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

take longer than normal to plan.
    Fanny stated in her interview with Kate that she was only allowed to stay the night on Mondays and Thursdays, and John had to pick her up from her house so the neighbors wouldn’t gossip if they saw her car parked in his driveway all night.
    “Hmm, a cautious man, John Hyatt. Reputation is everything.”
    I drove down the street and turned around in the cul-de-sac. I pulled into the driveway of John Hyatt’s neighbor and got out of the car, surveying the neighborhood as nonchalantly as possible. It was a wealthy neighborhoo d of men that worked sixty-hour weeks and socialite wives who spent all their time in Savannah shopping. The houses were deserted at this time of day.
    Except for Victor Mooney’s house.
    Victor Mooney had never worked a day in his life and thrived on the drama of others. Nobody knew where his money came from, but he had enough to buy himself a new Cadillac every year and donate money to projects when he wanted them named after him.
    He had the door open for me before I made it to the front porch, and I hoped my hunch would pay off.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Mooney,” I said with my company smile in place—the smile that dripped sincerity and showed a lot of teeth. It was a southern technique perfected at birth.
    Victor Mooney was in his late sixties and resembled a freshly scrubbed pot-bellied pig. His skin was pale and pink and his round belly sat on two stubby legs. He always wore red suspenders and carried peppermints in his pockets.
    “Addison, what brings you here on this beautiful day? A girl your age should be out leading some man about by the nose, not visiting with dirty old men.”
    His cheeks pinkened and I wanted to pat the top of his bristly white head. His blue eyes twinkled as he bent down to kiss my hand. He led me into his living room by the elbow and sat me in an uncomfortable Queen Anne chair that was made for midgets.
    “I’m actually doing a favor for a friend of mine,” I said, deciding to be completely honest. “Do you remember Kate?”
    “Of course I do. You girls sure did get into a mess of trouble when you were younger,” he said, chuckling. “She’s got that detective agency up near Savannah, doesn’t she?”
    “Yes, that’s right.”
    “And you’re working a case and want my help.” Mr. Mooney’s face was brimming with excitement and it was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.
    “Yes, but whatever we discuss needs to stay between you and me.” I knew I was breaking all kinds of clauses in the contract Kate had me sign, but surely she’d understand as long as the end result came out okay.
    “Oh, yes, yes, of course. I’m considered somewhat of a confidant in Whiskey Bayou. I know all kinds of things about people that I’ve never told a soul. Did you know that Harley Baines uses Viagra?”
    “No,” I said, trying to get the portly city councilman out of my head.
    “And Maggie Murchison can’t get pregnant because her husband had a vasectomy three years ago,” he went on.
    “Oh, poor woman.” There was no way I was keeping that bit of information from my mother. Roger Murchison deserved to be lynched for that act of treachery.
    “What about John Hyatt?” I asked.
    “Ahh, yes. I should have known he was your target. I hear he’s decided to let Veronica Wade buy that house he promised you.” Victor clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I have a good mind to go down to the bank and withdraw all my money. I’d rather keep it in a shoebox under the bed than deal with a dishonest banker.”
    “Does Mr. Hyatt have people in and out of his house frequently?” I asked.
    “Oh, yes. It’s like a circus over there all the time. There are always cars in and out.”
    “How can you see the cars in the driveway if the garage is on the other side of the house?”
    “I can see almost the whole street from my third floor balcony,” he said sheepishly. “The white van belongs to Maria Vasquez. She cleans his house and does the laundry three days a week. And on Mondays the lawn service comes out and tends to the mowing and weeding. And on Friday mornings a man comes to clean the pool. It’s all very scheduled, like clockwork.”
    “What about Monday and Thursday nights?” I asked, thinking of Fanny’s statement that those were the only two nights she was allowed to stay over.
    “Oh, he goes to pick up his fiancé around six-thirty. Sometimes they go out to dinner, but they’re usually back by