Whiskey Rebellion Part 12

I grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. Nick had left the sugar and cream out, so I put both into my steaming mug and then put them away in the proper places. He at least had the decency to rinse out his cereal bowl and put it upside down in the drain pan. I gulped the coffee standing up and the cobwebs started to clear from my mind. There was something different about my kitchen, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Then it hit me. The cream and sugar. The cereal. I had food.

"Where'd the cereal come from?" I asked. I still hadn't had time to go to the grocery store since starting the job for Kate. I just hoped Nick hadn't gone begging for food from my neighbors. I'm sure my mother had had enough phone calls about me in the last twenty-four hours.

"I went early this morning and got a few essentials," Nick said, not looking up from his reading.

I opened the fridge and the pantry to see what Nick considered essential. "Two loaves of bread, whole milk, macaroni and cheese, pork rinds, beef jerky, beer, potato chips and Frosted Flakes. It's good to see you eat such a well-balanced diet."

"You didn't think I kept such a manly physique by eating a bunch of fruits and vegetables, did you?"

"Hmmm," I said, getting my own bowl of cereal. "You have some explaining to do about a few things."

"Like what?"

"Well, for starters you said you needed my help on Mr. Butler's murder and then you don't tell me anything about it. And then last night you drop the bomb that Greg was there at The Foxy Lady at the time of Mr. Butler's death. Care to explain?"

"Eventually. But first I want to know about these." He upended a big manila envelope full of photos on the table. They all had one thing in common. I was in every photo.

"Where did you get those?" I asked. The spit in my mouth had dried up so the question came out as a croak.

"They were taped to your door when I got back from the grocery store this morning."

I flipped through the photos. There were pictures of me leaving yoga cla.s.s and in the teacher's parking lot. There was one of me leaving my mom's after a Sunday dinner and another of me having dinner with Kate and Mike at a restaurant in Savannah. I tried to look at them dispa.s.sionately, but inside I was sick.

"Is this the first time someone has left photos?" Nick asked.

I winced inside because I knew he wasn't going to be happy with my answer. "Not exactly," I said.

I shuffled through my bag until I found the photo that had been taped to my car, and I handed it to Nick. "I also received a phone call," I said and punched the play b.u.t.ton on my answering machine.

Nick listened to the entire message without saying a word, but his face darkened and took on the appearance of a thundercloud.

"Jesus Christ, Addison. Did it ever occur to you that whoever left that message could be a killer? And now he's stalking you."

"When you say it that way it sounds a lot worse than what I'd worked out in my mind. I just figured it was some kind of prank." I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought it through. "Mr. Butler took this photo with his camera phone while I was on stage. I saw him do it. But someone left it taped to my winds.h.i.+eld after Mr. Butler's murder. If Greg was at The Foxy Lady, do you think he could be Mr. Butler's killer and the one who left the photograph?"

Nick looked through all the photos and I could tell he was thinking things through in that methodical cop way he had. "I wouldn't rule it out," he said.

Nick picked up a black duffle bag and riffled through it. He pulled out an envelope lined with bubble wrap and pulled out a disc. "I've got the surveillance tapes from The Foxy Lady I'd like you to look at. You seem to be the only link between The Foxy Lady and Bernard Butler and Greg, and maybe you can spot something I can't. I'm desperate at this point."

"Oh, thanks a lot. I'm so glad you resort to my help in times of desperation. I'm not completely incompetent you know. I'm even thinking of getting a real P.I. license."

"G.o.d help us all," Nick said with a smile. "Make sure you take out personal protection insurance. You haven't had the best track record since you started this job."

"I don't have to take this from you. You're the one that needs my help. And to show you what a team player I am, I'm willing to make you a deal."

"I can't wait to hear this."

"I'll help you on your case if you'll help me on one of mine. It'll be an even trade."

"You think it's an even trade for me to help you with amateur detective work while you help me with a murder investigation? You're out of your mind."

"Unless you're afraid that I'll be of more help to you than you will be to me. I guess it would look pretty bad for a detective to get shown up by a history teacher."

"Ha! You're as transparent as gla.s.s, Addison. You don't think that you can solve your case by yourself, whereas I know I can solve mine, it just might take a little longer without your help."

I wasn't willing to admit that he was right, so I stared him down with a look that any poker player would be proud of.

"I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll help you out. But-I have a couple of stipulations."

I rolled my eyes. "I've already told you I don't want to have s.e.x with you, so you can steer clear of that idea."

"No, you told me you didn't want to have rebound s.e.x with me. I, however, would like a date with you. With the chance of non-rebound s.e.x to be followed closely after."

"That's blackmail," I said, outraged.

"Take it or leave it," he said, the grin on his face challenging. "Your nipples are hard, so I have to think that the idea of spending a night with me isn't completely repulsive."

