CHAPTER
ONE
A BITING JANUARY WIND BLEW into the taproom as the front door to Nitro opened and a group of skiers traipsed inside. They were loaded down with gear—expensive puffy parkas in an array of bright colors, ski goggles, boots, and poles. A slightly overweight guy with a pinched face and an entitled sneer glanced around the bar and scoffed. “This is where they sent us? Dude, it’s going to be a long weekend.”
His buddy laughed. “We’re not in Seattle anymore, Kev.”
They were followed in by two younger women dragging hot pink Prada suitcases behind them.
The first guy approached the bar, where Garrett, my boss and fellow brewer, and I had been pouring pints for locals and brainstorming our spring beer line. In the world of craft beer, we always had to think a season ahead. Despite the fact that we were deep in the throes of winter in Leavenworth, Washington, we were already dreaming up sunny, fruit-forward ales and sweet strawberry pilsners.
“Hey, who do I talk to about getting a couple of rooms?” The guy with the pinched face interrupted our conversation. He was tall with a slightly receding hairline. I put him in his early thirties, and judging by his smartwatch with its platinum band and his designer ski gear, I’d have wagered a guess that he worked for one of the many tech companies headquartered in nearby Seattle.
I gave Garrett a look to let him know that I had this, and turned to the guy. “We don’t have any rooms.”
His tightly wound face squeezed even harder. Big blue veins bulged across his forehead. “That’s not what I heard. I was told you have the only rooms left in town, and we want them. I’ll pay you cash. Hard money, right now, for them.” As if to prove his net worth, he dug a leather wallet from his ski jacket and proceeded to flash a bunch of hundred-dollar bills.
Garrett stepped forward. “Who told you we had rooms available?”
The guy pointed in the direction of Front Street. “That cheap-ass property management company down the street. I rented a ski chalet from them for the weekend, but apparently the pipes froze, and it’s flooded. That worthless woman tried to rebook us in a hotel, but everything is full. She told us to come talk to…” He paused for a minute and read a note jotted down on the back of a business card I recognized. It belonged to my friend Lisa Balmes, who owned a high-end vacation management company in the village.
“I need to talk to Sloan or Garrett—stat. The name’s Kevin Malcolm. You may not be aware, but I’m a VP and I have high expectations when it comes to customer service.” He tapped his watch. “My friends and I are freezing our butts off here, so go get one of them for me.”
“You’re looking at them.” Garrett pointed to his chest. As usual, his slightly disheveled hair was held back by a pair of the chemistry goggles he used when brewing.
“Great.” Kevin snapped. “Then what do we need to do to get a couple of rooms ASAP?” He took five hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet and proceeded to stack them on the bar, one at a time.
“Technically we don’t have any rooms ready,” Garrett replied.
That was true. If Lisa had sent them our way, she must be in dire straits. We hadn’t advertised the fact that we were about to open a craft-beer-themed B and B. Beer tourism was becoming big business, and we were sitting on a little gold mine. We had converted four bedrooms above the brewery into guest rooms in an attempt to pull in another revenue stream in the form of beer travel. Each room design was inspired by the four elements of beer—hops, grain, yeast, and water. We had started renovations in November, but then the holiday season hit and put us behind schedule. Our goal was to officially open next weekend, just in time for Leavenworth’s annual Bavarian IceFest, but we had decided to start with a “soft” opening in advance of officially launching our new project. Just yesterday we had welcomed our first guests, a young couple in town celebrating their anniversary. It seemed like a good idea to test the waters before we made the space available to more guests.
“Look, I don’t want to play games with you, man. Is this a money issue? Consider that a deposit.” He nodded at the stack of hundreds. “There’s plenty more where that came from. I’m willing to fork out more even if this is a glorified Airbnb, because I’m not having my ladies sleep out in the cold.” He glanced behind him and shot a lewd look at the two women waiting near the front door.
I shuddered at his condescending use of “ladies.”
“Look, I’m a VP. A VP at a major ad agency that works with all of the tech giants in Seattle. You’ve probably heard of Screamtime.”
Everyone in the PNW had heard of Screamtime. The irreverent ad agency was known for in-your-face ad campaigns that pushed every moral boundary. It was no surprise that Kev worked for the company.
He puffed out his chest and took out a vape pen. “I’ll make it worth your while to have us stay. I know powerful people in the digital industry. A review of this place from me will get you noticed by the jet set.”
The jet set? Who was this guy?
“Hey, there’s no smoking or vaping in here.” Garrett held up a finger to the pompous VP.
“Lame.” He stuffed the vape pen back in his pocket.
“Give us a minute, and we’ll see what we can do about rooms.” Garrett pulled me over to the far corner of the bar. “What do you think, Sloan?”
I shrugged. “It’s your call. I can get the rooms ready. They’re basically done. I just need to get some linens and towels. I’m sure Lisa must be in a jam if she sent him to us, but remind me to thank her later.” I rolled my eyes. “He sure seems like a gem.”
