Whiskey Tango Foxtrot: An Addison Holmes Mystery (Addison Holmes Mysteries Book 5)

by Liliana Hart

  “Why am I following her if you know she’s cheating?” I asked.

  “I don’t care about the cheating,” he said. “I care about her running her yap to Fat Louie. I don’t got time for her alive, but I got even less time for her dead. There’s all kinds of shit you gotta do when someone dies. I’m a busy man. Besides, you seen the titties on that woman? Ain’t no coffin gonna hold those. Have to have one special made. That shit’s expensive.”

  “I always wanted titties like that,” Scarlet said. “Maybe I’ll buy some.”

  “No, girl,” Mo said, patting her thigh. “Your titties are just fine once you find them.”

  “Kill me now,” I said and turned into the drive-thru for the donut shop. The line was long, but we moved through pretty quickly. By the time I got to the window to order I was feeling a little like Michael Douglas in that movie where he went batshit crazy and started bashing everyone’s car window’s in with a baseball bat.

  I ordered a dozen assorted for Mo and Scarlet, and a chocolate eclair, a bear claw, and an apple fritter for myself. I needed specialty donuts. And a large black coffee.

  I figured the safest thing to do was change the subject. “What kind of insider information do you have about the black market organ transplants?” I asked.

  “That’s why I called you. Ugly Mo knows all about that black market stuff,” Scarlet said.

  “That’s true,” Mo chimed in. “I deal in black market everything. Even groceries. You want me to sign you up for our grocery box service? You pay a monthly club fee and then you get a box of groceries delivered to your door once a week. Whatever is in the box is what you get. Depends on what the trucks are delivering and how accessible they are, if you get my meaning. It’s a real popular service.”

  “How much is it?” I asked. I was kind of interested. I was living on a budget, and I hated to go to the grocery store.

  “Hundred bucks a month. But I’ll give you the family discount since you’re Miss Scarlet’s niece.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “You hear what happened to Anthony Dunnegan?”

  Mo laughed and slapped the top of his thigh. “Sure did. Everybody hates that dude. Nobody gonna care if some shyster lawyer gets his kidney stolen. It’s a damn shame they didn’t take something more permanent, know what I’m saying?”

  “Actually, I do,” I said. That was one of those injustices of the world, that a man like Jonathon Hunt was killed, but Anthony Dunnegan was left to keep wreaking havoc on the world. “What about a guy named Jonathon Hunt?” I asked. “He had his heart taken while on vacation in Hilton Head.”

  “Don’t know nothing about that,” Mo said. “But I know about a lady up in Atlanta that was killed a few years back. That’s when the talk first started, so it’s been going on a while. Word is they’re looking for rare donors and hunt them down. The asshole lawyer and the other dude, they got anything in common?”

  “Both O-negative blood type,” I said. “Both white males over the age of forty. Each married with a couple of kids. And both are wealthy. What did they take from the woman in Atlanta?” I asked.

  “Heart,” he said. “Every once in a while, Ugly Mo will get a client that needs something special. I’m like a broker, you might say. I take a small upfront fee and then put people together to make the magic happen. But those kinds of deals are rare,” he said, shrugging. “Not everybody gonna need a hard-to-get organ, but those donor lists are long and people will pay big bucks to get theirs before anyone else.”

  “What kind of big bucks?” I asked, finishing off my second pastry.

  “Depends on which organ. A kidney’s going to go for less than a heart or lungs. But prices start at a quarter of a mil.”

  “Holy cow,” I said. “That’s steep.”

  “That’s the cost of livin’,” he said with a shrug.

  “Not everyone can afford those kinds of prices,” I said.

  “Black market is black market for a reason, no matter what the product. People from the projects ain’t the clients. Gotta have money to even get a whiff of who to contact for those kinds of services. And there’s hardly ever direct contact. People gotta use brokers like me. It’s a delicate business.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  “Where are we heading?” Scarlet asked. “We’re free until this afternoon, so we can give you a little added muscle. It’s not every P.I. that gets the combined experience the two of us come with. We’re a real asset.”