"It's cold in here," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Liar."

"Fine, it's a deal." I took the surveillance DVD from his hand and headed over to my 52" television.

"Everything about you is such a contradiction." He sat back on the couch with the remote in his hand and I took the spot beside him. "You have all this sweet electronic equipment, fancy furniture and a s.e.xy car. Why the h.e.l.l do you live in this dump?"

"The rent is cheap, which allows me to be able to almost afford all the sweet stuff. Tell me what you want me to look for."

Nick punched play and the screen split into six boxes, all labeled with which security camera they came from. Nick brought up camera one so it filled the whole screen.

"We've got your ex who arrived alone just after noon. He made himself comfortable in a booth and ordered a drink. He looked back and forth impatiently between his watch and the door for almost half an hour."

Nick fast-forwarded a few seconds. "Then we have an unknown woman who showed up at a quarter till one. None of the cameras got a shot of her face. She walked past the bouncer at the door with minimal fuss since she was wearing a table napkin for a skirt and her attributes were shown to their full advantage. She kept her head down all the way to the booth and slid in next to your ex."

"So Veronica meets Greg at a strip club for a little hanky panky and she's dressed like a s.l.u.t. What else is new?"

"Look carefully at the video. That doesn't look like the woman I saw last night."

I looked at the shadowed photo carefully. "This woman has smaller b.r.e.a.s.t.s than Veronica," I said automatically. And then I gasped because that meant Greg was cheating on Veronica just like he'd cheated on me. "That sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.d. At least I can get rid of the guilt that it's something I did that made him cheat. Apparently he's just a horn dog."

Nick smiled and kept fast-forwarding. "Do you recognize her?"

I looked closely, but without seeing her face it was hard to be sure. "No, sorry. She just looks kind of generic. She could be a prost.i.tute or someone that Greg met at an insurance convention. Why don't you ask Greg who she is?"

"We'd love to, but Greg conveniently went out of town last Sunday and didn't get back until just before the gala last night. Veronica told us he flew out Sunday morning to a convention in New York, but when we checked the airlines we couldn't find him on a flight."

"Maybe he took the week off to spend with his new honey."

"Maybe. Or maybe he was running but had to come back to Whiskey Bayou to tie up a few loose ends. He does have a business here and a few remaining clients. Either way, we'll find out," he said. "As you can see, the booth was almost in complete shadow, and they got down to business pretty quickly. None of the floor security could see exactly what the woman was doing, but the security guy manning the cameras got an eyeful."

"Holy c.r.a.p. She was doing that to him in public?" I asked. I wasn't sure I was completely comfortable watching what basically amounted to p.o.r.n with Nick. "Okay, maybe you can fast forward some."

"Chicken." Nick squeezed the back of my neck, and he hit a b.u.t.ton so another view came up on screen. "At the same time Greg was getting serviced by the unknown woman, we have your princ.i.p.al getting a lap dance. The girl doing the service had her name legally changed to Destiny Dollar when she turned eighteen two months ago."

I watched Destiny writhe and shake around Mr. Butler and wondered how he was able to pay attention to what was going on on stage with all the flesh and feathers in front of him.

Nick paused the disc. "This is where Butler notices you on stage," he said with laughter in his voice.

"This is so embarra.s.sing," I said under my breath. I was grateful Nick didn't bring up the stage camera. I knew he'd seen it, but I was perfectly content not to relive the event.

Nick fast-forwarded some more and paused once again. "You've left the stage and Destiny can tell she's lost Butler's interest, so she takes his money and moves on to another customer. Butler stumbles out of his chair and heads for the bathroom, just past Greg's table, where Greg's sitting by himself again. They don't notice each other, or at least pretend not to. But look here," Nick said pausing the disc again. "Butler comes out of the hallway where the restrooms are like a bat out of h.e.l.l. Or like he's seen something he's not supposed to. Then he books it out of the front door to the parking lot. Greg looks at his watch again and throws money down on the table before he leaves, the mystery woman is nowhere to be found, and Girard Dupres slips out the back door to the alley. Bernard Butler is killed within the next few minutes and none of these people are accounted for."

"Couldn't it have been a stranger pa.s.sing through that killed Mr. Butler?" It was easier for me to believe that a stranger killed him than someone I'd slept with for a year.

"We're not ruling out the possibility," Nick said, cautiously.

"How does Girard Dupres fit into this?"

"Dupres has been under surveillance for running guns and money through The Foxy Lady. If he went outside to do business and Butler saw something he wasn't supposed to, Dupres or his clients wouldn't hesitate to kill him. They've done it before."

"So you're telling me I was engaged to a potential murderer and I went to work for an illegal arms dealer," I said as the blood drained from my face.

