Read Online Murder With A Chaser (Microbrewery Mysteries Book 2) by Belle Knudson - Free Book Online

you said? You have a funny way of speaking about your work."
                  "Lucky for you."
                  I was feeling pretty good, in a macabre sort of way.
                  "So what now?" I said.
                  He looked at me gravely, and then put his head back and ran a hand through his hair. "What now is that we have a possible connection between this murder and the murder of Eli Campbell."
                  We were both silent after that. Very silent.
     
    #
                 
                  The key is in the carp.
                  This now was what I was saddled with, and it was driving me crazy. I can’t tell you how many Wikipedia entries I pored over on the subject of keys and carp. I now know everything there is to know about both. Did you know a goldfish is a type of carp? I didn’t.
                  I even visited the bait and tackle shop that apparently has no specific name other than the words BAIT & TACKLE in big, blue, block letters over the entrance. I spoke to them, hinting around about keys and carps and what could someone mean if they spoke about a key in a carp? Was a key a type of fly for fishing?
                  No, they said. No it wasn't.
                  So I visited the hardware store, the one that has been in business ever since John Steinbeck himself used to make his summer home here in the early 1940s. Behind the cash register hung a framed picture of the Grapes of Wrath author holding a tack hammer. No, the word carp doesn’t appear anywhere in the entire lock and key lexicon.
                  I decided to table this puzzle for now. Perhaps it was a benzene haze of rambling, and incoherent bit of nonsense from a dying man's lips.
                  But why me? Why did he come to me when he knew he was dying?
                  This much was obvious. Somewhere, either in his home or in Shawn Ward's garage where he worked, he'd donned that poisonous mask. As soon as he realized he was dying, he started on his way to me and got rid of the mask en route .
                  So, why me?
                  Paperwork was mounting. Gerry was calling me with news of his solution for the ruined batch: He was going to brew up a quick stout. Stouts are dark, roasty beers. Usually, a beer needs to age to achieve its peak flavors, and stouts are no exception. However, you can get away with a relatively unaged stout because of their sharp, roasty, bitter character. The strength of the flavors tends to mask the unaged flavor.
                  It was a brilliant idea by my cousin Gerry. It made me feel bad for suspecting him of murder a few months ago.
                  Remind me to tell you that one someday, if you haven’t already heard it.
                  Anyway, needless to say, there was a lot on my plate. And needless to say, I wasn't in the mood to eat any of it.
                  I wanted to keep asking questions. That was the only way I was going to get answers.
                  There were other contestants in that homebrew competition. I figured it was about time I paid each of them a visit.
     
    #
     
                  I pulled up to an ornate Victorian-style cottage, much like the one I shared with my cousin Tanya. Only ours didn’t have a wood-burned sign that read "Brew for Jesus" over the entrance.
                  The Reverend Howard Simmons himself answered the door.
                  Rev, as he liked to be called, was a very short man with a very large personality. Standing about five-foot-five, he had an expanse of chest ample enough to project his voice throughout an indoor football arena without a mic. His mannerisms were grand. He had a smile that could cure most forms of clinical depression. He called me "child.” And he loved