  I smiled and finished my third pastry. “We’re going to the Olde Pink House,” I told them. “I want to see if anyone remembers the woman that lured in Anthony Dunnegan.”

  “Girl, you ain’t going to find these people. They’re long gone by now. Like smoke. Can’t even get in touch with them the same way each time. You have to wait for them to contact you.”

  “Well, shit,” I said.

  “Pretty much,” Mo agreed.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Olde Pink House was, in fact, an old pink house.

  It was on the corner of Abercorn and East Bryan, and directly across from Reynolds Square. It was a little after ten o’clock, so the restaurant wasn’t open for business yet and there were parking places available street side. I chose an empty side of the street and took up two parking spots.

  “If we stay long enough they’ll be open for lunch,” Scarlet said. “I could really go for a chicken pot pie.”

  “You just had a whole box of donuts!” I said.

  “It’s the munchies. That medicinal marijuana really kick starts the appetite.”

  I tried not to think what the three of us looked like as we approached the front doors of the restaurant. If I was inside and saw us coming, I’d lock the doors. But when I pulled on the handle it came right open.

  It was quiet inside, and voices came from the direction of the kitchen along with something that smelled delicious. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have lunch if we were still here when they opened.

  There was a young girl at the front dressed in black pants and a crisply pressed white dress shirt. She had on a bowtie and her blonde hair was neatly braided and hung over one shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re not open for lunch yet,” she said with a smile.

  “I just need to speak to the manager,” I told her.

  She shot a wide-eyed look at Scarlet and Mo and then hurried back to the kitchen area. A few minutes later a man approached us and held out his hand for an introduction. He looked pressed for time and a little annoyed to be interrupted, but he smiled and held out his hand to shake mine.

  “I’m Richard Drake,” he said. “Lisa said you wanted to speak to the manager.”

  And then he saw Mo standing behind me.

  “Mo,” the manager said with a grin. He let go of my head and went to shake Mo’s, slapping him on the shoulder in greeting. “I wasn’t expecting you today. The hostess didn’t know it was you. This is her second day. We’re trying her out on the lunch shift so she can get the hang of things. We can go ahead and seat you for lunch.”

  Ugly Mo gave him a beaming smile. “We’d love that, Rich,” Mo said. “My lady friend has her sights set on some chicken pot pie. This is Scarlet Holmes and her niece Addison,” Mo said introducing us. “Addison here is a private investigator and she’s following a few leads. She needs to talk to you a bit, and then we’ll be happy to stay for lunch.”

  “Of course,” Richard said. “Whatever you need. Let me get a table set up and we’ll get comfortable.”

  Richard left us in the entryway to get things set up for early lunch visitors and I stood there, goggling at the difference in Mo’s demeanor.

  “What’s up with the fancy talk?” I whispered.

  Mo grinned. “That’s why I’m successful, girl. You gotta know your mark. I can’t talk to a brother in my neighborhood like that. He’d laugh his ass off. And I can’t talk to Rich like a brother. He wouldn’t be setting up a table for us right now if I did. But Mo keeps relationships with all kinds of pe
ople, because you never know when someone might owe you a favor or two.”

  “That’s wisdom right there,” Scarlet said. “Us Holmes women like to leap before we look. It’s in the blood. And we almost always land on our feet. Except for my great grandmother, who was pushed from the sixth floor of the Cosmopolitan Hotel by her husband when he discovered her in bed with his business partner. She landed smack on her head.”

  That story always gave me the heebie-jeebies. I’d seen pictures of Abigail Holmes. She looked a heck of a lot like I did.

  We settled in at a table near the fireplace and Richard Drake joined us. From out of nowhere goblets of water appeared and Ugly Mo had a Whiskey Sour in his hand. I had to give him props for being able to drink like that before eleven in the morning. Freshly baked cornbread muffins and butter were put in the center of the table, and the donuts I’d just eaten magically disappeared as my appetite came back.

  “Are you acquainted with Anthony Dunnegan?” I asked Richard, while slathering one of the muffins with butter.

