Without a Brew

by Ellie Alexander

  “Thanks, Joe, I didn’t mean to crash your party.”

  “Crash it? You’re the reason for it.” He shared a sweet look with Terra.

  She clinked her glass to Joe’s, then mine. “Absolutely. We can’t even begin to tell you how thrilled we are that you are going to be the new owner of this labor of love. We’ll have to break out our old photo albums. You wouldn’t believe what the cottage was like when Joe and I bought it in the late seventies. Remember that terrible green shag carpet?”

  Joe stuck out his tongue. “We were never sure if it was carpet or decades of mold.”

  “Yuck.”

  We all laughed.

  “When we told April that we were ready to list the cottage and move to San Diego to be closer to our kids and grandkids, she mentioned that you might be interested, but Joe and I didn’t want to get our hopes up,” Terra said, staring at the tiny bubbles erupting in her crystal glass. “Like Joe said, we have renovated every square inch of this property, and we’ve loved our years here in the village. I guess I’m feeling nostalgic, but I hated the idea of selling the house to an investor who would turn it into a vacation rental. Knowing that you and Alex will be living here makes my heart so happy.” She pressed her free hand over her heart in an easy show of emotion.

  “I feel the same. You have done a spectacular job remodeling the cottage. I’m not changing a thing.”

  “Come sit, enjoy the view,” Joe suggested, motioning to the living room, where two long couches were arranged in front of the fireplace. Large windows flanked each side of the stone fireplace, offering sweeping views of the snow-covered deck, the golf course, and the frozen river below.

  We chatted for a while about their move. Joe gave me a rundown of the cottage quirks, like the fact that when he had installed new energy-efficient windows, it had made the house so airtight that whenever they lit a fire, they needed to crack a window slightly to allow the smoke to escape more easily up the chimney. As the evening wore on, they insisted that I stay for dinner. Terra served spicy bowls of her homemade chili along with thick slices of corn bread slathered with butter and honey.

  The longer I spent in the cozy cottage, the more it felt like home. I could already envision placing a collection of family photos on the mantel above the fireplace and see Alex’s soccer schedule stuck on the stainless steel fridge with one of my many beer magnets. The open-concept living room, dining room, and kitchen made the small cottage feel more inviting. Joe explained that they had debated about tearing down the wall that used to divide the living room and entryway but were very pleased with the result.

  I concurred. I loved the dark hardwood floors and matching window trim. Skylights in the dining room and kitchen allowed extra light to flood the space, as did the wall of windows on the backside of the cottage. A hallway off the kitchen led to two bedrooms, a small den, bathroom, and laundry room. Cleaning would be a breeze. And it was hard to imagine not having acres of property to care for.

  Joe cleared our dinner dishes, and Terra stoked the fire. I stood. “You’ve been so welcoming. Thanks for the history on the cottage and dinner. I should let you have the rest of your evening to yourselves.”

  “We can’t wait to start packing,” Joe called from the kitchen.

  “It’s true. We’re going to miss the village, but the lure of living a few blocks away from our grandchildren is too compelling.” Terra used a wrought-iron poker to move the coals. “Would you like us to leave you this? We won’t need fire tools in sunny Southern California.”

  “Sure. That would be wonderful.” Movement below caught my eye. I spotted Brad stumbling around the golf course with a flashlight in one hand and what looked like a growler in another. What was he doing? Was he drunk?

  I said my good-byes to Joe and Terra, promising that I would come by with Alex in the next week or two, and then I hurried along the steep pathway that connected to the miniature golf course. Darkness had settled in, but fortunately the path was well-lit by streetlamps from above and a trail of in-ground lights. Perfectly manicured Christmas trees draped in purple, green, orange, and blue twinkle lights dotted the grounds. The course was only open seasonally, which meant that I had to trek through deep snow to reach Brad.

  The greens were buried in snow, but the wooden bridges, miniature alpine chalets, and antique water wheels were aglow with hundreds of shimmering lights. It was a whimsical sight. Like something from a storybook.

  “Brad, is that you?” I called as I followed deep footprints through the snow.

  Brad swiveled his head in my direction. Although it was dark, the reflection of the lights landed on his face, revealing a look of what I could only describe as terror.

  “Are you okay?” I stepped closer.

  He swung the growler. “Stay away.”

  “Okay, okay.” I moved back. He must be drunk. “Can I help?”

  “Not unless you know a good lawyer.” His words slurred together as he spoke.

  “Why don’t we go find a warm spot to sit down and talk?” I suggested, keeping my distance.

  He tossed the growler on the ground. It landed in the snow with a thud. “What am I going to do? She did it. I know she did it, and it’s my fault.”

  “Who did what?” I wanted to get out of the cold and go somewhere with more people around. Brad looked distraught. I wasn’t worried about him harming me, but then again, there was no need to take any chances either. “Let’s go around the corner to the Underground. We can have a coffee and talk.”

  He kicked the snow at his feet. “What am I going to do?”

  “About what?”

  “Ali!” he yelled, so loud that his wife’s name echoed in the valley.

  “What about Ali?”

