Read Murder With A Chaser (Microbrewery Mysteries Book 2) for Free Online Page B

or the six-pack – and maybe take a page from Eli Campbell's playbook. I decided we would host a charity event. We'd have to really dig our heels in and get cracking if we were going to pull this one off.
                  My desk was littered with stacks of paper of every possible variety. I looked at my desk in disgust, imagining all sorts of microorganisms thriving in the mess. It was time to clean up. That would give me some respite from my company's financial distress, I figured. I reached into my drawer and pulled out a couple of purple nitrile              gloves. These are the exact same kind used by hospital staff. Sterile, germ-resistant, beautiful. I donned them like a princess and began the decluttering process, tossing out handfuls of garbage with relish.
                  Something caught my eye. You stare at a cluttered desk long enough, you unconsciously memorize its inventory. Here I was now, staring at an envelope I didn’t recognize.
                  It was a plain white envelope, a number 10 business size, with a thick, security-type exterior. It was sealed. I tore it open carefully and extracted its contents. I dropped the envelope and sat down in horror.
                  In my hand was a swatch of white linen, hastily cut from a larger cloth. And stitched into it, written in elegant black script, was the name "Chef Eli Campbell.”
                  I picked up the phone and paged Manuel Evans on the overhead. Manuel was a kid I hired a couple of weeks before. He was basically a part-time office assistant/secretary for me. He ran errands, took in and sorted the mail and scheduled appointments. He was the only one who handled incoming and outgoing correspondence.
                  He came into my office, all five feet and seven inches of him, neatly attired in shirt and tie and polished shoes.
                  "Yes, ma'am?"
                  He had that annoying habit of calling me ma'am, so that I felt like I was thirty years older than I was.
                  "It's Madison, Manuel. Not ma'am, not boss, not Ms. Darby. Madison. Can you remember that?"
                  "Yes. I apologize."
                  "Did you bring an envelope up here, Manuel?"
                  "Yes, ma'am. A little while ago."
                  "Where did it come from?"
                  "A gentleman stopped in and gave it to me for you."
                  "What gentleman?"
                  "He didn’t tell me his name. I asked him, 'Who shall I say is calling?' and he answered, 'Don’t worry about that. Just give her this.' And so I didn’t worry about it. He was nice."
                  "What did he look like?"
                  "He was tall. Then again, I'm relatively short, so everyone looks tall to me. He had blond hair that was cut very short, like a buzz cut. You know, like a Marine almost. And he looked German."
                  "German."
                  "Yeah, like some kind of very serious German scientist or something. Dark, squinty eyes. Square jaw. He stood very straight. That's what made him look like a Marine."
                  "You're incredibly observant, Manuel, you know that? Are you a writer, by any chance?"
                  "No, ma'am."
                  "Madison."
                  "Yes, I apologize."
                  "With that eye, you could be."
                  He stood there, staring at me for a half a second too long. "Ma'am, my parents wanted me to go to school to become a pharmacist. Nothing personal."
                  "Yeah, whatever, Manuel. Just do me a favor and get people's names from now on, ok?"
                  "Yes, ma'am."