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

unknown and I could see sweat stains under the arms of his expensive golf shirt.
    “And what about Greg Nelson?” he asked softly. “What’s your theory on his murder?”
    “Well it’s pretty obvious to me that she killed Greg because he knew too much. He was poisoned, you know,” I said conspiratorially. “And everybody knows that poison is a woman’s murder weapon. If Loretta was threatened because Greg was going to turn her in it would be the perfect motive for killing him. Of course, she kind of botched that job, because she didn’t give him enough and he managed to escape from wherever she was keeping him. The police probably never would have figured it out otherwise. I guess it was just her bad luck.”
    I choked back a sob that was for real this time and stood up. “I’m sorry. Would you mind if I use d your restroom to put myself back together? This has been so difficult for me.” I dropped my head down and my shoulders shook as I poured on the drama.
    “Yes, of course, right this way,” he said robotically. John Hyatt’s mind was obviously elsewhere . He showed me through a long corridor that led to a large guest suite on the first floor. It was on the backside of the house and had its own French doors that led out to a private patio and hot tub. He showed me where the bathroom door was and left me alone.
    I closed and locked the door behind him and turned on the water in the faucet. I needed to get upstairs to the master bedroom, and I had no idea how I was going to do it.
    I left the water running and left the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The guest suite was spacious and private, but I was afraid John would come back and check on me if I didn’t get out of there soon. I opened the French doors quietly and slipped out. I used a large shrub as cover while I looked for a way to get to the second floor. My answer came when I noticed the vine covered trellis that attached to the second floor balcony. And if I wasn’t mistaken that balcony led to the master suite.
    I looked down at my flip-flops, kicked them off and was glad I’d at least had the good sense to wear shorts instead of a skirt. I started the slow climb to the top and had an epiphany that I wasn’t as young as I’d used to be.
    I put my foot through another rung and heard the distinct crack of wood snapping just before the bottom half of the trellis crumbled to kindling twenty feet below. I was hanging by both hands and my feet were flailing in the air.
    “Oh, shit.” Upper body strength had never been my strong point. My life hung in the balance for a couple of minutes before I realized how much it would hurt to fall, so I pulled with al l my might until I was able to hitch a leg over the balcony rail.
    I laid on the hard floor gasping for breath and knew I didn’t have a lot of time left to do what I’d come for, so I rolled over and pushed myself to my feet.
    I hit a stroke of luck when I found the balcony doors were unlocked. I slipped in as quietly as my heaving chest would allow and into an ornate and fussy room in shades of blue. John Hyatt was a man of many facets.
    I searched under the bed and through a closet full of navy blue and cha rcoal gray suits. Ties were color coordinated on a tie rack and shoes were lined at the bottom of the closet. The overly fussy bedroom didn’t match the obsessiveness of the closet.
    I riffled through dresser drawers and looked in the medicine cabinet in the adjacent bathroom. There was nothing of interest anywhere. Then I noticed the sliding door that was in the corner of the bathroom and painted the same color as the wall. And then I saw it was locked.
    I pulled as hard as I could but the door wouldn’t budge. I dug through the bathroom cabinets looking for anything that could pry the door open. I found a metal pick like the ones they use at the dentist office to scrape away plaque. It would have to do.
    I slipped the tool in the silver lock like they do on the television and moved it around. I had no experience picking locks, but I figured they would teach me that in my private investigator’s training.
    I crouched down on the floor and jiggled for everything I was worth. It was while I was on my knees that I noticed the small key on the floor behind the toilet. I picked it up gingerly because there was never anything good that happened around a man’s toilet.
    I stopped to listen and only heard the sound of my pulse beating rapidly, so I slipped it in the lock and