Murder Brewed At Home (Microbrewery Mysteries Book 3)
able to."
                  "Alright, bye Gerry."
                  "Bye, Madison."
                  If there was one thing I wasn't too worried about, it was the fact that the next day was Monday. Mondays in the summer tend to be dead. People travel here on the weekend, they go out and get themselves sunburned beyond recognition and need to rest up and rub Noxzema on their faces all day Monday. No one ever feels like going out on Mondays in the summer in Carl's Cove.
                  Except for yours truly, who was ready to officially begin her new life as a private investigator. Split infinitives be damned.
     
    #
     
                  Maggie Childsworth was the first name on Kyle's list of running buddies. I'd finagled an interview with her first on the basis of my name, which she recognized from the contents of her fridge; and second, by telling her the plain and simple truth: a guy on in her running network had passed on, died, and I was investigating it. Okay, maybe it wasn't the whole truth, but it was plain and simple.
                  She was a slight woman in her mid-thirties. She'd lost a ton of weight, she told me, and was thinking about a mid-thirties career change from librarian to full-time fitness coach.
                  "I hear you," I said. "I myself have been considering changing career paths lately."
                  "How long have you owned the brewery?" she asked, her voice soft and polite.
                  "Three or four months," I said, not without embarrassment.
                  "Three or four months?"
                  "Maybe five."
                  "Oh my."
                  "It’s not exactly a career change. More like I never really had a career to begin with."
                  "I think I understand," she said with a smile.
                  She reached for one of the cups of tea she'd poured out for the two of us, having waited long enough for me to grab one for myself and then given up. There was no ring on her finger.
                  There was an assortment of books placed strategically around the living room of this modest Colonial house. The room was warm and done in burgundy and brown leather. Some of the books were on shelves made to look invisible, so that the books appeared stuck surrealistically to the walls.
                  She noticed my ogling the books. "The first editions are locked up in that cabinet over there. Would you like to see them?"
                  The cabinet was an old one, perfectly suited for displaying antique books.
                  I saw an assortment of old tomes, some peeling, but most in very good to near-perfect condition. There were editions of books by John Steinbeck, Norman Mailer, and John Cheever, plus what looked to be rare copies of books that had nothing on the spines.
                  "My mother gave me those. She kept them very well. They aren’t worth anything, but I can’t throw them away."
                  "Then they are worth something," I said. "They're priceless to you."
                  "I guess you're right. My husband wanted to get rid of them. I solved that problem. I got rid of him instead."
                  I chuckled nervously. "Do you mind my asking?"
                  "He cheated on me. I found out and said nothing. Instead I cheated right back on him. It was a real healthy situation." She laughed at her own joke. "I'm sorry, but I have gallows humor about it still. It only happened six months ago. That he cheated, I mean. We officially called it quits a month ago."
                  "Do you date?" I asked, somewhat boldly.
                  "Since my affair, no. But I was thinking of getting involved with the man I had the affair with again. That is, I wanted

Similar Books

Flashback

Michael Palmer

Dear Irene

Jan Burke

The Reveal

Julie Leto

Wish 01 - A Secret Wish

Barbara Freethy

Dead Right

Brenda Novak

Vermilion Sands

J. G. Ballard

Tales of Arilland

Alethea Kontis