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

traveling across the country, rallying for different causes and protesting anything and everything?” Her smile was nostalgic. “I was a crusader —always ready to defend the weak and fight for a good cause. Those were the good old days. I used to be a free spirit, you know, before I met your father and decided to settle down and be an accountant.”
    “So you gave up your free spirit to marr y Dad? That doesn’t sound very fair.”
    “Oh, it was an adjustment for both of us. His mother hated me. Still does, the old witch. You should have seen the two of us, me in my gold platforms and your dad buttoned to his chin in that sexy uniform. I don’t have any regrets, but putting on panty-hose for twenty years was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I was completely satisfied to stay at home and work in my garden, but they didn’t pay cops much back then, and I had to go to work. Your father, rest his soul, was a tight-assed Republican, and I’d never been with someone so straight-laced when it came to issues in the bedroom, but we were a unit, your dad and I. We had good years between us.”
    My mom doesn’t usually like to talk about the past, and I knew talking about my dad made her sad, but I felt like we were really having a great bonding moment. It was just the thought of anything to do with my parents and conception and bedrooms that I had trouble keeping my gag reflexes under control.
    “I’m af raid there’s more of me in you and your sister than your father was hoping,” she continued. “I can at least be thankful you have a steady job and have never been to jail. Unlike Phoebe. Though you seem to have a bit of a problem with your temper. I don’t know where you get that from. I had a dozen people call me yesterday to tell me what a scene you made in the bank. I was mortified.”
    “Well, John Hyatt shouldn’t have gone back on his promise,” I defended.
    “You’re right about that, but a southern lady does not go around town causing scenes and stirring up gossip. A true southern lady can out manipulate General Lee when it comes to revenge. We’ll think of something. Just try to be more circumspect in the future.”
    “Gotcha. Revenge is good. Gossip is bad. If only you’d told me these things in my formative years so I wouldn’t keep screwing up.”

    I found myself in a familiar situation as I sat in the dark with my binoculars glued to my face hoping to catch Mrs. Wilder in flagrante delicto .
    Basically, I was stalling. I knew what I had to do to get the job done. I just didn’t particularly want to do it. I pulled the anorak I’d borrowed from my mother over my head and zipped the camera in the front pouch so it wouldn’t get wet. I was going to have to get up close and personal to d eliver what the client wanted. The rain hadn’t let up like I’d hoped and was still going strong. There was flash flooding all around the area. I could have used this as an excuse to go home and bundle under the covers, but according to Mattress Mattie you couldn’t make money in bed by yourself, so I had no choice but to get wet and dirty. Two of my least favorite things to do.
    I was parked across the street from a small bungalow on Peters Street in Driftwood. Driftwood was a twenty minute drive from the Thunderbolt Public Library where Mrs. Wilder worked, but that’s the direction she and her boy toy headed after meeting in the parking lot of the library.
    And when I say boy toy, we’re talking literally. Mrs. Wilder knew how to pick ‘em. I had to give her credit for that. The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty. They’d been inside the bungalow about half an hour, which more than stretched my limit for sitting inside the car.
    “Surely that’s enough time to get things started.”
    I tightened my hood and pushed at the car door. The wind had picked up and it took an effort to get it open. I kept my head down and trudged across the street, losing my balance twice in the gusts and nearly falling on my face.
    I heaved a sigh of relief when I made it to the side of the house. The brick wall blocked most of the wind and rain and let me catch my breath. Lights were on all through the house, and I peeped around to look at the driveway one more time just to make sure I had the right house. Mrs. Wilder’s black Jeep Ch erokee was parked next to a red pickup truck. It was the right house.
    I jogged in place for a few seconds and gave myself a pep talk. “All right, it’s now or