  His face blanched. It matched the opaque lights twinkling in the trees above us, with one major exception—there was no sign of joy in Brad’s expression. “She did it,” he repeated.

  I moved closer to touch the sleeve of his puffy coat. “Did what?”

  He met my gaze; his eyes were wild with fear. “She killed Liv. She killed her.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  “BRAD, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING about?” I asked, wishing I had the strength to drag him around the corner and into the Underground. My hands burned with cold. My toes started to tingle.

  “My wife, Ali—she’s a killer, and I’m the one to blame.” He kicked the growler. It rolled down the slight hill on the slippery snow.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shook his head. “Trust me. I know she did it.”

  “Let’s go somewhere warm,” I suggested again. “The Underground is right there.” I pointed behind him. “We can get a hot cup of coffee, and I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “Fine.” He didn’t sound thrilled, but he didn’t resist either.

  He followed after me, leaving the growler to continue its slow slide down the hill. I would come retrieve it later. I didn’t want to distract Brad, and I had to know why he suddenly had decided that Ali was a killer.

  The Underground was a bar that got its name from its location. In order to access the basement space, you had to traverse underground—literally. A ramp descended from street level taking us down to the basement bar. The Underground was known for its signature line of Bavarian cocktails, many of which were made with beer or wine, a rotating tap list, and the dozens of events they hosted every week from airing Seahawks and Sounders games to karaoke night.

  Brad didn’t say a word when we entered the dark bar and found a table, or even when I placed an order for two coffees. I was tempted to ask the bartender for something stronger like their Radler, a mix of Der Keller’s lager and lemonade, or Hans’s favorite, the Altbierbowle, which was a unique German drink made with Altbier, fruit syrup, and fresh raspberries. It was served in a cocktail dish along with a fork to stab the berries. By far the most popular drink with tourists was the Underground’s Colaweizen—soda and Hefeweizen combined together.

  I pass
ed on the specialty drinks and returned to the table with two mugs of black coffee. “Why do you think Ali’s involved with Liv’s death?” I pressed.

  “I don’t think it. I know it.” Brad sunk his head into his hands.

  “Why?”

  He reached into the front pocket of his ski jacket and removed a crumpled note. Without speaking, he slid it across the table to me. I picked it up and read it:

  I know what you did, and you’re going to regret it. I’m keeping my eye on you.

  Brad watched my face as I read the note. “See? She doesn’t believe me. She thinks that Liv and I had an affair.”

  “How do you know that Ali wrote this?” I stared at the paper. The note had been written on one of our Nitro notepads and had been crumpled as if someone had rolled it into a tight ball and tossed it in the garbage.

  “I know my wife’s handwriting. Ali wrote that, for sure.”

  “Okay, but how does that prove that she killed Liv? This says ‘you’ll regret it’—that could mean anything.”

  Brad’s eyes were laser focused on the crumpled note. “No, you don’t know Ali. She wouldn’t toss around an empty threat. If she said that Liv would regret it, she meant it.”

  “Right, but there are hundreds of interpretations—she could have meant that she planned to ruin Liv’s career or call her out publicly.” I realized that I was defending Ali. I didn’t want her to be the killer, but obviously Brad knew her better than me. If he was convinced his wife was a killer, maybe I needed to stay more open-minded.

  He took the words right out of my mouth. “No, you don’t understand. You don’t know Ali and what she’s been through like I do. She’s had a hell of a few years, and she hasn’t been emotionally stable. She’s done things she’s regretted before.”

  That was a new detail. “Like what?” I tried to sound casual.

  Brad reached for his coffee. He held the mug in his hands for a moment as if he was considering whether or not he wanted to reveal more. “Like resorted to violence.”

  “How?” I cradled the steaming hot mug, happy to have something to take the chill out of my fingertips.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We have time.”

  He dumped three packets of sugar into his cup. “When I came clean about my affair, she tracked the woman down. I don’t know how she did it. She must have spent hours and hours on the phone with the hotel staff. I didn’t even know the woman’s full name—just her first name. We decided it would be better that way. A one-night stand no one needed to know about, no one would have regrets. But it didn’t turn out like that. I woke up the next morning full of nothing but regret. In hindsight, I never should have told Ali, but I didn’t think I could live with myself. Now look what I’ve done.”

  He rested his head on one hand and used the other to stack the empty sugar packets.

  “What did Ali do when she found the woman?”

  “She went off on her. Threatened her. Sent a private eye by her house and workplace to take photos of her and basically stalk her. I found a plane ticket in her purse. She was planning to fly out to Chicago and track her down personally. The woman is married, with two kids and a good job. I begged Ali not to do it. Why ruin an entire family? It was a stupid, drunk mistake. It was a one-night stand for both of us, but Ali was obsessed. I wondered if some of it was side effects from all the fertility medication she was taking, like the drugs were messing with her brain.”

  “Did she go?”

  “No. I convinced her not to, but she’d done enough damage. The woman was freaked out. She said that Ali had her kids followed to school. She sent me digital photos that Ali had taken of her kids on the playground, of her at a coffeeshop with friends, of her husband driving to work. It was creepy. It scared me.”

  “And you think Ali did something to Liv?”

