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

real Addison Holmes once again. I’d only misplaced myself for a few minutes, but it was long enough to make me realize I liked the real me enough to find some other way to make the extra money I needed.
    I’d just hide this little incident away and no one but Mr. Butler and me would ever know about it.
    I pushed open the heavy metal door that led from the dressing areas to the alley behind The Foxy Lady and squinted my eyes as the sun and heat bore down on me. I slipped on a pair of Oakley’s and hitched my bag up, digging at the bottom for my car keys.
    If I’d been looking where I was going instead of at the bottom of my purse, I’d never have tripped over the body. I’d probably have walked a wide path around it and wondered how someone could already be drunk enough on a Saturday afternoon to be passed out in a strip club’s parking lot. As it was, my foot caught the man right in the ribs and sent me s prawling to my hands and knees.
    “Ouch, dammit.”
    I muttered various curses as the raw skin on my palms bled. I pushed myself up slowly and took stock of my aching body. My jeans had holes in both knees and a lot of blood covered the toes of my right foot.
    “What the hell?” I said as I wiggled my toes to see what the damage was. There didn’t seem to be any cuts so I turned around to see what I’d fallen over.
    The body sprawled out in the gap between the cars. It seemed twisted in an odd arc, but shadow shielded me from witnessing the carnage that created so much blood. If nothing else, I knew where the blood on my toes had come from. I couldn't pretend he was drunk with the dark stain spreading out across his dress shirt like a Target ad. Nor would I be able to keep my recent dabbling into the exotic arts a secret once I called the police and explained to them I’d just found my principal dead in the parking lot.

CHAPTER TWO

    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