust throws off my recipe?”

  I walked to the copper mash tun to get a closer look. A fine layer of powder coated parts of the tank. “I can’t imagine that this would throw anything off. I’m sure they can wipe it down and it will be fine.”

  “If you’re sure.” Garrett hesitated. “My recipes can be sensitive sometimes.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. He looked injured. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’ve never heard a beer recipe referred to as sensitive. I like it.”

  He smiled. “It is. Kind of like me.”

  Was he sensitive? He definitely struck me as cerebral and introspective.

  “Why don’t we wait and see how everything looks after the cleaning crew finishes, and then we can make a decision,” I suggested. “Did Chief Meyers say anything about opening the bar?”

  Garrett rubbed his temples. “You know, you’re not going to believe this, but she said it was fine to open as planned this afternoon as long as they’re finished with their investigation and as long as we don’t open this space back here up to the public.”

  “Really?’ I was surprised, since earlier Chief Meyers had made it sound like it might be a few days before we could reopen.

  “Yeah, but what do you think? Is it a good idea to open tonight or the worst idea ever? Will it freak people out to drink my beer? Can you imagine going to a brewery after someone found a dead body?

  “I’m going to have to defer to your expertise on this one. I don’t know Leavenworth well enough to get a sense of whether people will come toast to Eddie’s memory with us or revolt and shoo us out of town. To be honest, I don’t know how I feel about it myself. This is uncharted territory. Part of me wants to lock the door and run back to Seattle. Even though working in the corporate world was sucking the soul out of me, this is too much.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. He continued.

  “At the same time, part of me wonders if we don’t owe something to Eddie. Should we open up the taps for him? Is that weird, since I barely know the guy? What do you think?”

  I considered his words for a minute. Suddenly, I felt my worth at Nitro,
and not just for my nose or cooking abilities. Garrett needed my guidance. I felt responsible for finding Eddie, especially in such an awful way. Eddie might not have been the most beloved brewer in town, but he was part of our community, and he deserved an evening in his honor. Garrett’s instinct was right and compassionate. Yet another reason he couldn’t be a suspect.

  We could host a wake at Nitro tonight and offer a free pint in Eddie’s memory. I would check in with Bruin, but I had the sense that he would be relieved. Eddie had been Bruin’s head brewer and friend for years. Bruin must be distraught over the loss. Hopefully a wake would help put this morning’s terrible events behind us. A pub is supposed to be the center of the community, a place for everyone to come together—to celebrate and to mourn. That’s what we would do: mourn Eddie’s death and gather to raise a glass in his memory.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  THE MORNING AND EARLY AFTERNOON passed swiftly, between having the cleaners on-site and the constant flood of locals stopping to check in on the activity. I suggested to Garrett that it would be best to let me handle the influx of questions and prying eyes. He quickly agreed. “Sloan, I can’t thank you enough for your help. You’ve handled things so deftly and calmly. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here. If I didn’t know better, I would say that the beer gods sent you to me.”

  I waved off his thanks, my mind reeling. The only way to keep my emotions in check was to keep moving. I had a feeling when I got home later that night, I would collapse, but for the moment there were plenty of distractions to keep my mind off of Eddie’s murder. As I had suspected when I called Bruin, he thanked me profusely for the offer and had to hang up because he could barely speak. Knowing that we were providing some relief for Bruin and his team made me all the more resolved to make sure tonight went off without a hitch.

  There wasn’t time to prepare a full meal for Eddie’s wake, so while Garrett oversaw the rest of the cleaning, I offered to run to the grocery store and pick up some meat and cheese trays and crackers. My cell phone rang as I stepped outside. It was Alex.