  “I know it.” He rolled the stack of sugar packets into a tiny tube. “I broke her. I ruined our marriage. I sent her over the edge. And that note is proof.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In the garbage can.”

  “What garbage can?”

  “Liv’s room.”

  It took every ounce of self-control not to react. What was Brad doing digging through Liv’s garbage?

  “Have you said anything to Chief Meyers?”

  “Not yet. How can I? How can I turn in my wife for murder, knowing that I’m the cause? Ultimately, I’m the one who should go to jail. If I hadn’t cheated on Ali, she would have been fine. She wouldn’t have turned into this crazy woman I’m scared of.”

  “Brad, first of all, this note doesn’t prove that Ali is the killer.” My cheeks had begun to heat up in the subterranean bar and it was getting noisy as a ’90s cover band warmed up on the small stage a few feet away from us.

  He started to protest.

  I held out my hand to stop him. “Just wait. What I was going to say is that even if it does, and it turns out that Ali killed Liv, that’s not your fault. Yes, you made a big mistake, but Ali is responsible for herself. Your mistake didn’t ‘force’ her to kill anyone.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You need to go find Chief Meyers and show her this note.” I handed him the crumpled paper.

  Brad clutched it tightly. “And turn my wife in?”

  “Or not. But one way or the other, you don’t strike me as the type of guy who could live a normal life knowing that Ali was a killer, either.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  I took a sip of my coffee, trying to buy myself some time to formulate my next question. I wanted to know why Brad was in Liv’s room, but I also wanted to make sure I didn’t spook him. Chief Meyers needed to see the note and hear from Brad.

  “When did you find this?” I nodded to the note.

  “The other day.” He set it on the table and tried to smooth out the creases.

  “Before or after the police were there?”

  He was distracted with trying to fold the note. “I don’t know. I was worried that Ali might have done something drastic. I spotted the door open the other morning and went in to take a quick look. That’s when I found this.”

  Was he lying? I was past the point of being able to tell.

  “Why don’t I walk partway with you? I need to stop by Nitro before I head home.” This was becoming a routine. The hum of electric guitars and the crashing drums were getting louder anyway. Once the band started their set, I knew there was no way we would be able to hear each other.

  Brad folded the note into a tight square and placed it in his pocket. “Yeah, okay.”

  He left his sugar-spiked coffee untouched.

  I paid and showed him the way to the police station. I had no idea if Chief Meyers had returned from Spokane yet, but I knew that any of the officers on duty would take his statement and enter the note into evidence.

  As we walked in silence to Nitro, I hoped that Brad was wrong. I knew how Ali must have felt when she learned of Brad’s betrayal, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew that it was possible that she could have killed Liv.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  MAYBE IT HAD BEEN THE cold air or Brad’s panic about Ali, but unlike earlier, Nitro felt like a welcome reprieve from my bigger problems. It also felt like a flash of déjà vu. Ali, Kevin, Jenny, Mel, and Swagger were still there—albeit at separate tables. Chief Meyers must not have given them the green light to leave.

  “Hey, Sloan, I didn’t think we were going to see you today. Can’t stay away, can you?” Garrett teased. He stacked empty bowls of popcorn, nuts, and Doritos next to a pile of flyers for the IceFest.

  Kat wiped down nearby tables.

  “I see everyone’s still here.” I kept my voice low.

  “Yeah. Chief Meyers called about a half hour ago and said she would need to detain everyone one more night. She’s hoping to release them tomorrow.”

  “I guess it’s good I came by, then. Sounds like we need breakfast again tomorrow.�
�

  “True, but we could do something simple. Bagels, toast, cereal.” Garrett cracked a peanut. “I offered everyone a discounted rate for tonight but told them we wouldn’t do a big breakfast.”

  “Smart.”

  “Chief Meyers said she might have the budget to help offset our cost, but I told her not to sweat it.” He yawned.

  “I’ll swing by the store on my way home and pick up bagels and some more fruit. Do any of the rooms need fresh towels or anything?”

  Garrett scowled. “Sloan, we’ve got this. Kat’s already taken care of everything. She even left chocolates on the pillows. Isn’t that right, Kat?”

  Kat turned from a nearby table and grinned. “I saw it on Pinterest.”

  “Okay, okay.” I threw my hands up. “I’ll leave.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to talk?” Garrett dropped his teasing tone and shot me a concerned look. He caught me staring at Ali, who was reading a ski magazine alone at the table near the front window. If I hadn’t known that she was sequestered due to a murder investigation, I would have asked if I could take her picture. She could easily have graced one of Leavenworth’s travel brochures, with her plush cabin socks, Buffalo plaid flannel hoodie, and thick black ski tights. The way her legs were propped on the empty chair next to her and the snow encasing the windows made for a postcard-worthy pose.

  “Actually, yes. It would be good to talk through everything that’s running through my head right now.” I told him about my conversation with Brad and what I had discovered at the library.

  He let out a low whistle. “Brad thinks she did it, huh?”

  “He thinks he drove her to it.”

  “The old ‘a woman scorned’…” As he said the words, I could tell he regretted it. “Oh God, sorry, Sloan, I didn’t mean to imply—”