  “I’m acquainted with his firm,” Richard said. “All of the partners use this restaurant frequently for lunch and dinner meetings. They actually have an expense account set up with us.”

  “He was here for dinner Friday before last,” I told him.

  “Sure, I remember him coming in. He met with a couple of clients here in the dining area. I remember because Anthony showed up about fifteen till six, but the ladies he met didn’t show until almost six-thirty. I wouldn’t have known, but he was angry about his clients and said some very inappropriate things to his waitress. He’d also been drinking a bit, so that contributed.”

  I couldn’t say I was surprised to hear it.

  “The waitress came back into the kitchen crying, so I went out to speak with Mr. Dunnegan to see what the problem was. What it comes down to is that he’s just an impolite, distasteful man. I was polite to him because I knew he’d make a scene if I said what I really wanted to, and his clients finally came in about that time, so I left it alone. But the next morning I called the firm and talked directly with Craig Capshaw. I let him know what happened and that if it happened again, Anthony wouldn’t be allowed back as a guest, even if that meant the entire firm blackballed us. Craig apologized and said he’d take care of it.”

  “Did you recognize the women he met?”

  “No, but they were dressed sharp. Intimidating is what came to mind. And intelligent. And they looked like they’d had enough of Anthony Dunnegan. They didn’t even stay for dinner. They told him what they had to say and then left. I don’t think they were there for more than half an hour. Then he was really pissed. Tossed a twenty down on the table, which didn’t even cover half of their drink tab or the appetizer he ordered, and got up. He knocked his chair over and his face was beet-red. Like I said, he was mad.”

  “I hope I never meet this man,” Aunt Scarlet said. “I might have to use my shoes on him.”

  Richard looked confused by that announcement, but that’s only because he didn’t know that a click of her heels under the table might stab him in the foot.

  “We kept an eye on Dunnegan,” Richard continued. “He went into the bar and sulked for a little while. I had Brad add what he didn’t cover at the table to his bar tab. And I added a gratuity for the poor girl he made cry.”

  “That’s good thinking,” Scarlet said. “I like you.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “How long did Dunnegan stay at the bar?” I asked.

  “That, I don’t know. It was a Friday night dinner rush, so I got busy. By the time I had a chance to look up it was eleven o’clock and he was gone. But I knew Brad would’ve come to get me if things had gotten rough.”

  “I don’t supposed Brad is available to talk?”

  “Sure. I’ll grab him for you and cover the bar a few minutes. We’re ready to open for lunch. It was nice to have met you,” Richard said to me and Scarlet. “And Mo, lunch is on the house today. It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you too, my friend.” They shook hands again and Richard headed toward the bar to get Brad.

  “How do you know him so well?” I asked Mo.

  Mo grinned and ate the last corn muffin. “That’s Ugly Mo business right there, girl. Why don’t you come work for me? I pay a lot more than you’re making now.”

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “That’s probably not a good idea. I’m thinking about getting engaged to a cop. The high chance of me going to prison might look bad for him. And I look terrible in orange.”

  “You’re thinking about getting engaged to a cop?” Mo said incredulously. “Why you want to go and do that for?”

  “You’re back to your ghetto talk,” I said.

  “That’s my native tongue,” he said. “Marrying a cop is a horrible idea. It’ll never last. Cops always have three or four wives. This guy divorced?”

  I sat up very straight in my chair and twisted my napkin in my lap. “He was only married for a few months. It shouldn’t even count as a marriage,” I said primly, but there was a gnawing feeling in my stomach. And it wasn’t because of the donuts.

  “Uh huh,” Mo said. “So you’ll be number two. And you can bet there will be a number three and four. They work horrible hours and are addicted to the rush. That’s no kind of life for a nice young lady like yourself.”

  “I don’t know about all that cop stuff he’s talking about,” Scarlet butted in, “but I don’t think you should do it because marriage is horrible. Why would you want to get married? You’re single and free. Marriage just intensifies people’s bad habits until you want to murder them in their sleep.”

