Addison Holmes is a history teacher whose life is going downhill on a regular basis. She can't seem to stop screwing up. Trying to earn some extra cash she decides to strip and realizes as she is striping that she can't dance and doesn't want to take off her clothes. Addison sees her principle in the audience and knows her job is in serious jeopardy. As Addison tries to sneak out of the club she trips, literally trips over her principles dead body. So much for trying to keep this attempt at making some quick cash quiet. She is broke, her fiancΓ© left her for the home economics teacher, her apartment has been condemned and now her job is in seriously jeopardy. At least the detective in charge of the case is hot.
Thankfully Addison has a good friend who owns a private detective agency and when she offers Addison some surveillance work for extra cash Addison isn't too proud to take the charity work. Only Addison is an accident waiting to happen. When Addison is around things just fall apart and mess up. Can she help catch a murder or just become a new victim?
Addison Holmes is a refreshing character and a laugh a minute. In a book full of great characters you can't help but love her and feel for her. Anyone who has ever questioned paying their bills or finding a place they can afford will find the hilarity of her life refreshing. WHISKEY REBELLION is a great start to the series by Liliana Hart that will continue to keep us laughing and addicted hopefully for years to come.
My name is Addison Holmes, and I teach history at James
Madison High School in Whiskey Bayou, Georgia. You might be
under the assumption that my life went to the dogs when my
fiance left me at the altar for the home economics teacher,
or when I got notice that my apartment building was going to
be condemned, or even when I was desperate enough to strip
to my unmentionables to earn some extra cash so I could buy
a house. The truth is that I'm pretty much used to disasters
following me around on a daily basis, but I could have gone
without finding my principal dead in the parking lot of a
seedy gentlemen's club.
After the initial shock of finding my first dead body, which
included throwing back shots of Jack Daniels like it was
water, I decided to take stock of my life. I was in a
desperate situation and if the school board ever found out
I'd been a stripper, even a bad stripper, I'd be jobless as
well as fiance-less and homeless. Fortunately, I had a
friend who felt sorry enough for me to give me a job doing
some surveillance work at her detective agency. And it
didn't bother me one bit that it was the equivalent of a
pity f**k. Money is money, and I was about to be homeless.
Not to mention the fact that I was now able to stick my nose
into other people's business for a good cause, find a
murderer and pick up helpful tips from an incredibly
attractive detective.
Come check out my story and be thankful your life is
relatively normal.
Prologue
My life was a disaster.
I sat in my car with a white-knuckled grip on the steering
wheel and watched the rain pound against the windshield. I
was soaked to the skin, my skirt was ripped, and blood
seeped from both knees. There were scratches on my arms and
neck, and my face was blotchy and red from crying. Along
with the external wounds, Iβd lost a good deal of my
sensibilities, most of my faith in mankind, and all of my
underwear somewhere between a graveyard and a church parking
lot.
Iβll explain later. Itβs been a hell of a day.
My name is Addison Holmes, no relation to Sherlock or Katie,
and if God has any mercy, heβll strike me with lightning and
end it all. Iβve had a job at the McClean Detective Agency
for exactly six days. Itβs been the longest six days of my
life, and Iβll be lucky if I live to see another six.
Unspeakable things, things youβd never imagine have happened
to me in six days.
Now I faced the onerous task of telling Kate McClean, my
best friend and owner of the McClean Detective Agency, how
Iβd botched a simple surveillance job and found a dead body.
Another dead body.
I should have kept my job as a stripper.
Chapter One
Saturday, Seven Days Earlier
Iβve made a lot of bad decisions in thirty years of living.
Like when I was eight and I decided to run away from home
with nothing more than the clothes on my back, peanut butter
crackers and my pink Schwinn bicycle with a flat front tire.
And the time when I was sixteen and decided it was a good
idea to lose my virginity at an outdoor Metallica concert.
And then there was the time I was nineteen and decided I
could make it to Atlanta on a quarter tank of gas if I kept
the air conditioner off.
There are other examples, but I wonβt bore you with the
details.
Obviously my judgment has gotten worse as Iβve grown older,
because those bad decisions are nothing compared to the one
I was about to make.
βHey, Queen of Denial, youβre up.β
I gave the bouncer guarding the stage entrance my haughtiest
glare, sucked in my corseted stomach, tossed my head so the
black wig I wore shifted uncomfortably on top of my scalp
and flicked my cat-o-nine tails hard enough to leave a welt
on my thigh. It was all in the attitude, and if I had
anything to do with it, The Foxy Lady would never be the
same after Addison Holmes made her debut.
The music overwhelmed my senses, and the bass pumped through
my veins in time with the beat of my heart. The lights stung
my eyes with their intensity, and I slunk across the stage
Marlene Dietrich style in hopes that I wouldnβt fall on my
face. Marleneβs the epitome of sexy in my mind, which should
tell you a little something about me.
Iβd run into a little problem lately, and letβs just say
that anyone whoβs ever said money canβt buy happiness has
obviously never had the need for money. My apartment had a
date with a wrecking ball in sixty days, and there was this
sweet little house in town I wanted to buy, but thus far the
funds to buy it hadnβt magically appeared in my bank
account. I could probably make a respectable down payment in
three or four years, but I had payments on a 350Z Roadster
that were killing me, yoga classes, credit cards, a new
satellite dish that fell through my roof last week, an
underwear of the month club membership to pay for and
wedding bills that were long past overdue. My bank account
was stretched a little thin at the moment.
None of those things would be a big deal if I was making big
executive dollars at some company where I had to wear
pantyhose everyday. But I teach ninth grade world history at
James Madison High School in Whiskey Bayou, Georgia, which
means I make slightly more than those guys who sit in the
toll booths and look at porn all day, and slightly less than
the road crew guys who stand on the side of the highway in
the orange vests and wave flags at oncoming traffic.
Since Iβd rather have a bikini wax immediately followed by a
salt scrub than have to move home with my mother, Iβd
declared myself officially desperate. And desperation leads
to all kinds of things that will haunt a person come
Judgment Dayβlike stripping to my skivvies in front of men
who are almost as desperate as I am.
The beat of the music coursed through my body as I twirled
and gyrated. The lights baked my skin and sweat poured down
my face from their heat. Something tickled my cheek. I
caught a glimpse of black out of the corner of my eye and
realized a false eyelash one of the working girls had stuck
on me earlier sat like a third eyebrow on my glistening
skin.
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