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

amusement.
                  He lived alone in a single bedroom apartment above the town's only pharmacy.
                  His apartment was clean and neat, and modestly furnished. He prepared us cups of instant coffee, insisting the entire time that it was far superior to freshly-brewed coffee, for, he said, it was all about the quality of the water. I looked at him askance and he paid it no mind.
                  "You have to buy the right stuff. People are too stupid to know what the good stuff is. They go for the mass-market crud that the TV tells them to buy. This is the good stuff, trust me.
                  It wasn't. But in the interest of a successful interview, I had to choke it down with a smile.
                  Joe Badger made his money teaching chemistry at the Southampton campus of Long Island University. The summer found him at leisure here in his hometown of Carl's Cove, and he had something to say about it.
                  "The people here are ridiculous most of the time, year-round. It's only when you get past Memorial Day and encounter the influx of summer people that you really see just how ridiculous people can be. Summer people are atrocious, and our horrible residents all bow down to them like gods."
                  "Some of us are grateful to them," I said. "Those of us who own small businesses."
                  "Please," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Show me a summer person with any intelligence, who contributes anything to society, I beg of you."
                  "That's not what we were talking about. You started off by calling them ridiculous."
                  "Yes, and so they are."
                  And so it went with Joe Badger and me. I figured after a few minutes of this I'd probably wind up punching him in the nose, so I figured I'd change topics to a mutual interest.
                  "So," I said, looking around the small apartment, particularly toward the kitchen, "the landlord lets you brew here?"
                  "Yeah, but frankly I don’t care. He has to let me brew here. It's falls under cooking and under my lease I'm allowed to cook. Nowhere does it say I can’t brew. I've read it through, twice."
                  "Ok then, so you don’t get along with your landlord."
                  "He's an idiot, like everyone else around here."
                  "Um, excuse me," I said, feeling the urge to punch rising once again.
                  To his credit, he realized his gaffe.
                  "Oh, well, what I meant was the majority of people I come into contact with. You seem like a smart girl yourself. You have to admit, there are quite a lot of dolts around here."
                  "Did you think Eli Campbell was a dolt?"
                  "Eli Campbell? He was smarter than most, but still a dolt."
                  "In what way?"
                  He shrugged. "In a general sort of way."
                  "You know," I said, smiling, "I've since spoken to a couple of your fellow contestants, and a couple of them had previous run-ins with Campbell. I mean before the competition."
                  "Not me," he said plainly.
                  I decided to go a different route with my questioning. "What did you see that day?"
                  He shrugged again. "Not much. I saw him slump. I ran over to him and gave him CPR. By that point it was too late."
                  I couldn’t hold back. " I gave him CPR!"
                  "Well, sure, and I didn’t realize it until later. I must have gotten to him before you did."
                  He looked up, and must have seen my jaw hanging open onto my chest.
                  "Or after," he said, his