A Brew to a Kill, page 1
Praise for the Sloan Krause Mystery Series
Distinctive characters and fun anecdotes about beer and brewing help make this a winner. Readers will want to keep coming back for more.
Publishers Weekly on Beyond a Reasonable Stout
Exciting and irresistible…this absorbing mystery will not let you leave it unfinished. Ellie Alexander is a formidable mystery novel writer.
Washington Book Review on Death on Tap
With its beautifully described small-town setting and seamlessly intertwined details about brewing beer, this cozy will appeal to beer lovers everywhere as well as readers who enjoy mysteries highlighting family relationships and independent female main characters.
Booklist
Likable characters, an atmospheric small-town setting, and a quirky adversary for the amateur sleuth. The engaging premise and pairings of beer and food should appeal to fans of Avery Ames’s ‘Cheese Shop’ titles.
Library Journal
A delight for foodies, craft beer fans, and lovers of twisty mysteries with a touch of humor.
Kirkus Reviews on Without a Brew
Charming…featuring a clever protagonist and talented brewer whose knowledge of the science and art of brewing beer is both fascinating and fun. The cozy village and the quirky characters who inhabit it are a delight, and the intriguing mystery will keep readers enthralled to the very end.
Kate Carlisle, New York Times bestselling author of the Bibliophile Mysteries and the Fixer Upper Mysteries
Ellie Alexander’s prose bubbles like the craft beers her protagonist Sloan Krause brews—a sparkling start to a new series.
Sheila Connolly, New York Times bestselling author of the Orchard Mysteries and the Cork County Mysteries
A concoction containing a charming setting, sympathetic characters, and a compelling heroine that kept me turning pages way past my bedtime.
Barbara Ross, author of the Maine Clambake Mysteries
Death on Tap is an entertaining sip of the world of brewpubs and tourist towns. Sloan, a foster child turned chef, brewer, and mother, is an intriguing protagonist. Pour me another!
Leslie Budewitz, two-time Agatha Award winning author of the Food Lovers’ Village Mysteries
A ‘hopping’ good cozy mystery…Readers will enjoy listening to local gossip and tracking a killer along with her in the charming German-style ‘Beervaria’ setting of Leavenworth, Washington.
Meg Macy, author of Bearly Departed
Also by Ellie Alexander
THE SLOAN KRAUSE MYSTERIES
Trouble is Brewing
Death On Tap
The Pint of No Return
Beyond a Reasonable Stout
Without a Brew
The Cure for What Ales You
Hold on for Beer Life – Short mystery
Beer and Loathing
A Brew to a Kill – Short mystery
Holiday short coming fall 2023
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STANDALONE NOVELS
Lost Coast Literary
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THE BAKESHOP MYSTERIES
Meet Your Baker
A Batter of Life and Death
On Thin Icing
Caught Bread Handed
Fudge and Jury
A Crime of Passion Fruit
Another One Bites the Crust
Till Death Do Us Tart
Live and Let Pie
A Cup of Holiday Fear
Nothing Bundt Trouble
Chilled to the Cone
Mocha, She Wrote
Bake, Borrow, and Steal
Donut Disturb
Muffin But the Truth
Catch Me If You Candy
A Smoking Bun
A Brew to a Kill
A Sloan Krause Mystery (Book 6.5)
Ellie Alexander
Published by
Sweet Lemon Press LLC
A BREW TO A KILL
Copyright © 2023 by Katherine Dyer-Seeley
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For information, address Sweet Lemon Press, LLC, PO Box 2057 Sunnyvale, CA 94087.
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Cover design by Gordy Seeley
To you, this cozy community, where it’s perfectly okay and acceptable to be warm, kind, and welcoming.
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We need more of this in the world. Thanks for spreading the book love.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Recipes inspired by Sloan
White Velvet Cookies
Rhubarb-Filled Crumble Cookies
Chocolate Shortbread Cookies
Strawberry French Toast
Chicken Artichoke Soup
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Ellie Alexander's Author Academy
Chapter
One
The aroma of mosaic hops and rose petals wafted from the brewery. April was in full bloom in Leavenworth, Washington, where Garrett Strong, my brewing partner at Nitro, and I were putting the finishing touches on our spring line of Pacific Northwest-style beers. The first was a cold aged cream ale with aromas of sweet corn. Our rosehips and lemon lager was an update from a beer we had brewed last year, while our pear and apple IPA was a new addition. The fruit-forward brew was layered with local, organic produce, Yakima Valley hops, and a touch of vanilla for a hint of a sweet finish.
“Sloan, how are we doing for time?” Garrett asked as he climbed down from the ladder attached to one of the brite tanks. The vessels were used to clarify, carbonate, and store our beer prior to packaging.
“We should head over to the Festhall soon.” I checked my watch. “Maybe twenty minutes.”
