Whiskey Rebellion (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 1 (Addison Holmes Mysteries) by Liliana Hart
Authors: Liliana Hart
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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’d be damned if I really meant any apology to that weasel, but no pain, no gain, right?
“I’ll do that,” she said and started to close the door in my face.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”
“Loretta Swanson. I’m Mr. Hyatt’s estate manager. Try to stay dry,” she said and closed the door.
Was she kidding? I was going to need a canoe if this rain continued on much longer.
I got back in the car and thought for a minute. Loretta Swanson, an estate manager that Fanny Kimble hadn’t mentioned once when Kate had questioned her. Did Loretta make it a point to not work the nights that Fanny was staying over, and better yet, how was it even possible that both women hadn’t stumbled across each other in the thirteen months of John and Fanny’s engagement. I needed to talk to Fanny Kimble.
There was something that bothered me about Loretta Swanson. You wouldn’t think a typical estate manager would be able to afford six hundred dollar shoes. Loretta was someone that John Hyatt treated like a queen. And my gut told me Fanny had a good reason to be jealous. I was going to have to bite the bullet and have another visit with John Hyatt. I might even have to apologize to him for real to get the information I wanted.
Gretchen Wilder was a sex-crazed librarian, but the Thunderbolt Public Library didn’t close until seven o’clock, so I had time to swing by my mom’s and mooch dinner before playing peeping Tom.
My mom wasn’t the world’s best cook, but her pantry was always stocked and I was willing to bet there was no slimy lettuce anywhere in her kitchen.
I once again parked behind the General Lee and sloshed my way to the back door. The rain was lessening, which was good now that I was soaked to the skin, and I wiped my feet
“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’d be damned if I really meant any apology to that weasel, but no pain, no gain, right?
“I’ll do that,” she said and started to close the door in my face.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”
“Loretta Swanson. I’m Mr. Hyatt’s estate manager. Try to stay dry,” she said and closed the door.
Was she kidding? I was going to need a canoe if this rain continued on much longer.
I got back in the car and thought for a minute. Loretta Swanson, an estate manager that Fanny Kimble hadn’t mentioned once when Kate had questioned her. Did Loretta make it a point to not work the nights that Fanny was staying over, and better yet, how was it even possible that both women hadn’t stumbled across each other in the thirteen months of John and Fanny’s engagement. I needed to talk to Fanny Kimble.
There was something that bothered me about Loretta Swanson. You wouldn’t think a typical estate manager would be able to afford six hundred dollar shoes. Loretta was someone that John Hyatt treated like a queen. And my gut told me Fanny had a good reason to be jealous. I was going to have to bite the bullet and have another visit with John Hyatt. I might even have to apologize to him for real to get the information I wanted.
Gretchen Wilder was a sex-crazed librarian, but the Thunderbolt Public Library didn’t close until seven o’clock, so I had time to swing by my mom’s and mooch dinner before playing peeping Tom.
My mom wasn’t the world’s best cook, but her pantry was always stocked and I was willing to bet there was no slimy lettuce anywhere in her kitchen.
I once again parked behind the General Lee and sloshed my way to the back door. The rain was lessening, which was good now that I was soaked to the skin, and I wiped my feet
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