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

no choice. I did what any girl would have done when faced with a dead principal and a randy bouncer. I kneed him in the balls and watched him tumble like a redwood in the forest. I heard his head hit the ground with a thud as I ran to the bar.
    “Somebody needs to call the police,” I said to the bartender. “There’s a dead man in the parking lot.”
    “Calm down, lady. I don’t think you killed Larry. A kick in the balls is nothing to get your panties in a twist over.”
    “Just do it!” I screamed. “And pour me a double shot of Jack Daniels.”

    I was well on my way to being snockered by the time the first patrol car showed up. Mr. Dupres had come out of his office once the news that the police were on their way reached his ears, and he ordered Gigantor to keep people away from the body until the police showed up. He gave free drinks to his customers to keep them indoors and had all his afternoon dancers come back on stage for an encore. Thankfully, I wasn’t asked to participate.
    Mr. Dupres came over to me once he got his customers settled, grabbed my arm and my drink, and led me away to a private table.
    “Now you just let me do all the talking, Ms. Holmes,” he said as he sat down across from me. “I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before, and I can tell you’re pretty shaken up.”
    I shrugged and finished the rest of my drink. Warmth spread through my body, and I didn’t care if he wanted to do all the talking. Probably the less talking I did the better off I’d be. Who would believe that a small town teacher fell over her dead principal in the parking lot of the place she’d just taken her clothes off? Not me. I’d never believe such a story.
    The bartender came and put another drink in front of me and I gave him a sloppy grin. I’m a cheap drunk. Usually a half glass of wine puts me down for the count.
    I noticed Gigantor had come back inside and was talking to two uniformed officers, both of them writing quickly in little notebooks. Gigantor turned his head, scowled at me, and then pointed a finger in my direction.
    Uh-oh, I was guessing by the scowl that Gigantor was still upset with me for kicking him in the balls. Probably the giant lump on his forehead where he’d hit the pavement wasn’t making him feel so hot either. I giggled out loud and then kicked Mr. Dupres under the table when his hand crept up my thigh.
    “Stop it, you pervert.” I tried to slap his hand away, but everything was starting to get a little blurry. “This is all your fault. You think I’m easy just because I got naked on your stage? Well, I’m not. I teach world history for goodness sake. I’m a respectable member of my community.” I tapered the sentence off on a keening wail that was bound to gather all the dogs in the neighborhood. I was a terrible drinker and an even worse whiner.
    “Hey, I can be respectable,” he said, patting my head awkwardly as tears streamed down my face. “It doesn’t look like it, but this place has a pretty decent income. I’ve got a nice house with a swimming pool. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, sounding more frantic the harder I cried. “Of course, I’d have to divorce my wife before I could move you in.”
    I was about to ask him if he could divorce her in less than sixty days and if he’d be willing to assume my considerable debt when a man started making his way towards us. I’d seen him come in and talk briefly to Gigantor and the bartender, and I could tell by the way he moved that he was the one in charge. He stopped briefly to speak to the two officers who had taken Gigantor’s statement and then started making his way towards me.
    He moved with a predatory grace and skimmed just over six feet. His skin was swarthy, hinting of some Mediterranean ancestors, and his hair was almost black and cut close to his head, though it still managed to curl just a bit on the top. His face was shadowed by a growth of beard and his slacks and jacket were rumpled enough to let me know that he’d already had a long day on the job. He dodged the customers and the half-clothed waitresses who threw themselves into his path with ease.
    As he moved from the shadows and closer to me I could see him better. His face was hard and c hiseled, his expression one I’d seen on other cops’ faces. My father had carried that look in his eyes until he’d died last year—the look of someone who’d seen too much and didn’t trust anyone.
    Then the man looked at