THE NEXT MORNING, I AWOKE to a thin layer of frost coating the rows and rows of hops that Mac and I had cultivated together. When we purchased the rambling farmhouse and organic acreage just outside of the city, Mac had visions of creating a hop oasis where he could plant a variety of vines and tinker with ideas for new beer recipes. There was one flaw in his vision. The man had a lackluster palate (if I’m being generous). Much to Otto’s chagrin, Mac never developed the ability to discern between notes of wood smoke or dark chocolate. He had never met a beer he didn’t like, either. His inability to distinguish flavors didn’t come from lack of effort. Mac had attended beer university in his parents’ homeland; he had spent countless hours working by Otto’s side, listening and watching his father, a master craftsman; and he had ingrained himself in the craft beer culture. He knew almost every brewer, distributor, and hop producer in the Pacific Northwest. The man was a walking encyclopedia of beer, but getting him to distinguish the unique subtleties in a pilsner versus a lager was impossible.
The fact that I could pull out a hint of grapefruit or honey in a beer with my eyes closed had irked Mac to no end. It had been an ongoing source of tension between us. Mac was convinced that I was intentionally trying to make him look weak in front of his father. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Otto had pulled me aside once after Mac had stormed out of a tasting session. “Sloan, do not let Mac get to you. He is upset, ja, but he will be fine. Some people have ze nose. Ze gift.” His kind eyes had held my gaze. “Do not give up or hide your talent because of Mac. He will get over it with time.”
I appreciated Otto’s reassurance, but he wasn’t married to Mac. He didn’t have to put up with Mac’s constant whining over why I could sniff out every subtlety in a beer, or his accusations that I was purposely trying to sabotage him.
I shook off the memory and tiptoed down the hallway toward the kitchen. Alex, my teenage son, was softly snoring in his bedroom. I resisted the urge to go kiss his forehead when I caught a glimpse of him curled in a half-moon, the same way he had slept since he was a newborn. Alex was the reason I had stayed with Mac for way too many unhappy years.
And, for what? I thought, flipping on the kitchen lights. The kitchen was my domain. I had fallen in love with its brick fireplace and views looking out onto our small hop farm. Now that Mac and I had split, what was I going to do with all of this space?
Nothing. That was the answer that had been tossing around my brain for the past few weeks. The farmhouse had been Mac’s dream. It was time to figure out my own dreams. I was fairly sure they didn’t include a huge farmhouse and the ongoing work of maintaining hop fields. I’d had my eye on a small A-frame house tucked in the forest. It was just the right size for me and Alex. So far, I hadn’t done anything more. I had been too busy with Oktoberfest. Or at least that was the story I’d been telling myself. The truth was, I was scared. As much as I knew that I was ready to be done with Mac, I was terrified of being alone.
I decided right in this minute to stop by April Ablin’s office on my way to Nitro and arrange a time to see the property. April wasn’t my first choice of a real estate agent, but in a town as small as Leavenworth, there weren’t many alternatives. The only good thing about hiring April was that I knew she would be cutthroat in negotiations. If I had to work with her I might as well reap the benefits of her annoying, tenacious personality.
I brewed a pot of coffee and gathered ingredients for breakfast. Alex had midterms at school all week, and I wanted to send him off with a hearty morning meal. With the cold weather creeping in, I thought a comforting sweet breakfast of my special French toast with a side of chicken sausages would hit the spot.
I started by whisking eggs, heavy cream, and vanilla. Then I added a touch of salt and a few tablespoons of sugar. Next came my secret ingredient—a cup of dark, stout beer. The chocolaty beer would give the batter a rustic depth. I’d been making pancakes, waffles, and French toast with beer for as long as I could remember. I’d never given away the secret. Instead I just smiled when people raved about the unique flavors on their morning breakfast plates. Maybe beer-infused waffles would have to go on the breakfast menu for our overnight guests at Nitro.
Beer is such a versatile ingredient in cooking and baking. It adds a natural froth to breakfast batters and can be used to enhance flavors in soups and sauces. I use it in almost everything I make. There’s no need to be concerned about getting tipsy on breakfast French toast because the alcohol burns off in the cooking process.
Once I had a smooth, dark batter, I dredged thick slices of peasant bread and grilled them in butter. The smell of the sizzling French toast and chicken sausages roused Alex from his bed. He shuffled into the kitchen in a pair of sweatpants and a warm-up jacket. His hair was tousled from sleep.
“Morning, Mom. What smells so good?”
“French toast.” I slid a slice onto a plate and dusted it with powdered sugar. “There’s a bunch of different syrups and jams that I picked up from the farmers’ market on the table. Help yourself.”
Alex took the plate. He stabbed a couple of sausages and took his breakfast to our farm-style dining table.