“Trust me, I know the type. He’s one of three thousand VPs. We used to call them VPs of ass kissing. Guys like that are the reason I live here now.” Garrett had recently moved to our Bavarian utopia after working in Seattle for decades. He had ditched city life to run a nanobrewery in the remote Northern Cascades. It had been quite a lifestyle change, but one that he had adapted to seamlessly.
I chuckled. “If nothing else, we can take his money.”
“My thoughts exactly. And in some ways, if we can put up with Mr. VP and his pals for the weekend, we’ll really have an official soft opening test. As much as I hate to admit it, we’re going to have to learn how to handle his type once we open the guest rooms. It’s not like we can ask people if they’re entitled jerks when they make a reservation.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should formulate some of kind of screening test.” I was hopeful that guys like the one waiting impatiently at the end of the bar wouldn’t choose Nitro’s rustic guest rooms. One of the things I liked most about working in the brewery was the low-key vibe and relaxed atmosphere. The space was casual, welcoming, and a good spot to savor one of our signature pints for an afternoon. But Garrett raised a fair point. We were about to branch into the hospitality business, and that meant interacting with a variety of customers. I was a professional. I could deal with the VP.
“Why don’t you get them beers to tide them over, and I’ll go check on the rooms?” I retied my long black ponytail and rolled up the sleeves to my Nitro hoodie.
“What would I do without you, Sloan?” Garrett patted my shoulder. “You’re one of a kind.”
“Don’t forget it.” I winked and left Garrett to deal with the skiers.
Nitro is the smallest brewery in the village, with a tasting room and bar in the front, a commercial kitchen and our brewing operations in the back. It originally belonged to Garrett’s great-aunt Tess, who used the space as a diner and guesthouse. Upstairs, each room had its own bathroom and fireplace. Garrett currently lived in a converted suite. He took the walls down between a couple of the rooms to create his own apartment. The other large suite was occupied by our first employee, Kat. In addition to the apartments and guest rooms, the upstairs included a shared reading room, which we had outfitted with comfy couches, bookcases stacked with plenty of fiction and an assortment of beer titles, and a snack area with a small fridge, self-serve coffee and tea, and late-night munchies.
As I walked past the reading room, I spotted Ali and Brad, our first soft-opening guests, curled up on the couch. They were leafing through a cross-country trail map and drinking cups of tea.
“How’s everything going?” I stopped to check in with them.
Brad rested his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Good, good. We’re mapping out our ski route for this afternoon. When do the lights come on?”
The lights that Brad was referring to were Leavenworth’s winter showpiece. Over a million twinkle lights adorned every tree and storefront in the German-inspired village. They lit up our little alpine town from the day after Thanksgiving until March, casting a perpetual winter glow on our cobblestone streets. Visitors descended on our otherwise sleepy town every weekend in the winter to experience the magic of the colorful light show and ski and snowshoe in our nearby mountains. Next weekend’s Bavarian IceFest would include fireworks, ice carving, snow sculptures, and winter games like the penguin shuffle, ice cube scrambling, the snowball toss, smooshing, and a local favorite—Frisbee sweeping, where contestants sweep a Frisbee on a sheet of ice from one end of Front Street to the other.
“The lights come on at dusk every night. You have plenty of time to hit the trails this afternoon.” I looked at the antique cuckoo clock, one of the pieces left from Garrett’s great-aunt Tess. It was just after one. The sun wouldn’t set until after five. “I’m glad I found you two. We have some unexpected guests staying.” I explained the situation. “We weren’t intending to book any other rooms this weekend, but we can’t leave these guests out in the cold.”
“Don’t give it a thought.” Ali rubbed Brad’s hand as she spoke. “We’re happy to share this space, and we are absolutely in love with our room, aren’t we, honey?”
Brad agreed. “For sure. The hops theme is awesome. Especially the dried hops to put under our pillows. Nice touch.”
Hops have a naturally calming effect. We decided to offer our guests the same immersive experience, by stringing dried hops along the ceiling, placing hop vines in small mason jar vases throughout the room, and leaving hop-filled sachets under the pillows. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far. Don’t forget to stop in the tasting room to get your free pint later.” Guests who stayed with us would receive a special beer tasting, personal brewery tours, and homemade breakfasts.
“Oh, we’re here for the beer! Don’t worry, we plan to camp out in the tasting room tonight and try everything you have on tap.” Ali grinned. “I told Brad maybe we should skip skiing today and just go straight for the beer.”
Brad squeezed her hand. “We have the entire weekend for beer, hon.”
They were clearly celebrating their anniversary. His left arm massaged her shoulder as his right hand was entwined in hers. Their easy show of affection made me think of my soon-to-be ex-husband, Mac. I had caught him cheating on me with a young barmaid. At the time I had been furious, embarrassed, and totally unclear about what to do next, but like many things in life, sometimes the hardest struggles lead to new discovery. If it hadn’t been for Mac straying, I probably wouldn’t be at Nitro now. In some ways I felt grateful for his infidelity. Not that I condoned it, but we had been unhappy for a while. If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t think I ever would have left him if it hadn’t been for that fateful day when I walked in on him. A part of me would always love him. He had introduced me to the world of craft beer and given me my son, Alex. I was hopeful that in the days ahead we would be able to find a new way of being friends or at least co-parents, without the baggage that came from decades of an unhealthy marriage.
