Whiskey, You're The Devil: An Addison Holmes Mystery (Addison Holmes Mysteries Book 4)

by Liliana Hart

“A much better option, I’m sure,” I said cautiously. “But maybe you could explain in a little more detail.”

  “You know Pricilla’s Love Shack down off 204?”

  I blew out a breath and knew intuitively that nothing good was going to come of this. Whatever this was. My intuition had increased by about a hundred and fifty percent since I’d started working for Kate.

  “I’ve passed by it. They’ve only been in business a couple of months.”

  “Yep. And let me tell you, that Pricilla’s a real piece of work. She made it big as a porn star back in the nineties and used all her money to retire in a life of luxury.”

  “So she moved to Savannah to open a sex shop?” I asked.

  “It’s not Tahiti, but I can understand it. Those porn stars are about the savviest businesswomen on the planet. I saw a documentary once on the Discovery Channel all about it, and they did a whole ten minute segment just on Priscilla Loveshack. That was her porn star name. Clever how she turned it into the name of her shop, isn’t it? You gotta admire a woman with those kind of attributes.”

  “I know the documentary you’re talking about,” I said, turning in my seat to face her. “It was fascinating. Especially the part about how they keep their privates looking like a hairless cat. But you’ve either got to loathe her or admire her. And you just said she was a real piece of work.”

  “She is. And you’ve got to expect it from those porno-business types, but this is the South. She can’t come from LA to Savannah and expect to treat her customers the same way she would out in California. Everybody knows you’re supposed to be rude to your customers out there. I’ve seen Pretty Woman at least a hundred times.”

  “So you’re going to pop a cap in her ass because she doesn’t have Savannah manners?” I shook my head and grabbed onto the dash as Rosemarie took the exit ramp to head to Highway 204. “I think the sexual deprivation has gone straight to your brain.”

  “Poor, Leroy,” she said, clucking her tongue. “We were practicing the Row His Boat move for his advanced tantric class, and then all of a sudden he’s screaming and crying out for his mother. It took me a minute to realize he was in pain instead of in the throws of climax. That wasn’t the first time he’d called out for his mother. They were very close, rest her soul.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and my eyes widened. I always felt at a loss for words whenever I was with Rosemarie, but I’d learned that silence was usually the way to go.

  Pricilla’s Love Shack was about a mile down the access road off Highway 204. It was sandwiched between a twenty-four/seven gas station and a Hibachi Grill that looked like it would never pass a health inspection.

  Rosemarie’s yellow Beetle zipped between cars and pulled into the deserted lot. I was guessing primetime sex toy shopping wasn’t early Monday mornings. She parked in a space in front of the entrance and it took me a minute to realize what wasn’t right about the scene. Other than the fact that giant dildos sat in the display windows and each of them wore a different hat so they looked like penis shaped Village People.

  I whistled long and low and leaned forward in my seat. “Holy cow. Looks like you aren’t the only one dissatisfied with the merchandise.”

  The glass front door was nothing more than a few jagged shards. The rest of the glass had shattered on the front sidewalk. I looked over at Rosemarie and noticed her normally rosy complexion was somewhat pale.

  “I should probably tell you something before we go inside,” she said, her voice trembling.

  I sighed. “It’s too early for booze, and Dairy Queen isn’t open yet. Be gentle, Rosemarie.”

  “I maybe broke the door when I came to see Priscilla last night.” Rosemarie squenched her eyes shut like a child waiting to be scolded.

  My mouth dropped open and I looked back and forth between the shattered front door and Rosemarie’s forlorn face. Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks and her bottom lip quivered.

  “I’m a felon,” she cried, her wobbly contralto rising an octave. “What’s come over me?” She grabbed hold of my hand and squeezed so tightly I felt the bones rub together. “Do you think the judge will be sympathetic? I’m a woman on the edge. Sexual frustration can make a person crazy. There’s got to be some kind of free pass in a court of law for the sexually deprived.”

  “Why in the world are we back here today if you came last night?” I asked exasperated. “You don’t return to the scene of the crime.”