Garrett tugged a pair of chemistry goggles from his head, causing his wavy hair to fall over one eye. “Perfect. That gives me time to change and steal two of your white velvet cookies before we go.”
“You’re taking to thievery, I better tell Kat to guard the cookies,” I teased. “No, seriously, I’ll check in with her to make sure everything is good with the tasting room and meet you in the kitchen to load up in a few.” I left him to get ready and went to the front.
A long distressed-wood bar with dozens of taps divided the brewing area, commercial kitchen, and our shared office in the back of the building from the tasting room in the front. Every time I walked into the bright space with its exposed ceilings and bright windows that looked out onto Leavenworth’s cobblestone streets, I couldn’t help but smile. I was so lucky to be living my dream.
“Hey, Sloan,” Kat said from behind the bar, greeting me with a dimpled grin as she pointed to the window. “Can you believe how gorgeous it is this morning? It’s going to be perfect weather for the farmers market.”
Tangerine light spilled through the rustic, wood-pane windows. Steep-pitched rooflines and Bavarian façades painted in a range of cheerful colors, vibrant blues, warm yellows, and Kelly greens stretched as far as I could see.
Today was the official kickoff festival for the return of the farmers market season. During the winter months, the market went on hiatus, but now that the hills were lush with emerald green grass and rows and rows of dainty pink cherry and apple blossoms, I couldn’t wait to get back in the swing of market weekends.
We had decided to set up a booth for the kickoff festivities where we would share samples of our spring beers and sweet pairings. Leavenworth loves a festival weekend. It’s kind of our thing. And there was no better way to welcome spring than a polka band and party in the streets.
Kat and I had baked batches of white velvet cookies in the shape of hop cones and frosted them with a citrus royal icing with a super secret ingredient—a splash of our signature citrus IPA. In addition to the ode-to-beer cookies, we opted for rhubarb-filled crumbles and chocolate shortbread.
“I know. The weather gods are on our side this weekend,” I said to Kat. “How are things going with prep for the day? Do you need anything before we take off?”
“Nope. I’m all set. It should be pretty chill today since everyone will be at the market. Look at this, though.” She reached for her phone and held her screen for me to see. “I posted our daily special and the fact that we’ll have a booth at the market on social a little while ago, and we got a message from a travel influencer who’s in town. He’s huge. He has over a million followers. A Brew with a View, do you know him?”
I glanced at her screen and shook my head.
“Well, that’s not a surprise. He’s probably not on your radar. I think he’s in his early twenties. His name is Josh, and he does these insane hikes and then shoots videos and pics of beer—hence, A Brew with a View. He slid into our DMs to ask if we could give him some cans. He’s going to hike Icicle Ridge tomorrow and wants to feature Nitro on the summit.”
“Sure. Yeah. That sounds great.”
“This could be huge for us. A lot of Josh’s posts and videos go viral.” Kat clicked off her phone. “The chance of a couple of million beer lovers seeing Nitro at the top of a peak is worth a six-pack or two, right?”
“Without a doubt. I trust you completely when it comes to partnerships like this, so it’s a solid yes for me.” I was thrilled that Kat had happened upon Leavenworth while on a personal quest to meet her idol during Oktoberfest a few years ago. The meetup with her celebrity crush hadn’t gone as she had planned, but sometimes fate has a way of putting the right person in your path at the right time. That was true for Kat. She may not have found love, but she found us. She had become an integral part of Nitro’s team and part of my extended family.
Kat’s dimples creased as she smiled at me. “Great. I’ll hook him up. You’ll probably see him at the market. He has the kind of personality that’s hard to miss. Big. Expressive. Bold.”
“As long as he’s not an April.” I chuckled and made a funny face. April Ablin was a real estate agent and the self-appointed queen of the village and all things German. She took it upon herself to make sure that everyone in town adhered to her strict vision of kitschy décor. Not a day went by when she didn’t pop into the tasting room to insist we hang cheap plastic red, yellow, and black flags from the windows or that we swap our jeans and Nitro hoodies for skimpy barmaid dresses and lederhosen.
“One April is enough.” Kat stuck out her tongue. “But, hey, if Josh and his A Brew with a View bring more beer tourists to the village, why not?”
“Why not,” I agreed.
Garrett entered the tasting room, pushing a cart with cases of our beers. “Ready to go sling some spring ales, Sloan?”
“That’s a mouthful, but yes.”
“Love the shirt,” Kat said.
Garrett posed for us so that we could get a closer look at his punny T-shirt. The retro design featured mountain ranges and a twist on a familiar saying: THE BREWERIES ARE CALLING, AND I MUST GO.
We said goodbye to Kat and made our way along Front Street. The village looked like a watercolor painting with pink and yellow geraniums cascading from window boxes on the half-timbered buildings. Blue gingham-checked bunting wrapped around the gazebo, fluttering in the slight breeze. Sunlight drenched the cobblestone streets and kissed Icicle Ridge.