Fall in Leavenworth brought a bounty of local produce, along with homemade jams, jellies, and salsas to our weekly farmers’ market. I had picked up apple butter made from Washington’s famous Pink Lady apples, Bing cherry preserves, honey, maple syrup, and a black raspberry sauce.
“Geez, Mom, how am I supposed to pick?” Alex motioned to the assortment of sweet accoutrements on the table.
“Have them all.” I filled my plate and joined him. “Are you ready for another day of testing?”
He chomped a bite of the chicken sausage. It was also locally produced and packed with fresh herbs like rosemary, fennel, and basil. “I guess.”
I thought about broaching the subject of moving but didn’t want to stress Alex out during testing week. “You have soccer practice after school, right?”
“Yep. I’ll catch a ride home with someone. You don’t have to come get me.” He slathered his French toast with the black raspberry sauce.
“I don’t mind. I’m happy to leave a little early to grab you. It’s slow at Nitro right now. I might as well capitalize on that as long as I can.” I spread apple butter on one slice of the golden brown toast, and cherry preserves on the other.
“It’s cool, Mom. Some of the guys want to grab pizzas and study for our math midterm together. Is it okay if I invite them here?”
“Of course. If you want, I can pick up pizzas on my way home and meet you here.” I felt like I was often walking a tightrope when it came to mothering Alex. I didn’t want to smother him, but I also wanted him to know that I was here for anything he needed. The teenage years had brought a burgeoning independence. It was heartening to see him developing into such a wise and capable young man, but I knew that he was still hurting from Mac’s and my separation. He didn’t talk about it much. Every once in a while, I would catch him in the right mood, and he would divulge that it was “weird” that his dad and I weren’t living together. Otherwise he kept his feelings bottled up. I knew that he had inherited that trait from me. My only play was to continue to gently nudge him and make sure the line of communication stayed open between us.
“Sure. That would be great.” Alex finished every last bite on his plate and went back for seconds.
Keeping the kitchen stocked with a teenage boy in the house required multiple trips to the grocery store each week and buying in bulk. I made a mental note to order extra-large pizzas for Alex and his friends later.
We finished our breakfast and got ready for the day. The sky outside was a brilliant shade of blue. I had a hard time concentrating on the road as we drove into town because the trees were putting on a spectacular show of color. Red, yellow, orange, brown, and golden leaves fluttered in the wind. Organic orchards lush with the last harvest of fall stretched in every direction. The mountains surrounded us in a sea of forest green.
“It’s so gorgeous. Can you believe we live here?” I turned to Alex, who was staring out the window.
“Mom, you say that every year.”
“I know, but it’s so beautiful.” I pointed to a red-tailed hawk circling overhead.
Alex scoffed. “Okay, I guess it’s pretty great.”
“You better watch your step, young man, or you’re going to end up grounded,” I teased.
“Right, Mom.” He knew it was an empty threat. I’d never grounded him, let alone ever needed to punish him.
When we arrived in the school parking lot, I blew him a kiss. “See you later with pizza.”
“See ya.” He waved and jumped out of the car.
I waited for a minute and watched him join a group of friends. He looked happy. Was he? Was he faking it? If Alex was okay, I knew I would be okay, but if he wasn’t …
Don’t go there, Sloan. If I allowed myself to loop through scenarios where Alex wasn’t okay, then I might really start to lose it.
I pulled away from the curb and continued to the village. The season was definitely changing. Leaves drifted from the trees and piled along the side of the road as I made my way into town.
I made up my mind in that minute to stop at April’s office before I lost my nerve. Garrett and I kept opposite hours. He was a night owl. I liked the mornings. Brewing in the early hours at Nitro had been a welcome change of pace from Der Keller. The operation at Der Keller was a well-oiled machine with a large staff. I had rarely ever had a moment alone at the brewery. At Nitro I spent most mornings alone. I had come to crave the solace. The gift of time alone with myself had forced me to look inward and confront old demons. I still had work to do, but I could feel myself changing.
Usually by midmorning, Garrett and Kat would join me. Nitro would rev up with their energy. It was a good balance—solitude and collaboration.
Since I knew that neither of them would be up for an hour or two, I might as well talk to April while I had the confidence. Her office was at the far end of the village. The building was a converted ski chalet divided in half with April’s office on one side and a vacation property management company owned by my friend Lisa on the other. Lisa was taking a well-deserved three-week getaway to the Caribbean while things were slow in the village. If she were in town I would have opted to work with her instead of April, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
I had no trouble finding a parking space nearby, another sign that Oktoberfest was behind us. The grass was dewy from melting frost as I walked toward April’s building. I was glad that I had layered with a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a charcoal gray fleece.
