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

sexy naked men.
    “This job sucks, Kate,” I said by way of greeting. “I’m going to have to bathe in bleach to get the smell off.”
    “I hear it’s good for the skin. Kind of like arsenic. What’s happening with Noogey?”
    If I’d wanted a sympathetic ear, Kate was the last person I should’ve called. We balanced each other pretty well for the most part. I was prone to high drama and she kept me grounded (mostly). Sometimes keeping me grounded was like pissing in the wind, or so my mother liked to say. I liked to think I brought a little adventure to Kate’s life. And I kept her in homemade baked goods when I felt like the scales were becoming unbalanced.
    “Noogey’s gone and there’s been no sign of the girlfriend.”
    “She’s still in there,” Kate said. “Though rumor has it she’s making Noogey pay for the inconvenience. I need you to get close to the trailer. See if you can get some shots of the inside through the windows. I bet the inside of that trailer looks like a palace.”
    “Sure thing, boss,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ll just mosey on up and see if my x-ray camera lens can somehow see through the dirt coating the windows. No one will notice me skulking around in broad daylight.”
    “That’s the spirit. I’m sure you’ll think of something to get her out of there.”
    I sputtered in disbelief as Kate disconnected, and when I stood up to shove my phone back in my pocket I felt the squish beneath my feet.
    I sighed and probably would have cried if I hadn’t been so dehydrated. “At least it was the Hamburger Helper instead of the diaper,” I said. Sally Sunshine, always looking on the positive side of things. That’s me.
    I pulled Noogey’s file from my backpack and thumbed through it, hoping an idea of how to get Marika Dubois out of the trailer would magically appear in my mind.
    Marika was a former model who was used to creature comforts. I knew without a doubt that the only thing keeping her around was Noogey’s promise of the millions he’d somehow stashed away. A woman like Marika wouldn’t live like this unless the payout was worth it.
    A list of Marika’s acquaintances were listed in alphabetical order on the back page of her profile. Kate was nothing if not efficient. An idea popped into my head and I picked a name at random. Sometimes my cleverness astounded me.
    I grabbed my phone and dialed Marika’s cell number, moving further behind the dumpsters just in case there were any nosy neighbors or Marika got suspicious.
    “What?” Marika barked out, her French accent heavy with irritation.
    “Marika, darling! It’s been too long,” I gushed, trying not to gag as I inhaled something especially foul.
    “Who is zis?” I was still trying to figure out what zis was while she kept talking. “Zis is ze private number.”
    “It’s Honey Rhodes.” I thickened my accent to magnolia blossom proportions since I knew from the file that Honey was a local. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize my voice. I’ll just be crushed.”
    “I zought zou were in rehab. I haven’t zeen zou in months.”
    I rolled my eyes, trying to interpret her sentences and wishing I’d taken French instead of Spanish. But any teenage girl would have made the same decision. The Spanish teacher at my high school had looked like Ricky Martin and he’d worn tight t-shirts that had barely fit around his biceps. My fantasies of him pretty much got me through high school.
    I thought quickly, trying to decide how I wanted to handle the rehab news. “I’ve been back a few days,” I said with a dramatic sigh. “I just needed to get away for a while. Life just gets crazy sometimes with all the parties and the social whirl. I figured rehab was the one place no one would bother me.”
    “Zen it’s not true about ze story I read in ze paper? Zey said zou had cocaine and crashed ze Ferrari into ze pool.”
    Son of a bitch. I would have to impersonate the one friend on the list who’d had a high profile brush with the law.
    “It was all a misunderstanding,” I reassured her. “Now enough about me. I have rehab skin, and I think we need to treat ourselves to a day at the spa and a little shopping. We owe it to ourselves to stay beautiful for our men.”
    I hoped to God I wasn’t overselling it, but the only examples of socialites I could think of were Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, and I’d assumed it wasn’t all that hard to be shallow and vacant.
    “I’m not zeposed to