Whiskey Rebellion (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 1 (Addison Holmes Mysteries) (2 page)

After I’d dry heaved for a good ten minutes, it dawned on me belatedly that Mr. Butler had obviously met his end at the hands of someone bigger and badder than he was. But here I stood, alone in a parking lot in a rather shady part of town with my handbag on the ground and my body hunched over a dying rhododendron. I was practically begging to be murdered.

“Maybe I should call the police from inside,” I said as loud as I dared to the empty parking lot.

I looked around nervously for signs of knife wielding maniacs
hiding behind parked cars and ran to the front doors of The Foxy Lady with my hand down in my purse so the maniacs would think I was holding something dangerous like Mace or a 9mm. I didn’t have either of those things, but after this experience I was going to think long and hard about getting them.

“I’m sorry, sugar. You’ve got to be of age to come in here,” the bouncer at the door said.

I tipped my sunglasses down to the end of my nose and looked over the solid chunk of black granite. His nametag said Larry but Gigantor seemed more appropriate, with his bowling ball-like head and biceps large enough to pull semis in a monster truck rally.

At another time
I’d be flattered I looked underage. But not right now. Right now, sweat gathered in unladylike creases and my stomach roiled like I’d just taken a ride on the tilt-a-whirl. Why had I thought it was a good idea to come to this hellhole?

“I need to get in there,” I said as I tried to push my way past his bulk. “I’ve got to get to a phone.”

He planted himself solidly in front of me, so I shoved my shoulder into his ribs several times to try to move him, but he didn’t budge and my shoulder just ended up sore.

“There’s a pay phone across the street,” he said. His face was expressionless and he was obviously used to sending away pesky women who came to watch the fascinating lineup of middle-aged exotic dancers at The Foxy Lady.

“Listen, you. I just danced on that stage not more than thirty minutes ago. I’m still wearing the pasties to prove it. But now I have to get back in there and call the police.”

“Whoa, honey. I don’t care if you’re the Saturday night headliner. Nobody calls the police in this place. If Mr. Dupres got a little frisky after your show then we’ll settle it between you and me, but we ain’t calling no police. Maybe we can go get some dinner and get the details worked out.”

Gigantor smiled and two gold teeth glinted against the sunlight. I had an out of body experience as he ran a meaty finger down the side of my face.

I was left with no choice. I did what any girl would have done when faced with a dead principal and a randy bouncer. I kneed him in the balls and watched him tumble like a redwood in the forest. I heard his head hit the ground with a thud as I ran to the bar.

“Somebody needs to call the police,” I said to the bartender. “There’s a dead man in the parking lot.”

“Calm down, lady. I don’t think you killed Larry. A kick in the balls is nothing to get your panties in a twist over.”

“Just do it!” I screamed. “And pour me a double shot of Jack Daniels.”

I was well on my way to being snockered by the time the first patrol car showed up. Mr. Dupres had come out of his office once the news that the police were on their way reached his ears, and he ordered Gigantor to keep people away from the body until the police showed up. He gave free drinks to his customers to keep them indoors and had all his afternoon dancers come back on stage for an encore. Thankfully, I wasn’t asked to participate.

Mr. Dupres came over to me once he got his customers settled, grabbed my arm and my drink, and led me away to a private table.

“Now you just let me do all the talking, Ms. Holmes,” he said as he sat down across from me. “I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before, and I can tell you’re pretty shaken up.”

I shrugged and finished the rest of my drink. Warmth spread through my body, and I didn’t care if he wanted to do all the talking. Probably the less talking I did the better off
I’d be. Who would believe that a small town teacher fell over her dead principal in the parking lot of the place she’d just taken her clothes off? Not me. I’d never believe such a story.

The bartender came and put another drink in front of me and I gave him a sloppy grin. I’m a cheap drunk. Usually a half glass of wine puts me down for the count.

I noticed Gigantor had come back inside and was talking to two uniformed officers, both of them writing quickly in little notebooks. Gigantor turned his head, scowled at me, and then pointed a finger in my direction.

Uh-oh, I was guessing by the scowl that Gigantor was still upset with me for kicking him in the balls. Probably the giant lump on his forehead where he’d hit the pavement wasn’t making him feel so hot either. I giggled out loud and then kicked Mr. Dupres under the table when his hand crept up my thigh.

“Stop it, you pervert.” I tried to slap his hand away, but everything was starting to get a little blurry. “This is all your fault. You think I’m easy just because I got naked on your stage? Well, I’m not. I teach world history for goodness sake. I’m a respectable member of my community.” I tapered the sentence off on a keening wail that was bound to gather all the dogs in the neighborhood. I was a terrible drinker and an even worse whiner.

“Hey, I can be respectable,” he said, patting my head awkwardly as tears streamed down my face. “It doesn’t look like it, but this place has a pretty decent income. I’ve got a nice house with a swimming pool. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, sounding more frantic the harder I cried. “Of course, I’d have to divorce my wife before I could move you in.”

I was about to ask him if he could divorce her in less than sixty days and if he’d be willing to assume my considerable debt when a man started making his way towards us. I’d seen him come in and talk briefly to Gigantor and the bartender, and I could tell by the way he moved that he was the one in charge. He stopped briefly to speak to the two officers who had taken Gigantor’s statement and then started making his way towards me.

He moved with a predatory
grace and skimmed just over six feet. His skin was swarthy, hinting of some Mediterranean ancestors, and his hair was almost black and cut close to his head, though it still managed to curl just a bit on the top. His face was shadowed by a growth of beard and his slacks and jacket were rumpled enough to let me know that he’d already had a long day on the job. He dodged the customers and the half-clothed waitresses who threw themselves into his path with ease.