The village sat in a peaceful morning silence. Aside from a handful of workers installing holiday lights and a few business owners preparing their storefronts for the day, things were peaceful. Most of the shops wouldn’t open until later.
“Morning,” I called to a crew wrapping the trunk of a giant weeping willow with purple lights.
They greeted me with the classic tongue-in-cheek “Guten Morgen.”
That would make April happy, I thought as I continued along the sidewalk. Chief Meyers’s police car was parked in front of April’s office, but I didn’t give it much thought. April had likely demanded that Chief Meyers arrest Kristopher Cooper on charges of severe detriment to the community after last night’s confrontation.
Suddenly, a siren wailed. I jumped and clutched my chest at the surprising and piercing sound. At first, I thought it was the workers playing a joke.
I paused and listened. Sure enough, the sound of police sirens cut through the quiet village.
Something had to be going on. I turned and stared down Front Street toward the gazebo. Blue and red lights flashed. They weren’t dainty Christmas lights. They were police lights.
What was happening? Was April hurt? She wasn’t my favorite person in Leavenworth, but I didn’t want to see her harmed. Could that be why Chief Meyers’s car was parked in front of her building?
Without thinking, I hurried toward the office and took the stairs to the porch two at a time. The intricately carved wooden door to April’s office was open.
“April, are you okay?” I called, stepping inside the front lobby.
The minute I did, I wished I hadn’t. A body was sprawled on the carpet. It had been covered with a sheet, but a red stain the size of a dinner plate spread on the center of the sheet.
That had to be blood.
I covered my mouth with my hand.
Don’t throw up, Sloan.
Poor April. She and I weren’t exactly the best of friends, but I couldn’t believe she was dead. A sick feeling swelled in my stomach. I was staring at a dead body. The body of a woman I had known for years.
“Let’s go, Ablin.” I heard Chief Meyers’s voice coming from the back office.
Huh? I took a closer look at the body and realized the person was much too tall to be April, and he was wearing black loafers.
Okay, well, at least April’s not dead. I reached for the white wainscoting to try and steady myself.
This had to be some sort of bad dream.
“Chief, you don’t understand, it wasn’t me. You can’t arrest me! I didn’t kill him, I swear. I did not kill anyone!” April’s earsplitting voice jarred me back to reality.
Was Chief Meyers arresting April? And who was dead on the floor in front of me?
Chief Meyers led April down the hallway toward me. “Look, Ablin, the more you resist, the worse this is going to be.” She had ahold of April’s wrist.
April caught my eye. Her face was wild with fear and confusion. Black mascara had streaked down her cheeks. “Sloan! You have to help me! Tell her. Tell Chief Meyers that I didn’t kill him.”
“Keep moving.” The chief directed April out the front door and into her squad car as two other police vehicles squealed into empty parking space in front of the building.
I followed them outside and stared in disbelief. What was happening? April was being arrested?
Once Chief Meyers had secured April in the car, she came over to me. “Sloan, I’m going to need to ask you to stand back.” She pointed behind her to April’s office. “This is an active crime scene. My squad is going to secure the area now.”
“What happened?” I pressed my thumbs into my hips, trying to keep from sounding as hysterical as April. “There’s a dead body inside, isn’t there?”
Chief Meyers adjusted the walkie-talkie clipped to her snug-fitting khaki uniform. “I’m afraid that April Ablin is under arrest.”
I blinked twice. The flashing lights were making it hard for me to concentrate. Or maybe it was the reality of having just seen a body.
She motioned for two officers to move past us. “There’s been a murder, and April’s our prime suspect.” She glanced to the police car and then back to me. “Sloan, April could use a friend right now.”
I could tell from her hard stare that she was talking about me. “Me? April and I aren’t exactly friends.” Being friends with April would be like drinking mass-produced beer. The thought made me shudder.
Chief Meyers frowned. “Like I said, she could use a friend, and I think you and I both know she doesn’t have many.”
“What did she do? Who was killed?” I couldn’t believe this was happening.
The chief sighed. “Kristopher Cooper. I know that you’ll be discreet, Sloan. The news will spread soon enough, but I’d like to keep it under wraps as long as possible while my team does their initial investigation.”
Kristopher was dead? My God. I thought about the town meeting last night. Everyone in the room had wanted to kill him.
“Things aren’t looking good for April. I’m sure she’d appreciate any help you can offer.” With that, she returned to her squad car.
What did that mean?
I had known Chief Meyers most of my adult life. She was intelligent and fair. If she thought that April was involved in Kristopher’s death, she must have good reason. April Ablin wasn’t on my short list of people I wanted to spend time with, but there was one thing I knew for sure—she was no killer.