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

"Pardon?"
                  "There's room on the couch downstairs. Candace is unnerved. I don’t think she'll mind having you stay. You'll be a comforting presence."
                  "I doubt it. And why do you want me to stay so bad?"
                  "Because there's something amiss here. I don’t think this was suicide or a heart attack."
                  "The door was locked from the inside."
                  "I know," I said. "I was there."
                  "And did you examine the window?"
                  "No."
                  "Well, I did. It was sealed. Painted shut. From the outside, there's a steep drop to the ground. The rain's made a lot of muddy ground down there. No footprints whatsoever. I checked it out."
                  "Something is strange here."
                  He ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. He looked impatient. "Ok, one more time. He was in his office when you guys came home."
                  "I guess so."
                  "And you guys heard a thump right above you."
                  "Yes."
                  "And you went right up there. Didn’t see anyone fleeing the scene."
                  "Correct."
                  "So we can be pretty sure he was alive up there until you heard him drop."
                  I thought for a moment. "Unless he was dying the whole time."
                  "So, someone came in and poisoned him and left? And then you guys came home? And he didn’t bother to call out to you or call the cops or anything until he just dropped?"
                  I let out a sigh. "Ok, you win."
                  "Madison, you've got a great mind. You're just not used to asking the right questions. But I love your spunk."
                  He kissed my cheek.
                  "You do that – kiss my cheek – as if it's going to make me forget how condescending you are."
                  "I do it because I like you."
                  I'm a pushover sometimes. It's the blue eyes. "Then I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow," I said.
                  "Good night, Madison."
                  I shut the door behind him and stared for a minute at it. Then I opened it.
                  "Lester!"
                  He'd bolted to his car in the rain. I saw him look up at me through the windshield. I motioned for him to come back.
                  "Hurry!" I yelled.
                  "What is it?"
                  "You have the note?"
                  "What? The note he left not to bother him? I gave it to my guy."
                  "I need it."
                  He shook his head. "Why do you need it?"
                  "Just have him send you a picture of it. Please. For me?"
                  I looked him in the eye. He could see that I was intently focused. I didn’t want to tell him until I was sure. But I have to say, I was pretty sure.
                  A moment later, as the two of us stood on the Young's porch watching the rain, the picture text came through.
                  I widened it. Or a portion of it. The portion that had flashed into my mind just as I shut the door behind Detective Moore.
                  "Look," I said.
                  "Ok. What am I looking at?"
                  "This phrase here. Read it to me."
                  He read, "... to respectfully keep your voices down. Ok. What is it supposed to mean?"
                  "It’s a split infinitive. 'To respectfully keep.' Putting a word between the to and the transitive verb. Kyle Young was a grammar Nazi. They were arguing when I got here over his