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

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 on the doormat before opening the door to the kitchen.
    The smell of Lemon Pledge and coffee that had sat on the burner all day hit my nostrils. I was chilled and shivering, my hair hung in my face, and I was willing to bet my waterproof mascara was smudged under my eyes.
    “Addison?” my mother said. “Is that you?”
    “Do you have a lot of strange, wet women walk in your back door on a daily basis?” I asked sarcastically.
    My mother clucked her tongue like mothers do and went about laying down towels on the floor so I wouldn’t drip. Mom was a pretty woman, barely fifty, and looked exactly like I would in the next twenty years—long dark hair that had no gray thanks to Clairol, dark brown eyes and olive skin. She was a little wider in the hips and a lot more blessed in the bust, but if I ate a steady diet of Hostess Cupcakes I could probably graduate to a C cup in the next ten years.
    “Let me get you a pair of clean sweats and underwear,” my mother said.
    “Just the sweats. I’m not wearing your underwear. That’s weird.”
    “You can’t go around without undergarments on,” she said scandalized. “What if you were stopped by the police on your way home?”
    “They might let me out of a ticket,” I said, teeth chattering.
    If my mother was upset about me not wearing underwear, I shuddered to think what her reaction would be if she ever found out about The Foxy Lady.
    “Where did I go wrong?” she asked as she went to get dry clothes. I didn’t have an answer to that question, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t her fault. I think I was wired differently from birth. Maybe she smoked pot or something while she was pregnant. It would sure as hell explain what was wrong with my sister.
    “Have you ever done anything questionable in your life? Something you regretted?” I asked my mother when she came back in with a pair of dark grey sweats, socks and old running shoes.
    “Of course. But the choices we make shape our destiny. I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done because I wouldn’t be who I am today.”
    “Hmmm. That’s pretty wise.” If I hadn’t stripped at The Foxy Lady I never would have met Nick. Not that we had a relationship . I had trouble determining from one encounter to the next if he wanted to throttle me or kiss me. He could have a girlfriend or a dozen kids for all I knew. Nick Dempsey was a master at sending mixed signals, and I was acting like a love-puppy looking for any attention at all. Very lame. I needed to forget Nick Dempsey and move on.
    “I hear you’ve got a date tomorrow night,” my mom said.
    I’d forgotten about the date Kate had set up. “That’s right,” I said, not sure where this was leading.
    “I’m glad you’ve finally gotten over Greg. He’ll come to regret the decisions he’s made someday. You’d have made a wonderful wife.”
    I’m sure my mother said that with no prejudice whatsoever. I personally think I’d make a terrible wife. I hate to do laundry and I never have food in my refrigerator, though I can cook when meat and produce magically appear. I like to sleep in the middle of the bed and I don’t like to budget. Not very wifely at all.
    “It’s just a friendly date, mom. Don’t reserve the church just yet.”
    “You never know when you’re going to run into your soul mate. Just make sure you wear underwear. You don’t want your date to think you’re easy.”
    I rolled my eyes, grabbed the warm-ups and headed to the bathroom. I showered under blistering water for a luxurious ten minutes, dried off and put on clean clothes—without the underwear my mother had brought for me despite my protests.
    When I came back to the kitchen I was warm and in a more positive frame of mind. My mother put a hot bowl of vegetable soup in front of me and I inhaled the aroma. My mom could make soup from a can with the best of them. She sat across from me with her own bowl.
    “You know, your question about me having regrets got me thinking. Did you know I spent a lot of my young adult life on buses,