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

time.”

CHAPTER TEN

    Sunday

    Bang, Bang, Bang.
    I groaned as I heard the pounding on the front door and rolled over to look at the clock. It was just past seven in the morning, and I knew if I was awake I’d have to break down and go to church. I wouldn’t be able to use the “I overslept” excuse.
    I pulled the pillow over my head and hoped whoever it was would go away.
    Bang, Bang, Bang.
    I heard the scrape of the lock and sat up in bed. The only person who had a key to my apartment was my mother.
    “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” a familiar voice bellowed out. “We’ve got things to do.”
    Before I could pull the sheets up to hide the fact that I didn’t sleep in pajamas—mostly because I didn’t have air conditioning—Nick opened the door to my bedroom and shut it behind him.
    “Well, well,” he said, his gaze so heated I was lucky my sheets didn’t catch on fire. “It looks like the early bird catches the worms after all.”
    “Do you know what time it is?” I asked him, pulling the sheet higher. “How did you get into my apartment?”
    “I picked the lock .”
    “I assume you have a reason fo r breaking and entering at this hour. Or maybe I just need to call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing. You’re probably not on the sheriff’s list of favorite people right now.”
    Nick groaned and backed off. “You’d probably do it too,” he said with his hands up in a sign of defeat. “ I came by to check up on you and noticed someone left you a gift under your door last night.”
    Nick held up a plain brown envelope sealed with enough packing tape that it could have survived a swim in the Atlantic Ocean.
    I pulled the sheet loose from my bed and tied it around me sarong style. “Let me see that,” I said, holding out my hand.
    “Unh- uh. Make yourself decent, and we’ll take a look.” He pushed me back and shut the bedroom door in my face.
    I threw on a pair of black shorts and a white halter-top and was back out in the living room before he had time to get a pot of coffee going. I’d had it with whoever was leaving me these little gifts. I was pissed and ready to kick ass. I made a mental note to check into taking karate the same time I checked into getting my P.I. license.
    I sat at the little table in my kitchen and waited until Nick brought me a cup of coffee and sat down across from me before holding out my hand for the envelope.
    “Why does this keep happening?”
    “I had officers scheduled to drive by your apartment every hour last night, so someone dropped these off sometime after I followed you home and in between drive-bys. As to why it keeps happening, I have no idea, but I’m getting close. I can feel it.”
    I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the drawer and worked at the top flap, but my hands were shaking so badly from anger and fear that Nick carefully took the knife from me.
    “Let me do it,” he said gently.
    He slit the envelope open, dumped a short stack of photos onto the table and then put the envelope in a freezer size Zip-Loc baggie.
    “Great, more pictures,” I said. “Why do I feel like this is something bigger than an old high school rivalry? Surely Veronica doesn’t hate me this much.”
    “You never know what’s going on inside of other people or how they’ve been affected by the events in their lives. But don’t be naïve in thinking Veronica should be the only suspect on your list. Surely you’ve managed to piss off more than one person in your life,” he said with a quick grin.
    “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly nice person. Most of the time,” I mumbled under my breath.
    “I want you to look at each photo carefully,” he said, pulling a small notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket. “Are they recent?”
    I picked up the first picture and tried to look at my image dispassionately. I was having dinner with Kate at the Good Luck Café. We’d been in a booth next to a window, and the picture had been taken from outside a good distance away. “We have dinner like this a couple of times a month,” I said, shaking my head. “This could have been taken last year or in the last two weeks.”
    “Look closely, Addison. Look at your hairstyle and the kind of clothes your wearing. Do you think it’s possible it was last year?”
    I did as he asked and tried to focus on the details. My hair looked the same as it did now, which meant it was a recent photograph. At this time last year I’d had blond