Read Online Murder By The Pint (Microbrewery Mysteries Book 1) by Belle Knudson - Free Book Online

something funny that happens sometimes. You sit in traffic for two hours and you get an idea, and you rehearse that idea and play it every which way until it seems flawless. The trouble is that you've only rehearsed that one idea, that one bit of dialogue. What you haven’t done is consider the other variables of the equation. Like, for instance, what would you do if you were in Donald's living room, and you realized that there was some weird optical illusion that had always taken place when you saw him at work; that the cute little courier uniform had somehow made him look a little smaller, and that now, stripped of that uniform and in plain clothes – plain clothes being a tank top and exercise shorts – an ensemble that showed off a formidable chunk of muscle – he towered over you, looking like he could take you in one fist and crush you like a cashew.
                  And what would you do if you realized you were alone in that house? That the house had all the trappings of single life? You realize that you didn’t plan for this. That if this guy really was the criminal you were suggesting him to be, he probably was not above taking you in the aforementioned fist and crushing you like said cashew.
                  That's when I thought of Max Bosch and the career criminal. And how I now had my answer: That for career criminals, if they were to continue their career, consistency and restraint was the key to longevity. The career criminal doesn’t go beyond the precedent he has set for himself. He may be desperate for the big score, but the jump from petty crime to harder crime is not like the jump from harder crime to murder.
                  And that of course is when I realized that Donald here was no career criminal, but was probably more likely a guy with very little to lose besides his life and his reputation, and who would do anything to protect those precious commodities.
                  And that's when I began to scream.

Chapter 11
     
                  There comes a time in life when the craziest solution to a problem has to be considered. This was one of those times. I figured I might possibly be killed at that moment, so it really did seem like a pretty decent idea right then and there.
                  Here's how it went. I started to scream.
                  It's not what you think. See, here was my dilemma: I was trapped in a room with a guy I didn’t know, whose proclivity toward murder I had not gauged. Had I started screaming about myself, there could have been trouble. But I didn’t think there could be half as much trouble if I was screaming about him .
                  " Oh...my...GOD !" was how I started. And I pointed to his head. " Spider! "
                  He ducked as if there was really such a creature descending upon his head at that very moment, and looked up cautiously toward the ceiling.
                  " Oh...my...GOD !" I repeated.
                  "What?" he shouted.
                  "On your head! It's black and hairy!" And I let out a scream that could've frozen the Dead Sea. It was easy, I was that scared, and for a moment I actually pictured what would happen if I really did see what I was describing. I hate spiders.
                  I kept pointing and screaming. "It's on your head!"
                  Like I said, I really was that scared. There wasn't much convincing I had to do. As far as Donald was concerned, there was a huge, black, hairy spider sitting atop his head ready to go exploring.
                  The man began to shake like he just grabbed hold of an electric fence in the rain. He slapped at his head, hard. And that was my cue. I ran like it was nobody's business.
                  As far as I know, he was still in there slapping and shaking as I started my car and tore out of