Whiskey Rebellion (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 1 (Addison Holmes Mysteries) by Liliana Hart
Authors: Liliana Hart
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corne r he’d bought when I was going through my astronaut phase and a Samurai sword he’d bought at a flea market. I found what I was looking for in a box marked hunting gear. Go figure.
I dug through layers of bright orange vests and about a hundred bottles of buck urine before I found the binoculars. The houses on John Hyatt’s street all backed up to Magnolia Park. If I was lucky I’d catch a glimpse of the culprit through the windows from long distance.
I realized once I turned into Magnolia Park and weaved my way through mud holes and giant trees that my plan wasn’t as well-thought-out as I’d imagined.
On a bright sunny day, what happened inside John Hyatt’s house would be an open book—the entire backside of his house was glass and looked out onto the pool. But in a deluge of rain with zero percent visibility it was pretty much a bust.
“Come on, Addison. To be a private investigator you have to think like a private investigator. Think, think, think,” I said. “What would Nick do?”
Nick would probably suggest that we make good use of the back seat or tell me to find a different job. Subconscious Nick was no help at all.
I started the car back up and weaved my way out of the park. I pulled my car right i n front of John Hyatt’s house and got out.
Addison, Addison, Addison. What the hell are you doing?
I had no idea what I was going to say once I got to the door, or what I would do if I actually was confronted with Veronica, but I was lousy at the wait and see game. I was all about the action. In my mind, I was Lara Croft trapped in Mayberry.
I stood on the massive front porch and rang the doorbell. I could see Victor Mooney from the corner of my eye looking out the window and giving me a thumbs up. My heart was pounding and my breathing was a step away from hyperventilation.
“Lara Croft doesn’t hyperventilate,” I announced, just to make myself feel better.
When the front door opened slowly with a creak, I thought I would pass out from the anticipation. I put my head down to control the dancing spots in front of my eyes, and also to give Veronica a different place on my head to hit if she was going to attack me. My forehead was still sore.
I opened my eyes and saw a very nice pair of Manolo Blahniks with turquoise feathers that I’d envied from afar the last time I was at Neiman Marcus in Atlanta. My gaze raised to a pair of shapely legs and then higher to a black pencil skirt, a turquoise halter-top and long dangly earrings.
“Can I help you,” a husky voice asked, and I was finally able to look at the face of a woman with splendid taste in clothing. Her hair looked like spun gold and hung in waves to her shoulders.
How could I have thought this was Veronica? Veronica had a great body, but she dressed like a fifty-dollar hooker and her hair was only blonde because she went to a salon every six weeks like clockwork. The woman in front of me was no Veronica. This woman had class.
“Great shoes,” I said, meeting a pair of curious hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”
You’d think I’d remember meeting a woman like this one, but I was drawing a blank. Maybe she was someone I went to school with that changed from an ugly duckling into a swan.
“No, I don’t think so,” she answered politely.
“Is John Hyatt home?
“No, he’s not. Can I help you?”
I stuck out my hand and felt like a fool. The princess and the pauper had never had much meaning before now. “I’m Addison Holmes.”
“Ahh, Ms. Holmes. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She left it at that, and I was pretty sure nothing she’d heard about me had been good because she moved her body across the front door like I was going to race inside and steal all the silver.
I knew there was only one way to handle the situation, so I swallowed my pride and did something I’ d always hated to do. “Just tell him that I came by to apologize.” My tongue swelled over the lie, because
I dug through layers of bright orange vests and about a hundred bottles of buck urine before I found the binoculars. The houses on John Hyatt’s street all backed up to Magnolia Park. If I was lucky I’d catch a glimpse of the culprit through the windows from long distance.
I realized once I turned into Magnolia Park and weaved my way through mud holes and giant trees that my plan wasn’t as well-thought-out as I’d imagined.
On a bright sunny day, what happened inside John Hyatt’s house would be an open book—the entire backside of his house was glass and looked out onto the pool. But in a deluge of rain with zero percent visibility it was pretty much a bust.
“Come on, Addison. To be a private investigator you have to think like a private investigator. Think, think, think,” I said. “What would Nick do?”
Nick would probably suggest that we make good use of the back seat or tell me to find a different job. Subconscious Nick was no help at all.
I started the car back up and weaved my way out of the park. I pulled my car right i n front of John Hyatt’s house and got out.
Addison, Addison, Addison. What the hell are you doing?
I had no idea what I was going to say once I got to the door, or what I would do if I actually was confronted with Veronica, but I was lousy at the wait and see game. I was all about the action. In my mind, I was Lara Croft trapped in Mayberry.
I stood on the massive front porch and rang the doorbell. I could see Victor Mooney from the corner of my eye looking out the window and giving me a thumbs up. My heart was pounding and my breathing was a step away from hyperventilation.
“Lara Croft doesn’t hyperventilate,” I announced, just to make myself feel better.
When the front door opened slowly with a creak, I thought I would pass out from the anticipation. I put my head down to control the dancing spots in front of my eyes, and also to give Veronica a different place on my head to hit if she was going to attack me. My forehead was still sore.
I opened my eyes and saw a very nice pair of Manolo Blahniks with turquoise feathers that I’d envied from afar the last time I was at Neiman Marcus in Atlanta. My gaze raised to a pair of shapely legs and then higher to a black pencil skirt, a turquoise halter-top and long dangly earrings.
“Can I help you,” a husky voice asked, and I was finally able to look at the face of a woman with splendid taste in clothing. Her hair looked like spun gold and hung in waves to her shoulders.
How could I have thought this was Veronica? Veronica had a great body, but she dressed like a fifty-dollar hooker and her hair was only blonde because she went to a salon every six weeks like clockwork. The woman in front of me was no Veronica. This woman had class.
“Great shoes,” I said, meeting a pair of curious hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”
You’d think I’d remember meeting a woman like this one, but I was drawing a blank. Maybe she was someone I went to school with that changed from an ugly duckling into a swan.
“No, I don’t think so,” she answered politely.
“Is John Hyatt home?
“No, he’s not. Can I help you?”
I stuck out my hand and felt like a fool. The princess and the pauper had never had much meaning before now. “I’m Addison Holmes.”
“Ahh, Ms. Holmes. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She left it at that, and I was pretty sure nothing she’d heard about me had been good because she moved her body across the front door like I was going to race inside and steal all the silver.
I knew there was only one way to handle the situation, so I swallowed my pride and did something I’ d always hated to do. “Just tell him that I came by to apologize.” My tongue swelled over the lie, because
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