“That’s good,” I agreed. “Do you think it was an accident?” I wanted to believe that he hadn’t killed Sara in cold blood.
“He’s sticking to that story. It will be up to a judge and jury now.” She frowned. “There is more news.” She pushed a file folder toward me. It contained a police report about a suspicious death. A body had been discovered by the train tracks in Walla Walla, Washington. The photos were horrific. A freight train had collided with a car at top speed, instantaneously killing the driver. It had taken a while to identify the body, but DNA tests had come up with a match.
I stared at the name—Forest.
“He’s dead?”
“It appears that way.”
“What about Marianne?”
She shook her head. “There’s no sign of her. Forest was the only person in the car. Although if you read on, you’ll note that there were high levels of sedatives in his system.”
“What does that mean?”
“It could mean a lot of things. It could mean he took a bunch of pills and got behind the wheel.” She shrugged and tilted her head from side to side as if weighing her words.
I took a moment to digest her meaning. “But that’s not what you think?”
She shook her head, again, deliberately, slowly.
“What do you think?” I leaned in.
“I think that someone could have sedated him, put him in the driver’s seat, and sent him on a one-way collision course with a freight train.” She picked up a pencil from a canister on her tidy desk. Each yellow number two pencil had been sharpened to a perfect pointy tip that reminded me of the alps surrounding the village. She doodled on a notepad.
I stared at the dated office. Posters from previous Oktoberfests and Christmas markets hung on the walls along with notices of safety procedures and a large map of Leavenworth and the surrounding lakes, rivers, and mountain ranges. “Marianne?”
“It adds up, don’t you think?” She drew a squiggly line on the paper.
I did, but I still had so many questions.
“You think she killed him?” I asked out loud.
“I don’t have any proof, but the circumstances surrounding his death are suspect, to say the very least.”
“Are you still searching for her?”
“You bet. That’s never stopped.” Her eyes drifted to the map, where a variety of primary-colored pushpins had been stuck in different locations.
“Does this mean that I’m out of danger?”
“Probably. That is, if we’re to believe Marianne’s story.” She returned the pencil to its stack.
“Do you believe it?”
“I do, Sloan. I did from the start. It matches what we know from Sally and your time in the foster care system. It matches what you learned from the Krauses. She had every opportunity to harm you and your family, and she didn’t. That tells me something.”
“But why kidnap Alex? I’m so confused about her behavior.”
She nodded. “I understand, and I wish I had answers for you. I’m not sure that we’ll get any until we’re able to locate her. And I have to warn you that she spent decades underground. I can’t guarantee that we’ll ever find her, but I’m not going to stop trying.”
“I appreciate that.”
“We have been able to find proof of your mother’s murder. I have that file for you, too.” Her tone changed. She glanced around us to make sure that none of her staff were listening. “I made copies because I thought you might want to look it over on your own. There are a few things that might help shed some light on Marianne in here.”
“Thank you.”
She handed me the file. “You take care of yourself, Sloan. If you hear anything from Marianne, you let me know, okay?”
“Okay.”
I left the station in a daze. Front Street Park glowed green under the warm June sun. The spindly leaves of the weeping willow tree quaked as passed I beneath it. One of the restaurants across the street had opened its balcony windows and piped out Mozart. I could smell roasted chicken and summer sausages grilling, along with the scent of blooming wild roses. The preschool class had returned to school, leaving the park deserted. The same was true for the gazebo, where banners hung touting upcoming activities—wine tours, stand-up paddleboarding, horseback riding, fishing, cycling, and kayaking. Our quaint remote alpine village would soon become an adventurer’s playground.
I walked to an empty bench near the gazebo and leafed through the file Chief Meyers had given me. It was good that Front Street Park was empty, because what I read in the paperwork sent my head spinning and tears pouring down my face. I didn’t care whether anyone saw me crying as I studied pages and pages of my past.
My mother hadn’t simply been murdered by Forest. She had been a federal agent, deep undercover. Claire DuPont had been recruited by the FBI after graduating from college. She had followed in her sister Marianne’s footsteps. Both had been assigned to the Seattle office. Her initial cases involved tracking a neo-Nazi group responsible for a number of hate crimes against small businesses. She quickly rose through the ranks. Notes from her supervisors praised her work ethic and ability to separate her emotions. A skill I had obviously inherited from her.
She had taken a short leave of absence after giving birth to me. There was no mention of my birth father.
When she’d been assigned Forest’s case, something had shifted. At first there were logs of her tracking his movements. She’d done extensive surveillance on him before going deep undercover, pretending to be an unwed mother desperate for cash to feed her young daughter. She’d spent two years living a dual life, inserting herself into Forest’s circle and all the while maintaining meticulous notes and careful contact with her handler in Seattle.
The evidence she had collected on Forest and his shady dealings was pages thick. Theft, racketeering, assault and battery, and multiple cases of suspected homicide without enough evidence to officially issue a warrant for his arrest. According to her notes, my mother had suspected that Forest might have associates within the criminal justice system, but she hadn’t been able to prove it.