The hardest part of our breakup for me had been the thought of losing my connection with Otto, Ursula, and Hans, Mac’s parents and brother. They were the only family I had ever known. As a product of the foster care system, I had no baseline for what it was like to have a family support you unconditionally. The Krauses had given me that, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing them.
The problem was, it wasn’t solely Mac’s infidelity that had put a strain on things with my in-laws. Our relationship was complicated and made more so by Ursula’s revelation a couple months ago that she had known my birth mother. I had been sitting with that knowledge, unsure how to proceed. Learning that Ursula had known details about my past and kept them from me had left me feeling completely unsettled. Why had she withheld such important information? Her revelation had left me feeling like I was walking around in a daze. Everything I had thought I knew about the Krause family was in question. The situation was made worse by a phone call around the same time with my former case worker and only confidant, Sally, who had warned me that Otto and Ursula might not be the sweet couple I had always believed them to be. Was there another reason Ursula had lied to me all of these years? Could she somehow be involved with my parents’ disappearance?
I shuddered at the thought. Sally was coming in a couple days, and until then, my only coping strategy was to keep busy and to push any thoughts of the Krauses to the side for the short term. Initially, Sally had intended to come to Leavenworth right away, but her plans changed after she had uncovered more information about my past. She had asked for more time to compile as much as she could before we met again in person. I had waited this long, so another day or two wouldn’t kill me.
I turned my attention to the happy couple snuggled together on the couch. They even looked alike. Both Brad and Ali had dark hair and deep brown eyes. Ali’s was twisted into a messy bun, while Brad’s was trimmed short. Their dewy gaze made me wistful for young love. “Enjoy the skiing, and please don’t hesitate to let us know if you need anything. We’ll look forward to seeing you in the tasting room later.”
I left them and went to the supply room to get towels, sheets, and toiletries. I planned to put the VP and his friends in the water and yeast rooms respectively, as both of those had two queen beds. They could figure it out from there. I wasn’t going to insert myself into their group dynamic. We had arranged the hop and grain rooms for couples’ retreats, with king beds and claw-foot tubs. If fully booked, Nitro could accommodate a total of twelve guests. Hopefully, that number would bring in some extra cash without inundating us with tons of extra work.
The highlight of our brewery lodgings would be custom beer-infused breakfasts. I loved to cook, so I had agreed to take on breakfast preparation in addition to the small menu we had for the bar. With nearly every room booked, tomorrow morning should be a good test.
I prepped the rooms and tried to push thoughts of Ursula and my past from my mind. The rooms had turned out better than I had anticipated. The water room was a sensory retreat with stunning photographs of Icicle Creek, the Wenatchee River, and Leavenworth’s snowcapped mountains lining the walls. We had painted the room in soft, calming blue tones and adorned it with matching blue and white linens and an indoor water fountain. Yeast had been harder to visualize, but Kat, our newest addition, had had a stroke of genius when she found a quote about yeast and how every loaf of bread could have become beer but—tragically—didn’t. We rolled with that idea by showcasing collections of photos from every step in the brewing process. The yeast room was painted in creamy beige tones with pops of orange, and had yellow accent pillows, a small loveseat for reading, and a stack of chemistry and science magazines.
Once the guest rooms were sparkling clean, with fluffy stacks of towels, chocolates on the pillows, and pint glasses ready for filling, I returned to the bar. Garrett was chatting with a local at one of the high-top tables. Kat was updating the chalkboard menu with two new guest taps.
Kat was in her early twenties with a mound of curls, dimples, and boundless energy. She had ended up in Leavenworth in a less-than-fortunate situation, and Garrett and I had taken her under our wing. In exchange for free room and board, she was our girl Friday. Kat might be young, but she was a quick study. She had learned how to pour a perfect pint, was developing her knowledge base of the craft, and was always ready to dive in wherever we needed her, whether that meant washing dishes or making beds.
I waved to Kat and ducked behind the bar. “Okay, the rooms are ready,” I said to Garrett.
“Good.” He handed me a gold-embossed business card. “Kev, a.k.a. Kevin Malcolm, VP of ass kissing, and his cronies are all paid up.” He looked to Kat. “You’ll both be happy to know that there’s a big, big tip coming our way if he and his friends are happy with their stay.”
“Gag.” Kat stuck out her tongue.
“If they give you any problems, come talk to me or Garrett.” I felt protective of Kat. “I know how to deal with guys like Kevin—don’t let them intimidate you.” I glanced to the front. “Oh, and don’t let him vape.”
“No worries.” Kat brushed me off. “Those women are like their groupies. They hang on every word ‘Kev’ says. I don’t think he’ll mess with me when he has a vapid fan base drooling over him.”
Kat was a bit younger than Kevin and his friends, but she was wise beyond her years.
“Here’s to launching the bed-and-breakfast.” Garrett gave us both high fives.
After working on the concept for months, I was excited to kick off our new endeavor. But I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that Kevin and his friends were going to be trouble.
Copyright © 2020 by Kate Dyer-Seeley
