Read Murder By The Pint (Microbrewery Mysteries Book 1) for Free Online Page B

said, "either Jack Daltry was dropped off beforehand or the sweeper dropped him off. Either he was killed in a car and dumped there, or the sweeper killed and dumped him there. Whichever is true, you have access to one of the variables to this equation. Talk to the sweeper again. Structure your line of questioning around this angle. I guarantee you'll get an answer."
                  A slight smile began on his face. It started as a twinkle in his eye and spread quickly.
                  "I'm onto something," I said.
                  He nodded. "How did you know about the route report?"
                  I took a breath, contemplating whether or not I should divulge my extracurricular activity. "I called the department of sanitation. They faxed it over."
                  "Just like that?"
                  I shrugged without a verbal answer.
                  His smile lessened. "Do me a favor and try not to interfere. I'm not playing around here. This is important stuff and a man got killed. Don’t mess around with it. As soon as you know something, you become dangerous to certain people intent on keeping that knowledge hidden. You understand?"
                  "I understand," I said, not entirely appreciating the lecture.
                  We finished the meal in the wake of a new awkward silence. And we parted ways, each of us fairly sure we wouldn’t see each other again.
                  As Shakespeare said, "What fools these mortals be."
                  Smart guy, Shakespeare.

Chapter 7
     
                  When I got back from my lunch with the detective, Hildy was waiting to see me. She'd pretty much accosted me at the door, rambling on and on about peak season and schedules and putting on the right company face. And she followed me all the way up to my office.
                  In the middle of her rant, I held up my hand. "Relax, have a brew."
                  She looked as though I’d just told her I was Jeffrey Dahmer's love child. "Excuse me?"
                  It was my father's policy to give away the first bunch of bottles off the line of a new batch to each of the employees. I saw no reason to discontinue that practice. Nothing does more to foster employee loyalty like free beer. I really think more companies should try it.
                  I reached into the mini-fridge in my office and extracted one such bottle: our signature IPA. I took a four-ounce tasting glass off the sideboard.
                  Hildy held up her hand. "I don’t drink beer."
                  I almost fainted. "Are you serious?"
                  "Dead serious."
                  "Do you drink at all?"
                  "I love a good cocktail. I just don’t drink beer."
                  "Have you ever tried Darby's?"
                  "No, but my father was a beer drinker. So was my ex-husband. I never liked the smell or the taste of it."
                  "What did they drink?"
                  She rattled off two names. Macrobreweries. These are the conglomerates that advertise during the Superbowl and pander to the dead palates of John and Mary Front Porch.
                  "Excuse me," I said indignantly, "but that's not beer. That's carbonated corn chowder with essence of aluminum can added to it. It's garbage. Cheaply made and marketed to people without taste buds who drink just to get drunk. We make beer for people who love good food. People who can taste the difference. You, as our Events Planning and Public Relations Coordinator, should know this."
                  "It's my job to market a product. Whether that product is pants or beer or sunglasses makes no difference to me."
                  I couldn’t believe what I was