  “If marriage is so horrible then why did you get married five times?” I asked, irritated with both of them now.

  “Because I’m a romantic at heart,” she said immediately. “Except you can’t get too attached because sometimes they die. That’s especially true if you marry a cop.”

  Fortunately, Brad walked up about that time and I was saved from having to think about that statement too much. I worried about Nick every day. Just like I’d worried about my dad every day. It wasn’t always an easy job to love someone who loved to serve and protect. But they deserved to love people who could stick with them through it all.

  Brad was rail-thin and had dark hair that he’d slicked back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had a full mountain man beard and wore black-framed glasses. I think he was a hipster. He wore black slacks, a pressed white shirt, and a bowtie like the other employees, but he also wore a pair of black suspenders. I figured he only got away with it because he was the bartender.

  “Mr. Drake said you guys wanted to talk to me,” he said, taking Richard’s vacant seat.

  The restaurant had opened and people were coming inside to be seated.

  “My name is Addison Holmes,” I said, giving him my business card. “I just need to ask you some questions about the Friday night last week that Anthony Dunnegan was sitting at the bar.”

  “Yeah, what an asshole,” Brad said, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “Excuse my language.”

  “Relax, boy,” Scarlet said. “Only boring people and nuns don’t cuss. I’d toss priests into that lot, but I met Father Cameron when I went to Scotland one summer and that man knew more ways to use the Lord’s name than anyone I’ve ever known. ‘Course, he was using them when he was in bed with me, so maybe it was more of a repentance thing, now that I think about it.”

  “Is this for real?” Brad asked. “Are we on Candid Camera?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I said. “Tell us what happened with Anthony that night.”

  “Not much to tell, really,” Brad said with a shrug. “He sat on the barstool on the far right and ordered a gin and tonic. He’d already had two at the table and you could tell he just wanted to get drunk. He was mad about something, and a real dick to me and one of the other bartenders. Mr. Drake told me to keep an eye on Dunnegan and let him know if there was any
trouble, so that’s what I did.”

  “Dunnegan mentioned a woman who came in and sat next to him. Do you remember her?”

  Brad laughed and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose again. “Do I remember her?” he asked. “I’ll never be able to forget her. She was something else. Everyone in the bar was staring at her, men and women both.” He rubbed his hand down over the length of his beard in an oddly soothing motion. “It was pretty crowded in the bar, and the only empty barstool was next to Dunnegan, because every time someone tried to sit there he was so awful to them they got up and left. So she sat and ordered a martini.

  “It looked like she was waiting for someone, and she kept checking her phone. I felt kind of sorry for her after a while. I mean, I’m talking about a seriously gorgeous woman. Who would stand up somebody like that?”

  “A question for the ages,” I said, thinking of my own experiences of being stood up. “Did Dunnegan try to talk to her?”

  “It was the first time all night he was tongue-tied. We all were. She looked just like…”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Wonder Woman.”

  “I would’ve loved to see her in nothing but her magic bracelets,” Brad said.

  “I did a photo shoot similar to that about seventy years ago,” Scarlet said. “They called them pin-ups back then.”

  “Whew, I would’ve liked to have seen that,” Mo said, winking at Scarlet.

  “I’m happy to show you next time you visit.” Scarlet batted her eyelashes flirtatiously and I was pretty sure they were holding hands under the table, because their chairs had somehow gotten closer together.

  I coughed loudly and covered my mouth with my fist, yelling, “Stop it,” amid the coughs. There could not be more nights between them. Scarlet was ninety years old, for cripe’s sake. She was going to break a hip or something. I took a sip of water and apologized for the coughing fit.

  “How long did she stay?” I asked.

  “They both had a couple more drinks,” Brad said, shrugging. “And I guess she got bored because she finally started talking to him. It wasn’t too long after that they asked for the tab and left. He paid both tabs, but I figure it was only because he was trying to impress her. I offered to call a cab for them, but they said they were going to walk. I figured they might go to the park or something or try to catch their own cab. I didn’t see where they went after that.”