Murder Brewed At Home (Microbrewery Mysteries Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

"My...fault... I didn’t...mean it..."
                  I looked at Lester, who stared back at me with his intensely blue eyes.
                  "Let's leave her," he whispered.
                  We went to the kitchen, where Amanda and Bernadette were sitting with cups of coffee.
                  "There's some left if you want it," said Amanda.
                  "She's sleeping, by the way," I said. "And thank you, I'd love a cup."
                  Lester and I sat and shared a sigh.
                  "You're feeling the same way I do, I see," said Bernadette.
                  "It's been a strange night," I said. "I guess I didn’t need to say that."
                  Bernadette smiled warmly at me. "Did you know him?"
                  "Kyle? No. I mean, I saw him a few times with Candace. Never really knew him that well. You?"
                  She looked up at Amanda, who had been hovering over me with the pot of coffee. Amanda returned the look with silence and poured out coffee for Lester and me.
                  " I didn’t know him," said Bernadette, and looked at Amanda again. "Same as you. Met him a few times. He didn’t seem very nice."
                  "You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead," Amanda said curtly.
                  "Well, would anyone rather I lied? I'm sorry, but every time I saw them together they didn’t look like they were together, and I couldn’t blame her. It looked as though he considered her a status symbol to go along with the BMW and the gym in his garage. I'm sorry, but I thought she could do better."
                  A sound came from behind. It was Amanda placing the coffee pot back onto the machine's warming plate with a hard, angry clang.
                  "I'm sorry," she said.
                  We sipped our coffee in uncomfortable silence.
                  And I thought about the door to that office.
     
    #
                 
                  Say what you want about Amanda and Bernadette, something made those two want to stay with Candace. I must say that their decision didn't help me much. At this point, I didn’t trust anyone or their motivations. But when I told A and B that Lester and I needed some air, they didn’t even hesitate before shooing us out, telling us that someone had to stay with Candace and they would gladly be the ones.
                  Now, "need some air" is a very vague term. But had I told them that we were on our way to the morgue to talk Lester's forensics guy into giving us a quick once-over of the body, I have a feeling their reaction would be, shall I say, less than forgiving.
                  Lester told me on the way there that he wasn't too hopeful. His medical examiner, a skinny young kid fresh out of college with a hipster beard and black horn-rimmed glasses, wasn't exactly the most compliant of personalities. Being the only ME in the department kind of gave the guy some clout – being the only game in town and all – and it didn’t matter who gave him the order. If it was the President or the Pope, maybe. But anyone else? The guy needed some incentive.
                  A case of Darby's Maple Porter turned out to be the perfect currency with which to bargain.
                  It didn't get us a full autopsy, but we were able to get a little bit of information to tide us over.
                  I did, for example, get to examine the contents of the dead man's pockets.
                  Namely, a pack of breath freshener strips, a ring of house and car keys, and his cell phone.
                  "We checked his phone for any messages sent or received," said Lester. "Nothing. Ditto for phone calls."
                  I swiped the phone to unlock it and