As he moved from the shadows and closer to me I could see him better. His face was hard and c
hiseled, his expression one I’d seen on other cops’ faces. My father had carried that look in his eyes until he’d died last year—the look of someone who’d seen too much and didn’t trust anyone.

Then the man looked at me and I forgot to breathe, but probably part of that had to do with the fact that my nose was clogged with snot. Amid the darkness of his hair and skin was the palest, most beautiful pair of blue eyes I’d ever seen.

Heat gathered in my belly and it had nothing to do with the whiskey. I tried to see my reflection in the metal napkin holder at the center of the table, but it was distorted. My forehead looked huge, my ponytail was lopsided, my eyes were red and my nose was swollen. Or maybe it wasn’t distorted. It would probably be best if I didn’t look at myself again. I grabbed a couple of napkins from the holder and blew my nose, making a great honking sound that Mother Goose could be proud of.

“Addison Holmes?” the man asked and flipped open his identification to reveal a shiny gold badge.

His expression was somewhere between incredulous and pitying, but I had visions of handcuffs and satin sheets running through my head. I glanced discreetly at his hand to see if he wore a ring.

No ring.

He couldn’t possibly be gay. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel.

Maybe I still had a chance.

I realized I was clenching my fists when they started to sting again, so I relaxed and noticed they still had blood on them. Whiskey first, first aid later. Only I’d forgotten the first aid.

The detective was obviously waiting for me to say something, but I couldn’t remember if he’d asked me anything. “I’m Addison Holmes.”

“I’m Detective Nick Dempsey. You’re bleeding, Ms. Holmes,” he said as he took a chair and sat down at the table.

“I fell.”

I grabbed a couple more napkins from the holder and looked down at my hands. I didn’t have any water, so I dipped the napkins in my whiskey, thinking that at least my hands would be disinfected. I sucked in a breath as the alcohol touched the open wounds. I would have cursed a blue streak but I couldn’t catch my breath.

Tears gathered in my eyes, but I blinked them away so I wouldn’t look like a sissy in front of the hot detective. Not that he was likely to give me the time of day anyway once he found out what I’d been doing at The Foxy Lady
.
Men like this guy didn’t have to frequent strip clubs to see beautiful naked women. He probably had a whole herd of beautiful naked women lined up on his doorstep.

I wasn’t feeling so good all of a sudden, so I laid my head down on the table and decided to have a pity party. Not to mention I didn’t want to embarrass myself further by throwing up on the detective’s shoes.

Maybe the whiskey wasn’t such a good idea.

“I know this is a difficult time for you, Ms Holmes.” His voice was soothing, velvety smooth, and I’d bet it was hell on women when he used it in the bedroom. “Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”

I was about to tell him he could ask me anything he wanted when Mr. Dupres opened his mouth. “I don’t know about that, Detective. Ms. Holmes is one of my best employees and I feel as her manager that you need to direct your questions to me.” Mr. Dupres patted my arm, staking his claim.

My head snapped up hard enough to make me dizzy. “What?” I gasped in embarrassed horror. “But you just fired me.”

I looked over at Detective Dempsey and caught a glimpse of his bemused expression before he carefully masked it. I looked at him imploringly, begging him to understand with my eyes.

“Umm, wait, that isn’t what I meant to say. You see, Detective, I’m not really a stripper. I was just a stripper this afternoon because there’s this house I love
, but I wasn’t very good at stripping, and then I got nervous because my principal was getting a lap dance and it was gross. And then Mr. Dupres fired me, and I was kind of glad because my mother would kill me if she ever found out I’d done something like this, and probably the school board wouldn’t like it much either because I teach ninth grade world history. And after I got fired I went into the parking lot to go back home and I tripped over Mr. Butler and his blood got on my toes so I threw up.”

Detective Dempsey and Mr. Dupres were both looking at me like I was insane, so I laid my head back down on the table and closed my eyes. I have a couple of relatives who have been declared certifiably crazy, but I never thought until now that it was something that would pass on to me. I mean, it’s not really a big deal. This is the South. In the South we’re all proud of our crazy relatives. We like to put them right out in public so everyone can see them. I just wasn’t quite ready to go on display myself.

“Mr. Dupres, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me and Ms. Holmes a few minutes alone. Maybe you could go get her a cup of coffee,” the detective suggested in a tone that wasn’t meant to be argued with.

“Sure, sure. I’
ll be right back.” Mr. Dupres scurried away like the rat he was and returned only moments later with a steaming cup of something that looked more like black swamp water than coffee, but I took the cup gratefully. He hovered behind us just within earshot and tried to make himself look busy. Being shut down due to a dead body in the parking lot would probably be considered bad for business, so I could understand his concern.

“Did that all sound as stupid as I think it did?” I asked.

“I think you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress today, Ms. Holmes. Maybe you could start again from the beginning,” Detective Dempsey said. “I’m not sure I caught everything you said.” He looked me over from head to toe like I was a specimen under a microscope.

“You don’t look like you miss much. You probably caught the gist,” I said a little waspishly.
I was embarrassed. Or mortified might have been more accurate. And Detective Dempsey was an easy target for my self-disgust.

I sipped the coffee through the straw and knew before I did that it was going to burn my tongue.

“You see, I needed another income, and I saw an ad in the newspaper this morning for The Foxy Lady. I decided to give it a shot since it’s in Savannah and the chances of running into anyone I know in a place like this and in a city this size are low. Of course, I should have known better. Murphy’s Law and all that,” I said, flinging my hand in the direction of the stage and accidentally tossing the bloody napkin that had been on my hand onto the table of men seated next to us. I grimaced and muttered an apology as they shot me dirty looks. Detective Dempsey’s face was void of all expression, but I swore I could see the beginnings of laughter sparkling in his eyes.