Читать книгу Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass - Heather Day Gilbert - Страница 3

BELINDA BLAKE AND THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS

I stroked the glossy top of a nearby rhododendron leaf, glancing around. The carriage house was bordered by a small grassy plot, surrounded by well-kept flowerbeds that backed up to an old stone wall. Although the house secretary had told me I didn’t have to weed my flowerbeds, I had an itch to do just that. Flower gardening was a passion I’d developed as a teen in Upstate New York, where I had acres to experiment with color groupings and flowerbed styles. But today I’d have to settle for yanking those nuisance blackberry sprouts the gardeners had missed.

I ducked inside to grab my work gloves, then set about pulling the lemony-green, thorny weeds up from the roots. I had worked my way halfway down the bed when I noticed something tucked into the thick boxwood hedge that ran along the stone wall. The red sole on the heel gave me pause. Could it really be a Louboutin? And only one of them? Maybe some of these nouveau riche youth had wild parties outside and didn’t even notice when they lost such an expensive shoe. How very Gatsby.

I snickered. I wouldn’t know the difference between a nouveau riche and an established gent in this town. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that even though my family was well-respected in Larches Corner, New York, no one cared who I was in Greenwich, Connecticut.

I grabbed for the patent leather heel, but it took only a split second for me to realize it was connected to something else. A tan foot.

And the foot was connected to a sleek, tan leg.

I dropped the heel like it was on fire, then stumbled backward onto the stone patio. I couldn’t make sense of what had just happened.

There was a body lying in my flowerbed.