The Festhall was located at the far end of Front Street across from Der Keller Brewing. In any other town of two thousand residents, multiple breweries would probably saturate the market, but that wasn’t true in Leavenworth, thanks to the steady stream of tourists who visited the village for one of our many festivals—Maifest, Oktoberfest, Icefest, and so many more. Der Keller was synonymous with Leavenworth and craft beer. Otto and Ursula Krause (my chosen family) had started the brewery in the 1970s and had grown it from a two-person operation to one of the largest microbreweries on the West Coast.
The Der Keller empire continued to expand. My ex-husband Mac had recently taken over operations, a move I had been nervous about. Not because he was dangerous, but because Mac tended to overspend, overcommit, over-embellish, over everything. Otto and Ursula, Mac’s parents, had divided shares of their beloved business to Mac, his brother Hans, and me, so they could scale back and enjoy their retirement years. At first, I was convinced we were headed for disaster, but to my surprise and delight, Mac had focused on personal growth since our split. He had stepped into his new role with a focus and determination I had never experienced when we were married.
Der Keller was thriving under his leadership, allowing Hans and me the freedom to offer insight into the brewery’s future without constantly having to rein Mac in.
“Wow, it’s already hopping,” Garrett noted as we approached the empty lot across from the Festhall, where the market setup was in full swing.
White vendor tents in neat rows stretched from one end of the lot to the other. It looked as if every farmer, grower, and crafter from the entire Wenatchee Valley was ready to kick off the season. There was something for everyone—produce, flowers, honey, candles, pastries, bread, wine, food trucks, and more.
“It’s going to be a full market. It looks like we’re next to Weber and Annabelle.” I pointed to a farm stand a few booths away.
Garrett maneuvered the beer cart past a flower vendor unpacking truckloads of tulips, heather, camellias, and snowdrops. Then he went straight to work setting up our Nitro booth with his usual efficiency, unpacking crates of our new spring ales and tasting glasses. We’d been doing the market and festival circuit for the last year, so we had setup down to a science. Garrett hung a large banner with our Nitro atomic hop logo from the back of the tent and strung hop lights around the front.
I set out platters of my cookies with little tasting notes Kat had designed. The white velvet, rhubarb crumbles, and chocolate shortbread cookies were meant to be paired with each of our beers to pull out the spring flavors. Beer tasting was serious business. Mac had trained for years to become a cicerone, the beer equivalent of a sommelier. For me, homing in on a beer’s sweetness, acidity, mouthfeel, carbonation, and body came naturally, but one of the things that Garrett and I felt passionate about was making beer tasting accessible and fun. I loved educating beer novices on how the white velvet cookies would balance the smooth, buttery feel of the cream ale, whereas the tangy rhubarb would marry with the rosehips and lemon lager, and the chocolate shortbread would pull out the fruit-forward flavors in the IPA.
Once I finished arranging our cookie display, I unpacked our beer merch, stickers, hoodies, hats, and coasters. Canning our beer was a relatively new option. Since we only produced small batches, we didn’t have much extra to spare, but Garrett had scored an inexpensive canning system at a beer convention a few months ago, and we decided to take the plunge. We had taken advantage of the slower winter months to ramp up canning to sell six-packs at the market and to guests who wanted to bring home a taste of Leavenworth. I was excited to see how the community responded to our latest endeavor and had a feeling that today’s stock might not last long.
By the time our booth was prepped and ready to serve thirsty shoppers, a polka band paraded through the tents announcing the market's official opening. The mayor followed them, complete in Kelly green lederhosen with black suspenders and matching felt hat. After his short welcome speech, he turned the microphone over to my nemesis April Ablin. In true April fashion, she was dressed in a cotton candy-pink dirndl, with two milkmaid-style braids and hot pink lipstick, which clashed with her dyed orange hair. “Gluten, oh, oh, sorry, I meant Guten Morgan.”
She waited for applause.
Someone offered a tepid clap.
“Thank you, thank you.” April bowed and then fanned her face. “I’m so touched by your warm welcome and thrilled to be the guest of honor to cut the ribbon for this year’s farmers market.”
“Doesn’t she cut it every year?” Garrett whispered.
“I’m sure she buys the ribbon herself.”
He laughed.
April prattled on about Leavenworth’s rich history, our Bavarian culture, and the upcoming Maifest. I wasn’t sure who she thought her target audience, was because aside from a handful of tourists, everyone else had lived in the village longer than April.
I tuned her out and scanned the crowd of familiar faces. A group of young backpackers congregated at The Bountiful Basket, Weber and Annabelle’s farm booth. The booth was decorated with red and white gingham tablecloths, checkered bunting, and dozens of baskets overflowing with organic strawberries, rhubarb, sugar snap peas, asparagus, herbs, and jars of homemade jams, jellies, and sauces.
