Whiskey Lullaby (Addison Holmes Mysteries #7) - Liliana Hart Page 0,7

got comfortable on the couch. She scooted all the way into the corner and her legs stuck straight out like a little kid’s.

“I saw a couch like this once in a porno,” she said. “It was an orgy couch. You have orgies here?”

“Not that I know of,” I said, scrunching my nose in disgust.

“Just as well,” she said, clicking her tongue. “I never enjoyed them much. I’m one of those women who likes to be the center of attention.”

“No kidding,” I said.

“I’ve decided I like being stateside,” she said. “And it’s important at my age to only do things you like. They don’t even put ice in their sodas on the ship, and they changed their policy on topless sunbathing. I can’t have tan lines. I bought a backless gown at Ralph Lauren to wear in the spring. If this blasted weather ever clears up.”

“I’m going to put on a pot of tea,” I said, so I didn’t have to think about Scarlet’s tan lines. “Do you want some?”

“No, but I’ll take a mimosa,” she said.

“We’re fresh out of mimosas,” I told her.

“I guess I’m still used to the cruise ship. I like my routine. What have you got that’s the next best thing?

“I’ve got coffee and Bailey’s or straight-up whiskey.”

“I’ll take the whiskey,” she said. “It’ll keep me warm when we go out later.”

I felt a headache brewing right between my eyes. I hadn’t planned on spending the day driving Scarlet to do errands. Especially not when I couldn’t have a glass of wine at the end of the day.

“What are your plans today?” I asked. “Do you need a ride to your hotel?”

“I’ve got a couple of errands,” she said. “But your guest room will be fine as far as accommodations. Do you have room service?”

“Guest room?” I asked, fear snaking down my spine. Nick was going to divorce me. Ours would be the shortest marriage on the planet.

“Are you daft, girl?” she asked. “Of course your guest room. I’m not going to bunk with you and Detective Hot Buns. I need my beauty rest, and newlyweds are far too active. I’ve been married five times, so I know about such things.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“I can’t stay with your mother,” she said. “I’d kill her, and I’m too old to go to prison. They don’t let you kill people now like they used to. Social justice or some shit like that. My luggage will be delivered tomorrow.”

“Umm, I…” I couldn’t think of a thing to say. And I knew there was no use arguing. “I thought you always stayed at the Ballastone when you come to Savannah?”

“Well, there was a small hitch with that,” she said. “Ever since I became notorious and wanted for the murder of Big Mo, I’ve been blacklisted at the Ballastone.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” I said, pouring the whiskey over ice and then handing her the glass.

“Semantics,” she said. “It could’ve been because the last time I brought Big Mo back to my room for a night of passion the walls and furniture incurred some damage. But I paid for it, so I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Big Mo had been a Savannah crime lord for as long as I could remember, and the police had never had enough evidence to charge him with anything. He tried to kill me, but I wouldn’t have been able to prove it. A couple of months ago, someone took matters into their own hands and threw a Molotov cocktail through Mo’s window and set him on fire.

No one had said the words out loud per se, but I was almost a hundred percent positive the person responsible was Scarlet. The justice system worked too slow to her way of thinking, and she wasn’t one to let anyone hurt her family. It was probably best she moved around a lot.

“You know what I’d like?” she asked.

My tea finished steeping and I added milk and honey. “What’s that?”

“I’d like some cake to go with my whiskey. That’s just the thing on a morning like this.”

Now that she mentioned it, I wouldn’t turn down cake. “I’m going to shower, and I’ll be back down in twenty,” I said, carrying my tea with me to the stairs.

“Take your time,” she said. “You look terrible. You must be having a girl.”

“Why would you say that?” I asked.

“Because girls suck the beauty right out of you,” she said.

“That’s an old wives’ tale.”

She raised her brow and slurped her whiskey. “Not from where

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