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

easy.
    I pushed myself slowly to my feet and whimpered all the way back to the car. The good news was that I had sav ed the camera. The bad news—well, the extent of that had yet to be seen.
    I opened the door to the Z and got in gingerly, holding my torn sweats together and favoring my knee. I put my head down on the steering wheel and wished I had the strength to weep, but all I managed was pathetic whimpers that damaged my pride more than it already was.
    “Getting caught as a peeping Tom is a misdemeanor fineable up to thirty days in jail and a five hundred dollar fine.”
    I screamed at the voice coming from the next seat over and what was left of my adrenaline went into overdrive.
    Attack first. Think later.
    I don’t think my adrenaline was up to the fight because before I knew it both my arms were behind my back and a familiar voice was trying to calm me down.
    “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you always attack innocent people? You’re crazy,” Nick said, shaking the fillings loose in my teeth.
    “I’m crazy? Me? You don’t just get into someone’s car and scare the hell out of them and then call them crazy for being scared. Let me go!”
    “Not until you calm down. And why didn’t you look to see if anyone was in your car before you got in? That would have been the smart thing to do.”
    I was seething inside. I knew what Nick said was right, but that didn’t mean I wanted to hear it. As far as I was concerned, I was right too. I got really still and waited for him to release me, knowing I’d probably end up going to jail for the rest of my life, but I didn’t really care. I’ d heard the prisons had good doctors, and I could learn how to crochet. Maybe I could even get my Master’s Degree. Prison sounded like heaven at this point in my life.
    As soon as he let me go I went into Tae Bo mode and landed a solid punch to his jaw before he restrained me again. Now I had sore knuckles to add to my other list of injuries. But boy was it worth it.
    “Ouch. Son of a bitch,” Nick said, wiggling his jaw with his hand. “You need to be locked up.” He paused and looked down at my sweatshirt. “Are you wearing a bra?”
    “Get out of my car. Now.”
    “I need to talk to you about something if you can be normal for thirty seconds,” he said. “I didn’t follow you all this way so you could take swings at me. I’m trying to run a murder investigation, which is a hell of a lot more important than getting your jollies by watching live porn. Can you be an adult and talk to me?”
    “I don’t think so. Take a goddamn number or make an appointment. I don’t care what you do. Just get the fuck out of my car!”
    “Oh, I get it. It must be that time of the month.”
    I was pretty sure he saw the steam coming out of my ears at that point, so he opened the door quickly, looking for an escape route. I floored the gas pedal before his feet hit the pavement and felt great satisfaction as I saw him stumble onto the ground on his hands and knees. The smell of exhaust and burnt rubber was the only reminder I had been there.
    It had been a hell of a day, and I didn’t think ice cream was going to make it better, but I was willing to give it a try anyway. And then I was going to chase it with a shot of vodka.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Thursday

    “Are you all right, Ms. Holmes? You don’t look so good.”
    I’d been hearing this same question every time the bell rang and a new class walked in the door. The answer to the question was simple. Hell no, I wasn’t all right.
    I’d lived thirty years without doing as much damage to myself as I had in the last five days. I’d broken a leg once trying to stand on my bicycle and pretend I was a circus performer, and I broke all the fingers in my left hand when they were accidentally slammed in the car door, but those incidents were nothing compared to the pain I was currently feeling.
    My head was down on my desk and the white noise of my students’ voices was lulling me to s leep. For every teacher, there was always one class that made you want to stick forks in your eyeballs.
    This was the class.
    It was seventh period, the last class of the day, and it was filled with second year freshmen, athletic rejects, and girls that needed to buy stock in kneepad companies.
    This was the same class that when I asked who Benjamin Franklin was, only one kid raised his hand and said he was the dude on the money. I figured this kid should know all about Benjamins because