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

right out in public so everyone can see them. I just wasn’t quite ready to go on display myself.
    “Mr. Dupres, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me and Ms. Holmes a few minutes alone. Maybe you could go get her a cup of coffee,” the detective suggested in a tone that wasn’t meant to be argued with.
    “Sure, sure. I’ ll be right back.” Mr. Dupres scurried away like the rat he was and returned only moments later with a steaming cup of something that looked more like black swamp water than coffee, but I took the cup gratefully. He hovered behind us just within earshot and tried to make himself look busy. Being shut down due to a dead body in the parking lot would probably be considered bad for business, so I could understand his concern.
    “Did that all sound as stupid as I think it did?” I asked.
    “I think you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress today, Ms. Holmes. Maybe you could start again from the beginning,” Detective Dempsey said. “I’m not sure I caught everything you said.” He looked me over from head to toe like I was a specimen under a microscope.
    “You don’t look like you miss much. You probably caught the gist,” I said a little waspishly. I was embarrassed. Or mortified might have been more accurate. And Detective Dempsey was an easy target for my self-disgust.
    I sipped the coffee through the straw and knew before I did that it was going to burn my tongue.
    “You see, I needed another income, and I saw an ad in the newspaper this morning for The Foxy Lady. I decided to give it a shot since it’s in Savannah and the chances of running into anyone I know in a place like this and in a city this size are low. Of course, I should have known better. Murphy’s Law and all that,” I said, flinging my hand in the direction of the stage and accidentally tossing the bloody napkin that had been on my hand onto the table of men seated next to us. I grimaced and muttered an apology as they shot me dirty looks. Detective Dempsey’s face was void of all expression, but I swore I could see the beginnings of laughter sparkling in his eyes.
    “Keep going,” he said.
    I looked for the eye crinkles or a slight quirk of the mouth, but I couldn’t see anything in his expression other than cool disinterest. “There’s not much more to tell. I saw my principal in the audience, got fired and fell over him in the parking lot, in that order.”
    Detective Dempsey took out his notebook and started writing. “You said earlier that your principal was getting a lap dance. Did you know the woman?”
    “No, but I didn’t get to meet all the girls when Mr. Dupres hired me. I literally got hired and was handed a costume. I’ve only been here a couple of hours.”
    “Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”
    “Maybe. She had a lot of blonde hair, some of it may have even been hers, a dog collar and her attributes were um…,” I cupped my hands out in front of my chest. “Fake. That’s pretty much all I got.”
    “What about other customers? Was it crowded? Was there anyone else in the audience you recognized?”
    “It wasn’t exactly standing room only. The tables down front were full, but I didn’t recognize anyone. There was a couple making out in one of the corner booths that I noticed because a bouncer had to intervene before they had the chance to give their own public show. I couldn’t see the man’s face because it was hidden in shadow and all I could see of the woman was a blonde ponytail bobbing up and down. The other tables were pretty empty other than a few pathetic looking men scattered around. It was hard to see the back of the room from the stage because of the lights.”
    “Did you see anyone else in the parking lot?”
    “No, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was looking for my keys. That’s why I tripped over Mr. Butler.”
    A sob caught in my throat and I looked down at the table. I wanted to go home, and if Detective Dempsey had given me anything that had remotely resembled sympathy I would have broken down on the spot, but he kept his voice at the same level, unexpressive, and asked me the same questions over and over again. I was willing to bet when it came to playing good cop/bad cop, Detective Dempsey was always the bad cop.
    I had no idea why I found the thought exciting.
    “We’re going to need you to make a formal statement down at the station. It will take a little time to talk to everyone around here, so tomorrow or Monday at