"Pretty much," Nick said unfazed. "You've got lousy instincts, but cheer up. I'm a good guy. You've made a step in the right direction by deciding to not have rebound s.e.x with me."

"Don't remind me," I said, feeling slightly ill. I remembered something else that had been bothering me. "What do you know about Robbie Butler?"

"After that scene he made at his brother's funeral ma.s.s I'd say there's a few pieces of silverware missing out of his drawer. He's obviously angry at a woman he thought his brother was seeing, but we didn't find any evidence Bernard Butler was in any type of relations.h.i.+p. Why?"

"I think maybe I was the woman he was talking about."

"So you're the Jezebel that led Butler to his death?" Nick laughed so hard I thought he'd fall out of his chair.

"You don't have to be insulting," I huffed. "I could be the kind of woman that leads men astray if I wanted to."

I was saved from defending my s.e.xual prowess by the ringing of the phone. Then I remembered that there was someone out there who liked to leave scary messages and take pictures of me without my knowledge.

Or it could be my mother on the line. I couldn't decide which person I'd rather talk to.

"Answer the phone, Addison. If it's the same guy as before, we'll deal with it. This is my job."

I picked up the phone with the care of someone holding a bomb that was about to detonate. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Addison Holmes?" a man asked.

"This is Addison."

"Oh, thank heavens. This is Victor Mooney."

I could hear his rapid breathing and wondered what he was doing.

"I have information for you regarding what we talked about. I don't want to tell you over the phone because I think someone has been listening in on my calls. I've made a few inquiries that might have made someone angry."

"Are you all right?" I asked concerned that I'd involved Mr. Mooney in something that I shouldn't have.

"I'm just a bit winded. I ran from my car to a pay phone so I could call you. Meet me at The Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church in half an hour. I've even got pictures," he said, sounding excited. "I've been giving some thought to getting my P.I. license ever since you came to talk to me. I haven't had this much fun in years."

"I'll meet you there, Mr. Mooney. Be careful," I said, but he'd already hung up.

We arrived at the Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church with five minutes to spare. The rain had started again but was just a miserable drizzle instead of a torrential downpour. I'd changed out of the soft cotton tank and shorts into a short denim skirt and a stretchy pink top, which might not have been completely appropriate clothing for church, but none of the fabric touched my numerous scratches or bruises, so G.o.d would just have to understand.

"Have you ever noticed how creepy churches are when they're empty?" Nick asked.

"No. Not until you mentioned it."

The gothic style cathedral was a cornerstone in Whiskey Bayou. Its flying b.u.t.tresses and stoic arches were intimidating enough to make even the worst sinners walk with a soft step past its doors. I kept expecting bats to swoop down, so I let Nick walk in front of me.

The church was empty as we made our way inside, and the little creaks and groans of the building settling around us gave me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s as we walked down the nave to the altar. My voice echoed through the empty room as I called out for Mr. Mooney.

"Maybe he changed his mind," Nick said.

"He said he thought someone had been listening to his phone calls. You don't think something happened to him, do you?"

We walked up the aisles and headed to the north balcony just to make sure he wasn't there.

"Nah. He could have gotten caught in traffic for all you know. You women always worry over nothing." Nick put his hands on his hips and his windbreaker s.h.i.+fted so I could see his gun.

"You're wearing a gun in church," I whispered, looking around to make sure there was no chance of getting struck by lightning.

"Honey, the only time I don't wear a gun is when I'm in bed or in the shower. You'll have an opportunity to see for yourself before too much longer."

Nick winked at me and I got a mental image of him wet and naked holding his gun. The euphemism wasn't so subtle that I didn't catch on. My body temperature spiked as Nick walked away with a whistle. It was a good thing I wasn't Catholic because I'd have to confess to having impure thoughts in a church.

"Where are you going?" I asked, jogging to catch up to his long stride.

"I'm going to check out the crypt and the graveyard and then I'm going to take you home and get you back in those tiny shorts you were wearing earlier."

"I didn't put them on to entice you," I said, exasperated. "I put them on because they were comfortable."

"I can promise you the fit of my jeans became decidedly uncomfortable as soon as you put them on. I've always considered myself a leg man."

"Should we stop by a Kentucky Fried Chicken on our way home?"

"You're a laugh a minute, Addison." Nick opened the heavy door that led into the crypt and would eventually lead to the cemetery behind the church.

"Surely he's not going to be in there," I said, backing up a little. "Why don't you check there, and I'll go around and meet you in the cemetery?"

"What's the big deal? Surely you're not afraid to be around dead people."

"Of course not," I said, insulted. The truth was I was terrified of being enclosed in a large cement room with dead people. Closed in. Underground. Surrounded by stone and concrete.