Whiskey Rebellion (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 1 (Addison Holmes Mysteries) (27 page)

“Holy shit
,” I said, cramming our wrappers back in the bag. “That’s Harry Manilow getting into that car. He’s one of my cases.”

“Harry Manilow? I just love his songs. Especially
Mandy
. Is he cheating on his wife?”

“You’re talking about Barry Manilow, mom.”

“Oh, well, who’s Harry? Are they related?”

I decided not to roll my still sensitive eyes to save myself the headache. Also because I had kind of been wondering the same thing myself.

“He’s one of the cases that Kate gave me to check on.  Look, he’s getting in the car with that woman in the passenger seat. And I’m pretty sure that’s not his wife.”

“Are you sure that’s a woman? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman with forearms that hairy.”

“I think so.” My eyesight was still fuzzy so I couldn’t be sure, but mom was right. That was one hairy woman. “Maybe she has a hormone imbalance, or maybe he’s just into kinky sex.”

My mom gasped at this declaration, but I could tell she was silently thinking the possibility over.

“Step on it. We need to follow them.”

She took me at my word and floored the Dodge across two lanes of traffic before settling in behind Harry and his furry companion. I dug around in my bag for his file, but I still couldn’t see well enough to read. 

“They’re taking the Forreston exit,” my mother whispered. 

No one wanted to be caught in Forreston. It wasn’t exactly the south’s version of Compton, but it was still a place mothers warned their children never to go.

“I think we should turn around and go back,” she said nervously. “We’ve already dedicated ourselves to John Hyatt tonight. I think Harry Manilow and the Sasquatch should wait until another day.”

“We’ll be fine. Just keep going. There’s still plenty of daylight. I just need to get a couple of photographs.”

I perched on the edge of my seat, the vinyl seam pressing a dent into my thighs and knuckles sore from my grip on the Nikon. Adrenaline coursed through me. My heart raced. I even noticed a shortness of breath. For what? Chasing cars with my mother? Trying to catch people having sex?

Jeez. What a loser.

“What are you mumbling about, Addison?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking. Look, they’re turning in up there. Slow down a little so they don’t spot us.”

“I don’t think they’re going to notice us one bit,” my mother said.

She was right.

“You’d think they’d wait until they could at least check into the hotel instead of going at it in the parking lot like teenagers,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

I took a stream of one picture after the other, thanking God I couldn’t see all that well.

I couldn’t begin to describe how uncomfortable it was to sit with my mom in a car and watch two strangers hump like rabbits. My mother was paying apt attention to every detail like there’d be a quiz over it someday, and I kept expecting her to ask for a bucket of popcorn.

“All right. Let’s get out of here.”

I looked over when the car didn’t start moving.

“Hello?—
Mom?”

“I’m ready,” she sung out, just a little too cheerful. “My word, this is an exciting job. And just think, the night’s not over yet.”

We drove back into Whiskey Bayou and turned onto John Hyatt’s street. Lights were ablaze inside the mansion, and it seemed like a waste of electricity just for one person. Mom drove to the end of the street and turn
ed around in the cul-de-sac.

“Look there,” I said, pointing to a dark blue sedan parked on the side of the road.

“Why are those men just sitting there?”

“I bet those are the plainclothes officers Nick has doing surveillance. Since Mr. Mooney lived in this neighborhood it makes s
ense they’d keep a close eye on things while the investigation is still ongoing.”

If I were
to bet money I’d say that Girard Dupres and Robbie Butler were also still being watched very closely. And there was probably someone else keeping a watch over Veronica just in case she decided to take her deflated boob and run. Nick was covering all his bases, which meant he’d lied when he’d said he had an idea of who was responsible for the murders. He had a bunch of dead ends that led to a whole bunch of nothing.

“This street’s a little crowded for what I have in mind. Why don’t you drive to the park and we’ll walk back up to the house? That way we can stay hidden in the trees behind the house,” I suggested.

“Ooh. Good idea. You’re a natural at this, baby.”

“Do you really think so? I’ve been thinking about getting my Private Investigator’s license and a permit to carry. I always feel left out when I go to dinner with Kate and Mike, plus I do seem to have a natural affinity for this type of work.”

“And you have summers and Christmas break free because of the school schedule,” she added. “You could do such a service to the community in those short amounts of time.”

My mother turned off the headlights and drove slowly throu
gh the park to the same place I’d tried to observe John Hyatt’s house from before. I got out of the car slowly and felt my way around to the hood. It was pitch black and when my eyes did start to adjust everything was still blurry.

“Just let me gather some things and we’ll head off,” my mother said. “I packed us some snacks and caffeine just in case we needed the stimulation. I didn’t know how long this was going to take, and I didn’t want to be stranded out here without anything to eat.
I even brought toilet paper in case we have to answer the call of nature.”

I looked at the bulging picnic basket my mom held in her arms and knew we could
’ve been stranded out here for the next two weeks and still had plenty of food.

“I hate to say it, but I’m going to have to leave the hat and coat in the car
” I said. “It’s too hot to go walking around in anything less than a bathing suit. I’m sweating like a pig.”

“You’re right,” my mother agreed.
“Your face is all flushed. Do you think Columbo would be disappointed?”

Columbo would be laughing his ass off, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Nah, a good private investigator knows how to adjust to any situation.” I didn’t know if this was true or not, but it seemed to perk my mother up considerably.