  She nodded sagely, taking in my words. “I didn’t think about that. I haven’t had all those classes like you have.” She wiped her fingers beneath her eyes, smearing black mascara, and then she hit the steering wheel with her fists, making me jump in my seat.

  “I was just so mad!” she said. “She was so mean. I mean, it was every high school nightmare come to life. She was perfect and beautiful and she’s obviously successful and knows how to invest. My breasts are bigger, but they sure aren’t all perky like hers. Those breasts practically defy the laws of gravity. Mine are only good for feeding third world countries or hanging out laundry to dry if you run a rope through my nipple rings.”

  I paused for a second at that image and filed away the fact that Rosemarie had nipple rings. Then I sighed and patted her on the shoulder. “You can make yours defy the laws of gravity if you pay the right price. She’s plastic. You’re the real deal.”

  “Thank you. That’s real sweet, but it’s hard to remember that when those plump lips are spewing such hateful things. And if she burns the motor out of her handheld device she can just go to the back room and get another instead of flushing a hundred and fifty bucks down the toilet. I’m a teacher! I don’t have a high priced budget. Makes me just want to tie her up and toss her into the swamp for the gators to munch on. Though the plastic can’t be good for their digestive systems.”

  “Wait. A hundred and fifty bucks?” I said. “Holy shit. For a hundred and fifty bucks that sucker had better give you an orgasm and then get up and make pancakes and serve them to you in bed.”

  “It doesn’t make pancakes,” she said in all seriousness.

  I thunked my fist against my forehead. “You can’t go vandalizing things every time someone hurts your feelings. People hurt my feelings all the time and I just ignore them.”

  “That’s not true. I’m not so much older than you that I don’t remember you putting shrimp in Veronica Wade’s new convertible after she put super glue on your oboe reed and told everyone your lips were raw and peeling because you gave Ricky Lee Gherkin a blow job and got herpes. She deserved every one of those shrimp.”

  “That was a youthful transgression,” I said primly. And then the corner of my mouth twitched because it had been damned funny to see Veronica’s reaction once she got inside the car and was covered in shrimp stink. Veronica Wade had been my archenemy for my entire childhood. And then she’d decided she hadn’t made my childhood miserable enough and decided to teach at the same school I worked at and seduce my fiancé the day of my wedding. If I could go back and put more shrimp in her convertible I’d do it in a heartbeat.

  “My point is we’re adults now. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself and get these sexual urges under control. Maybe if you just go in and apologize and offer to pay for the door then she won’t press charges.”

  “You really think so?”

  What I really thought was that Rosemarie needed a sex intervention and her own reality show, but that didn’t seem like the most supportive thing to say. “I think it’s a start. And you’d better do it in a hurry or you’re going to be late for school.”

  Good Lord. I was even starting to sound like a responsible adult. I was getting sick of myself. I wasn’t the type of person who blossomed under the restraints of routine. I was a free spirit. Variety and excitement were my middle names. I just needed a little something in my life to take away the humdrum of the rut I was stuck in. Maybe helping out Rosemarie in the middle of a sex crisis was just what the doctor ordered.

  “Come on,”
I said, opening the car door. “Time to pay the piper.”

  A cold blast of air and diesel fumes hit me in the face, singeing my nose hairs and making my eyes water, but I embraced it. This was Savannah at Christmastime, dammit, and I would be cheerful.

  There would be no more humbuggery from Addison Holmes. I was turning over a new leaf. I was going to kick ass on my P.I. exams and kick a lot less ass on the physical fitness requirements later in the afternoon, but kicking ass was kicking ass and I was going to do it no matter what.

  Rosemarie managed to birth herself from the Beetle and we approached the front of the shop. I started to get that little tingling feeling at the back of my neck that told me the smart thing to do would be to get back in the car and get the hell out of Dodge. But Rosemarie squashed any hopes of doing that.

