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

related to the others. He was at The Foxy Lady, and he knew the other victims. It doesn’t make sense. But just because he’s dead doesn’t mean that I can stop hating what he’s done. And I guess I feel guilty for that. Shouldn’t I have more compassion for the dead?”
    “The only reason you should have any compassion for Greg is because he’s hauling coal in hell right now. The man used you and obviously gave you this annoying complex you’ve overtaken to blame yourself for everything. Not to mention how he screwed up the potential for any future relationships.”
    “You’re right, but somebody in John Hyatt’s house is a killer, and I need to prove it.”
    “What do you mean somebody?” Kate asked.
    I moved the mouse so the images on the screen appeared.
    “Is that Loretta Swanson? No wonder Fanny Kimble is nervous that John’s cheating on her. Who’s that man in the chair?”
    “I guess tha t’s where the surprise comes in,” I said.
    I flipped to the next photo, and Kate sat down hard on the floor. “Ohmigod!”
    Kate had her head between her knees and was sucking in air through her teeth, so I jumped up and grabbed her a beer from the refrigerator. It was still early in the morning, but if you took away the alcohol beer was probably a pretty nutritious breakfast.
    I placed the bottle in her limp hand and closed her fingers around it. Kate took a long swallow and made herself get off the floor. She took the notebook my mom had written in and shoved it in her bag.
    “I’ll give you until noon and not a minute more. As soon as this is over I want all of those photographs. My agency is going to have nothing to do with any of this. I’ll honor the friendship rule, which is lucky for you because I should fire your ass for getting us into this, but you’re handling this on your own. No one in my office has any knowledge of what you’re doing.”
    I heaved out a sigh of relief. It was more than I could have hoped for.
    “I’m sorry, Kate.”
    “Your five minutes is over. We can’t talk about it anymore.”
    After the door shut softly behind her I blinked my eyes rapidly to keep the tears from falling. Kate was a good friend.

    The beginnings of a plan started to form in my mind once I’d called the bank and found out John Hyatt was sick at home with a cold.
    I had enough proof to ruin careers and reputations, but I didn’t have proof of murder. I was going to have to go into the lion’s den and find it myself.
    I pulled the Dodge up in front of John Hyatt’s mansion. Immediately my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller I.D. to confirm my suspicions. It was Nick, probably wondering what I was doing. I didn’t answer because I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing either.
    I didn’t know who was going to answer the front door after I rang the bell, but whoever it was would determine how I proceeded.
    John Hyatt answered the door in pressed khakis and a golf shirt. He looked anything but sick, but as soon as he saw my face he turned an interesting shade of green and tried to shut the door in my face. I stuck my foot in the door and winced as my toes got crushed. Obviously, I should have forgone the flip-flops and worn steel-toed boots.
    “I didn’t have anything to do with your loan being turned down,” he stammered out. “And I won’t have you coming here and threatening me.”
    I was a little surprised by his fear. I didn’t think our last conversation had resulted in anything but me blowing hot air.
    “I’m not here to talk about the house,” I assured him.
    “Good, because I thought for sure you’d want to try and buy it again since Veronica Wade decided to withdraw her offer.”
    “Wait, Veronica withdrew her offer?”
    “I thought you knew. After Greg—” he said, trailing off awkwardly. “But someone else snapped it up before I could contact you and let you know it was available. Honest.”
    “ It’s all right,” I said. I mentally shook off the news and tried to remember why I’d come. “Really, that’s not why I’ve come to see you, Mr. Hyatt. Would you mind if I came in for a few minutes? This is very important.”
    He stepped back reluctantly and let me through the front door.
    I walked into a white marbled entryway that looked cold to the touch, and followed him in to the large living area that I was familiar with from the pictures taken from the night before.
    “Please have a seat,” he said gesturing to the sofa.
    I looked at the couch and the