“You’re going to have to lead me around,” I said. “I still can’t see. I’ll just hold on to the back of your unitard.”

“It’s a bodysuit. It was very fashionable when I was younger,” she said huffily.
“Look, I can see the lights up ahead from John’s house.”

“Well, I can’t see diddly squat,” I said, irritated. “Slow down.” I’d managed to trip over a log and run into a tree before deciding I needed to follow a lot closer if I was going to make it the rest of the way in one piece.

“Sorry,” she said, slowing her step a little.

We made a small camp of sorts about ten feet from the wrought iron fence that surrounded the Hyatt property. When I say small camp, I mean that my mother opened her backpack and laid down a camouflage blanket that my dad used the one time in his life he’d decided to go hunting.

“It’s not a picnic, mom.”

“I know, but there’s no need to rough it when we have every available comfort at our fingertips.” 

“Just grab the camera and that notebook over there. You’re going to have to document every detail for Nick’s records. This camera is great for long-range shots, so you should have no trouble getting the evidence we need. Okay?”

“Gotcha. I can do this. Maybe I’ll get my Private Investigator’s license as well. This is fun.”

I remembered that Victor Mooney had said that very thing to me just before he’d died. 

“Can you see anything?” I asked to change the subject. My vision was limited and all I could see were the bright lights that poured out of the ba
ck windows of the Hyatt estate.

“Lord, would you look at all those windows. Could you imagine having to clean them?”

“Mom, focus! Can you see anything through the windows?”

The sound of her gasp brought me to full alert.

“What? What’s happening?” I hated not being able to see. I was missing all the good stuff.

“There’s a blond woman in one of those silk Kimonos.”

“That must be Loretta Swanson. She shouldn’t be here this late. Something must definitely be going on between the two of them. Make sure you’re writing everything down in the notebook I gave you.”

“Right,” she said, doing just that.

“Do you see anyone else?”

“There’s a man sitting in a chair, but his back is to me. But I don’t think it’s John Hyatt. This man has too much hair, and it’s not as dark. It’s kind of a dishwater blond.”

“Are they upstairs or downstairs?”

“Downstairs, right in the living room. I think she should be a little more circumspect about entertaining gentlemen in her robe. I don’t think it sends the right signals.”

I had a feeling that my mother and Rose Marie would get along famously.

“Can you see in the upstairs rooms? Is John Hyatt up there?”

“Just a minute. Let me get out the binoculars.”

I watched in nervous silence as my mom filled pages in the little notebook I’d given her and snapped pictures like a pro.

“Come on, mom. Don’t leave me hanging. What’s going on?”

“Let’s just say that the blond and her guest are getting very familiar with each other.”

“Do you recognize him?”

“There’s something familiar about him, but I just can’t put my finger on it. Maybe something will click once he takes the rest of his clothes off.”

“Mom!”

“When did you turn into such a prude, Addison? I raised you better than that.” She clucked her tongue and turned back to spying in the windows. “Oh. My. God.”

“What? What happened? Shit, I hate not being able to see anything.”

“Take my advice when I tell you to be glad for small blessings in disguise.”

“Has John Hyatt come into the picture?”

“Most definitely,” my mother said, snapping pictures.

“Well, what are they doing?” I was up off the ground now, my face pressed between two of the iron bars that kept us out. I still couldn’t see anything other than blurred shapes no matter how hard I strained to see.

“Let’s just
say you’re going to be very surprised when you get a load of these photos. I could sell these to the National Enquirer and become a millionaire.”

I waited for another twenty minutes in impatient silence, hating the fact that I was being left out of the loop on such great gossip. My mom closed the notebook, took one last photo and packed up our supplies. She grabbed me by the arm and practically ran with me to the car.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, sliding behind the wheel. “I think I need to take a cold shower.”

I was full of questions on the short drive back to my apartment, but my mom kept her mouth shut and sped through the town’s two traffic lights like the cops were on her tail. She squealed to a stop in front of my apartment stairs, blocking the entrance and taking up two handicap parking spaces.

“This is terrible. Just terrible,” she muttered as she slammed her door shut and circled the car to help me inside. I knew she was agitated because she’d left the car running. I leaned over and groped for the keys and turned off the ignition before she hauled me out of the car. She pulled me behind her up the steps like I had full sight capabilities.

I didn’t.

If I held something very close to my face I could make out the larger details, and I could see large shapes and tell where light was coming from. But that was it.

My shins banged against each step, but my mother couldn’t hear my shouts of pain because of all the muttering she was doing. When we got to the fourth floor, she forged ahead, leaving me to find my own way down the hall while she unlocked my door. Left to my own devices, I wrenched my left shoulder when it slammed into a door jam, and my forehead managed to make contact with a wall sconce.

By the time my mom led me into my living room, I couldn’t have cared less about what scandalous thing she saw at the Hyatt mansion. I just wanted an ice pack and a soak in the tub, but I settled for lying on the couch. She called one of her neighbors to come get her, and I grunted as she sat at the other end and put my bruised legs across her lap.

“How could you put me in this position?” my mother asked.

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to be just like Columbo. Don’t blame me for this. You’re just upset because you know you can’t be the first to spread the news around.”

“It’s my duty to the community,” she said primly.

It was true. My mom’s ability to ferret out juicy information was right up there with those guys in the military who were experts on torture techniques. I’d put her in a terrible position. She had a reputation to uphold.