  “Looks like someone cut themselves on the glass,” she said, pointing to the shards beneath our feet.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” I muttered beneath my breath. Blood was smeared on the glass in the shape of a shoe print. Even I was experienced enough to know that it was a lot of blood for someone to have just cut themselves passing through. I stared in through the gaping hole of the door and followed the bloody footprints through the shop.

  “Dear God. Please don’t let me find a body.”

  “What’s that, Addison?” Rosemarie asked. “You’re mumbling. You’ve really started doing that a lot lately.”

  I stared at Rosemarie, and whatever she saw on my face was enough to have her lips clamping together to keep her silence. I still had on my gloves so I pulled open the door and stepped inside. Glass crunched beneath my feet and Rosemarie shuffled in behind me.

  “Don’t step in the blood,” I told her, maneuvering her in a wide path.

  “Of course not. That’s disgusting.” She stepped gingerly around the bloody footprints and held her purse in a tight grasp close to her chest. “Good grief, I barely slammed the thing. And I only bashed it with my handbag once. They don’t make doors the way they used to. And I didn’t mean for anyone to cut themselves. You think they can charge me for assault along with the vandalism?”

  “Hello?” I called out. “Is someone here?”

  Other than the broken front door, nothing seemed to be out of place. Videos lined the wall on the far right, costumes and changing areas were in the back, and about six thousand varieties of dildos and anal beads lined the shelves in the middle of the store. Priscilla sure knew her business.

  A display of condoms and lubricants sat along the counter next to the register, and I was briefly distracted by the Rough Rider and tingling gel combo pack on sale for $9.99. And maybe I was stalling because the bloody footprints had to originate from somewhere. The closer I got to the counter I realized the blood wasn’t just on the floor. Droplets spattered across the counter and the register in a wide arc. I swallowed once and put my hand on Rosemarie’s arm to keep her from getting any closer.

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered. She started to make the sign of the cross and then she must’ve remembered she was Methodist because she took a step back instead.

  I leaned farther over the counter and looked into the open-eyed stare of who I assumed was Priscilla of Priscilla’s Love Shack. Her face was no longer pretty. In fact, it was pretty unrecognizable as human.

  “Rosemarie?” I said. “Did you forget to tell me anything else important?”

  I didn’t think Rosemarie was a cold-blooded killer, but she’d been acting stranger than usual and I wasn’t the best at picking up vibes from potential killers. I’d also just heard her say she wanted to toss Priscilla to the gators.

  She swallowed and then swallowed again, and I hoped she wasn’t going to be sick. Cops hated vomit on their crime scenes. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and she nodded once.

  I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. “It’s okay,” I told her. “You can tell me anything. I’m you’re friend.”

  She grasped my hand and squeezed it tightly. “I forgot to turn the Crock-Pot on before I left for school this morning.” And then she fainted in a dead heap at my feet and took me down with her.

  Chapter Two

  The good news about having a homicide detective for a boyfriend is that I can call him whenever I manage to stumble over a dead body. The sad thing is I’ve had to do it more than one might think. Crime was rampant in Savannah. And I was a magnet for finding it.

  The first responding units showed up about ten minutes after I’d made the call. Nick was about twenty seconds behind them and he still hadn’t managed to find the right words to say. He’d been shaking his head ever since he caught sight of the body, and the little vein in his forehead was bulging.

  “Addison—” He’d repeated my name about five times but never managed to get anything else out. I just waited patiently. I knew he’d get where he was going eventually.

  Nick was one of those kinds of guys who could stop traffic the minute he walked into a room. He was a couple inches over six feet and movie star handsome. Savannah PD had been using him as the media liaison for several years because the cameras loved him and he had a gift of smoothing out contentious situations—probably due to his wealthy upbringing and having a senator as an uncle.

  His hair was black as midnight and he kept it cut short because it had a tendency to curl, and his eyes were the most devastating shade of blue I’d ever seen. His body was whipcord lean and muscled—like a swimmer—and I could attest first hand that he looked amazing without clothes on. He was a damned good cop, and we’d managed to live together for the last couple of months without killing each other, so I took it as a good sign.

