Whiskey, You're The Devil: An Addison Holmes Mystery (Addison Holmes Mysteries Book 4) (2 page)

I jumped a foot in the air and hot coffee splashed onto my hand. I hauled ass inside the car—not an easy thing to do in a full winter coat and a handbag the size of a small suitcase—and I barely got the door closed before she pressed her foot down on the accelerator and took off like a bat out of hell.

“Shit,” I breathed out, my heart thudding in my chest. “You made me drop my scone.”

“We don’t have time for scones this morning. This is serious.”

I closed my eyes as she defied every traffic law imaginable to get us out of downtown, and I was grateful I knew most of the cops in the area. Of course, if they really wanted to help me out they’d pull Rosemarie over and get me the hell out of this car instead of sitting warm inside their units and staring at me out of big round eyes as we sped by.

“Jesus. Has somebody died?”

“Worse.” She reached into her handbag that had been stuffed between her arm and the door and pulled out the biggest vibrator I’d ever seen in my life. It was flesh colored and defied the laws of nature. My nose scrunched up in disgust and I pressed against the car door to put more distance between myself and Rosemarie’s love substitution.

Up until last month, Rosemarie had been having regular sex with a man named Leroy that she’d met at the Great Dane Kennel Club. Leroy wasn’t much to look at unless you were attracted to Weebles that looked like Danny DeVito, but Rosemarie insisted his talents were something confined to the bedroom.

According to Rosemarie, Leroy was a tantric master. He even gave tantric retreats twice a year and invited me and Nick to come out the next time he held one. I didn’t know much about tantric sex. Regular sex pretty much wore me out and made me useless, so I couldn’t imagine engaging in anything on a higher plane. But Rosemarie said once you’ve experienced that level of spirituality you can’t ever go back to plain vanilla.

Unfortunately, Leroy was in traction. Apparently even a master can be felled by Rosemarie. Which meant for the last month Rosemarie was the most sexually starved and desperate woman I’d ever been witness to. And every day sent her a little closer to the point of no return.

Rosemarie hit a pothole the size of a crater and she had to use both hands to grab onto the steering wheel to control the car. The vibrator shot out of her hand and I watched as it arced in slow motion end over end to my side of the car. It bounced once off the dashboard and my hands shot up in the air in surrender. I might have screamed. Because the next thing I knew that phallic fleshy beast had changed its trajectory and was headed right for me.

Seconds before it smacked into my forehead, Rosemarie’s hand shot out and she grabbed it out of thin air.

“
Oh, yeah
,” she screamed with enough gravel in her voice to make the WWE proud. Her hand clenched around the vibrator and she pumped her fist in the air. “Did you see that? I’m like a fucking ninja. Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.”

I would have agreed with anything she said at that point. She’d just saved me from getting slapped in the face with a device with more settings than anything NASA had to offer.

My phone warbled the theme from
Dragnet
and I didn’t have to look at the screen to know it was Nick calling. No doubt the cops had called him as soon as we’d sped by. My mother would be following closely behind. Since I’d moved out of Whiskey Bayou her reaction time isn’t quite what it used to be. But it’s still pretty damned good. I declined the call and envisioned the throbbing vein at Nick’s temple as he stared at the phone.

“Maybe you should explain why we’re escaping the city like Bonnie and Clyde,” I said as calmly as I could muster. “I’ve got my P.I. exams tomorrow morning and the physical tomorrow afternoon. I need to be in the office going over things with Kate today.”

“I’ll have you back in a jiffy. You’re going to ace that test. At least the written part. But first I gotta put a cap in a bitch, and you’re my wingman.”

I narrowed my eyes and my lips pinched together at her comment about passing the written part. What went unsaid is that I was still pretty much a disaster when it came to the physical fitness portion of my exam. Despite extra help from FBI Agent Matt Savage—my former neighbor and occasional tongue wrestler before Nick decided to commit—I was still struggling.

I was in shape. Don’t get me wrong. But there are those who are built for short distances and those who are built for endurance. If I was a synchronized swimmer or one of those gymnasts that twirled ribbons and leaped around a big bouncy mat I’d probably be good to go. But ask me to do fifty sit ups in a short amount of time and I turn into a big sweaty heffalump who can only manage to make it to the sitting position if someone is dangling a chocolate sundae above my knees.

“I don’t think Kate’s going to be too happy if I help you put a cap in anyone’s ass. You know how she is about the reputation of the agency.”

“Well, maybe I won’t unload my weapon. But I might karate chop her in the throat. Or kick her in the knees. I wore my steel-toed boots just in case.”

I looked down for the first time to see Rosemarie squeezed into corduroy pants in the same orange as her sweater and black combat boots laced almost to her knees.

“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.