She had been close to getting him on terrorism charges. Her wiretaps and notes documented his plans to blow up a downtown Seattle coffeehouse run by immigrants. The bombing was stopped, but Forest must have figured out that Claire was the informant and ordered her assassination, because the last pages in the file were dedicated to her unsolved murder and the ongoing search for her killer.
Flashes of memories flooded my brain. Her deep laugh. Her ebony hair and soft skin. The scent of apples, and listening to Billy Joel blasting on high in the car with the windows rolled down. I remembered her.
I sobbed harder as I ran my finger across grainy photos of her rocking me as an infant and pushing me on the swings at the playground.
I recognized the undeniable look of love and adoration in her eye when she smiled at the camera while holding me in her arms. I had been loved. That wasn’t a lie.
So many talks in Sally’s office came flooding back, too. Sally insisting that my family had loved me enough to let me go. To make sure that I was well cared for. That had been true, too.
The one thing I had no memory of was my mother’s actual death. I skimmed over crime scene photos, not wanting to embed images of her lifeless body in my head.
My fingers quaked as I read on.
After her death, Marianne stepped in. She, too, had been trained as an FBI agent; only, her sister’s death changed her. According to notes and reports from her supervisors, she had ignored orders to follow protocol and procedure and gone rogue. She decided to take justice into her own hands and try to avenge my mother’s death. Sally’s theory had been right about her, too.
She’d spent nearly thirty-five years tracking Forest’s every known associate. There were dozens of pages of her extensive notes on his potential criminal ring which included high-profile members of the mafia and even a few career politicians.
There were even mo
re notes on me. She had amassed years’ worth of research on me. Seeing my old files from foster care and photos of me playing at the park and walking to school gave me pause. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said that she watched me grow up.
She had—literally.
I broke down after reviewing the files. Ursula was right, Marianne really had had my best interests at heart. She had spent her entire life protecting me and trying to avenge her sister’s death. For what? A life spent in the shadows? Living alone?
I felt a deep sense of gratitude for Leavenworth and the life I had made here.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
AFTER I COMPOSED MYSELF, I took the file home and tucked it away for later. At some point, I would sit down with Alex and tell him everything I could about his great-aunt and grandmother. Then I called Sally to invite her to come stay in one of our guest rooms at Nitro and spend a long weekend with me and Alex. There was much to tell her and to share, but that could be done in person over hoppy pints and summer salads on my back deck. Sally had been an integral part of my formative years, and I was looking forward to rekindling our friendship without the angst of my past lingering over every conversation.
“Sloan, I would love to come. How’s next weekend? I have to admit that I’m eager to hear the whole story, and so relieved to know that you’re safe and that you finally have some much deserved resolution.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Plus, I have a gift for Alex. I remember you mentioned that he’s a big Sounders fan. My neighbors’ son is the team captain. I hope you don’t mind, but I was bragging about what an amazing kid you’ve raised, and she told her son. He dropped off a signed jersey and a bunch of posters for Alex and his soccer team.”
“That’s so thoughtful of you. He’s going to lose his mind.” I could picture him throwing on the jersey and running to the pitch to share the posters with his team.
“It’s a date. I’ll book a train ticket right now.”
When we hung up, I thought of how lucky Alex was not only to have the Krause family and the village looking after him, but Sally, too. It was incredible to think about how much my circle had expanded since coming to Leavenworth. The thought brought happy tears to my eyes.
I brushed them aside and focused. For the moment, there were other pressing issues. Like a keg tapping. I was due at Der Keller for a celebration of our newest beer—a special collaboration between Nitro and Der Keller. It had been Mac’s idea. A peace offering of sorts. He and Garrett had worked exclusively on the project, not allowing me anywhere near the brewery.
“Think of it as our gift to you, Sloan,” Mac had said. “It will be like your beer worlds colliding, but you have to promise not to peek until it’s ready. I remember how you used to sneak around the farmhouse, checking closets and the attic for your Christmas gifts.”
I had agreed to stay away from Der Keller while he and Garrett crafted their special brew. It had been fine; there was plenty to do at Nitro. Our summer line was nearly ready to tap, the guest rooms had been prepped for longer stays, and Kat and I had been focused on decking out the back patio. It had been such a success during Maifest that we decided to keep it open for the summer, adding more seating and a pergola custom built by Hans. I had planted fast-growing wisteria that had already started to snake and climb up the wooden structure.
Soon Leavenworth will be bustling with tourists, but for now, I’m glad to have our village to myself, I thought, as I changed into a knee-length white lacy skirt and thin gray T-shirt for the keg tapping. I tied my hair into a ponytail and finished my celebratory outfit with a funky beaded necklace and matching earrings that Alex had found for me at the Maifest markets. At Der Keller I was greeted by familiar faces—Hans, Otto, Ursula, Mac, Alex, Garrett, Kat, Jack, Casey, many friends from the village, and even April Ablin, who, true to form, wore an elaborate red plaid barmaid frock with navy blue trim and lacing across the bust. Her dyed orange hair had been twisted into a tight braid wrapped with a matching plaid ribbon.
The patio doors and each of the wooden shutters had been propped open, allowing the ambrosial June air inside. Waitstaff circulated through the cheery room with platters of smoked trout, beef brisket sandwiches, potato fritters, and mason jars filled to the brim with Bavarian vanilla cream and wild raspberries.