  I could tell he was really trying to keep hold of his temper, and I grimaced as I overheard one of the other officers refer to me as the girlfriend of death. Probably Nick took a lot of flack for associating with me, but I wasn’t going to dwell on it overmuch. I had lots of positive qualities too. I could make brownies and pies from scratch, I could outshoot most of the cops on the force, and I was always picked first whenever we played Trivial Pursuit in teams due to my degree in history and weird ability to remember random shit. I had a lot of not so great qualities too, but I figured now wasn’t the time to mention them.

  Nick fisted his hands just above his duty rig and took a couple of deep breaths. Rosemarie stood off to the side with two other officers while she gave her statement. I shook my head when I heard her beg them not to put her in the same jail cell as Big Bertha and that she wanted her prison virginity to remain intact.

  I was almost positive Rosemarie didn’t cause the dents in Priscilla’s face, but I wasn’t ready to swear on a stack of bibles yet. She’d been unstable at best since Leroy went into traction.

  “They’re not going to arrest her are they?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “Depends on what the evidence says and if she can come up with an alibi after the ME rules time of death. But she’s going to be busy answering questions for a while, and she’ll be advised not to take any trips out of town. It’s pretty damning that she came back late last night alone and did damage to the property.”

  “I’d like to point out that I’m just an innocent bystander.” I held my hands up and tried to give my charming southern smile—the one with a lot of teeth and little substance—but Nick wasn’t having any of it.

  “Now’s not a good time to play that card. Did you just hear Ruiz? He called you the girlfriend of death. That’s what every cop in the city calls you.”

  “It could be worse.”

  “Really? Cause I can’t think of anything. Especially since you’re my girlfriend.”

  “Or you could just ignore them,” I said, eyes narrowed. “It’s not like I’m the girlfriend of leprosy or—” I waved my hands around in the air trying to come up with a worse example and then it came to me. “Or your mother for crying out loud.”

  Nick’s nostrils flared and he looked down at his feet as he tried to get control of his temper. So probably bringing his mother into i
t wasn’t the best of ideas, but she really was pretty awful. Of course, now I felt awful for bringing her up when I knew she was a sore spot for Nick.

  “I’m going to have an officer get your statement and drive you back to the agency. Try not to find any more bodies between now and when I pick you up for dinner tonight. I don’t want to talk about this. I want to pretend it never happened.”

  I was still stuck on the dinner comment when I remembered we were supposed have dinner with my mother, her new husband, and my sister Phoebe. We were eating out, thank God, because my mother could burn water. That didn’t stop her from trying though.

  Nick motioned to an officer I’d never met before and he gave me a stern look before heading over to talk to the Medical Examiner who’d just come on scene.

  “I’m Officer Locke,” my new babysitter said. He couldn’t have been more than a year or two over twenty. If he’d ever shaved a day in his life I’d have been surprised. His hair was sun bleached blond and his face still had the cherubic softness of youth.

  “Addison Holmes,” I said, sticking out my hand for him to shake.

  “Nice to meet you,” he nodded. “So you’re the girlfriend of death?”

  *

  Locke drove me back to the agency and dropped me at the front door, and I thanked him for the ride and also for driving through to get me coffee to replace the one I’d left in Rosemarie’s Beetle. My dad had been a cop, so I’d learned early on that you could get them to do almost anything involving food or beverages if you offered to pay for it. And I’d really needed the extra caffeine to get me through the rest of the day.

  The McClean Detective Agency was located on Telfair Square in a beautiful crumbling brick building of dark red that was overrun with ivy. Black shutters framed all of the windows and the front door was painted black. Tasteful gold lettering that said McClean Detective Agency in the corner of the front plate glass window was the only indication of what went on inside the building.

  Kate had started out her career in law enforcement a dozen years ago, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize she didn’t enjoy the red tape and bullshit that went along with the job. So she went out on her own and opened the agency. She had a handful of full time agents—mostly retired cops—but she also employed a lot of off-duty cops part time who were looking to supplement their income. And then there was me. Like I said, the equivalent of a pity fuck.