German polka music played overhead. The atmosphere was upbeat and electric; everyone was happy to be together to celebrate and raise a pint before the rush of the summer season brought droves of tourists to our beloved village.
Der Keller’s wall of tap handles was a sight to behold. There was something on tap for every beer drinker, from a light summery pilsner to a Dunkel heavy with notes of caramel and malt. But the reason we were all together was to tap the newest creation—a Reuben IPA. Brewed with—you guessed it—sauerkraut. It was Garrett’s idea (he had secretly spilled the brew details to me one night a week or two earlier when we had been closing up Nitro. I may or may not have pressured him for specifics).
Garrett had said that when he suggested the unconventional ingredient, Mac had jumped on board immediately to brew the unique sour beer in the style of a Gose. Garrett promised the collaboration was tart and slightly salty, but they had balanced it by adding natural sweetness from strawberries and rhubarb. I couldn’t wait to try it.
I found a spot next to Alex in front of the bar. Alex was dressed in his uniform, ready for another day on the job. He’d been working extra hours leading up to the festival weekend, and I hoped it wasn’t going to impact his schoolwork.
“Hey, Mom. The necklace looks great.” He let me kiss his cheek. I’d noticed since the abduction that he’d been more affectionate. Otherwise he seemed unscathed. I’d been checking in relentlessly, so much so that Hans and Ursula had both suggested that maybe a better approach would be to give him space to come to me when or if he was ready for help outside of our family.
“Someone has good taste.” I ran my fingers along the dainty frost, indigo, and charcoal glass beads. “How was your lunch shift?”
“Easy. Dad had me help in bottling because the dining room was pretty dead.”
“Help? Don’t let him sell himself short, he was running the bottling plant.” Hans had come up behind us. He ruffled Alex’s hair, while paying him the compliment. “I think the future of Der Keller is in good hands with this one.”
“Ja, ja,” Otto seconded. He and Ursula beamed with pride at their grandson. “It has always been our dream zat ze family business will continue, and, Sloan, I must tell you zat I zink Alex has ze nose, too!”
Alex’s cheeks reddened. “Opa, stop.”
“No, it is true. We were testing our new batch of sodas for ze summer, and Alex, he has created ze best flavor. Did you tell her?”
“No.” Alex shook his head.
Ursula called one of the waitstaff over and asked them to go pour a glass of Alex’s creation.
“You didn’t tell me you’ve been experimenting with soda flavors,” I said while we waited for the drink to arrive.
“I wasn’t sure how it was going to turn out. I wanted to make sure it was good first.”
“See! Ziz is what I am saying. He has ze nose,” Otto insisted.
The waiter brought us each a small glass of Alex’s soda. It was as clear as the glass beads on my necklace. I fell in love with the drink at first sip. Tiny lemon effervescent bubbles exploded on my tongue followed by a tropical pineapple and mint finish with lingering notes of summer berries.
“Alex, this is amazing.” No wonder Otto thought he had inherited the nose. The soda was like nothing I’d ever tasted. It was sophisticated yet approachable. I could picture it being served in a swanky downtown Seattle restaurant.
The blush on his cheeks spread and turned blotchy. That was a trait he had gotten from Mac. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a soda.”
“It is ze best Der Keller soda ever!” Ursula patted his wrist. “Otto has found a competition to submit your soda into, so now you must come u
p with a name for it, ja?”
“Really? Cool.” I could tell from the way Alex held his shoulders higher he was pleased with this news. “Okay, I’ll think about a name.”
“Ja, it is cool. Our grandson, he is already on his way to being famous.” Ursula shared a knowing look with me.
Mac broke into our conversation by tapping a stein with the edge of a spoon. “Welcome, welcome, everyone. Please gather round.” He took his favorite position in front of the wall of shiny tap handles. Garrett hung to the side of the bar. “We’re so thrilled to invite you to the first ever co-brew with our friends at Nitro.” He motioned for Garrett to join him.
I was struck by how different they were. Mac looked almost corporate. He’d recently trimmed his hair short and wore a pair of slacks and a collared Der Keller black T-shirt. Garrett wore a pair of khaki shorts and a beer chemistry T-shirt. His wavy hair fell over one eye. His style was closer to surfer than anything resembling a corporation.
“We’re hoping this will be the first of many future collaborations.” Mac clapped Garrett on the back.
They took turns roasting each other in good fun. Garrett teasing about selling out to the man, and Mac joking about Nitro brewing on a kid’s chemistry set. I was happy to see that they had formed a mutual respect as brewers, if nothing else. I didn’t anticipate that they would ever be fast friends, but that was fine with me. Leavenworth was a small town, and there was no need for enemies or challenging relationships.
In that spirit, I moved closer to April and offered her an olive branch. “Did you hear the news?” I whispered as Mac touted the fact that the collaboration had the very best hops in the Pacific Northwest.
“No, what?” She immediately perked up.
“Rumor has it that there’s a new romance in town.”
April scanned the crowd. “Who? Mac?”
The Cure For What Ales You Page 22