Читать книгу Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass - Heather Day Gilbert - Страница 8

Chapter 1

The first time I saw Stone Carrington the fifth, I had a snake wrapped around my neck.

Now granted, he acted as if it was something he saw every day, a girl with unwanted snakeskin accents in her curly blonde hair.

“Pet-sitting,” I explained, trying to extricate myself from the ball python I had agreed to “walk” for his owner. “They’re supposedly a relatively mild breed,” I continued.

“I should hope so.” He dipped his tennis visor in a fake bow. Unfortunately, he had emerged from the tennis courts at the exact moment the snake had started climbing me like a tree. “Stone Carrington. And you are?”

“Belinda Blake.” I felt the need to over-explain, one of my persistent habits. “I’m your new tenant. In the carriage house. It’s lovely, by the way.” The snake had stopped wriggling, so I walked a bit faster toward my small house. Why had I chosen to walk up the main drive for another gape at the Carringtons’ mansion?

Stone gave me a once-over as the snake moved again. I was sure my ripped jeans, worn Crocs, and gamer T-shirt didn’t impress, but I was yanked from my self-conscious musings as the python slithered over my shoulder and disappeared down my shirt. I launched into the dance of death, jerking about like Elaine from Seinfeld.

“Here, let me help,” Stone said, making an arguably decent attempt to extricate the wriggling creature from my shirt by wrapping both hands around its tail.

The snake gave a low hiss and slid down further.

“Never mind,” I said hastily, pulling my shirt up and throwing modesty to the wind so I could see the snake’s beady eyes. “Grab its head! We have to grab it!”

Stone was a bit too hesitant as he obliged, and the snake lunged at him.

“It can sense our fear! Just call animal control or something!” I shouted. The snake’s patience was probably exhausted and soon he would start nibbling on me.

Stone did as I said, pulling an expensive-looking cell phone from his white shorts, which must’ve been a bit chilly in November. Still, the shorts managed to show off his naturally tan legs.

The snake continued his horrifying quest to cozy up somewhere on my torso until one of the older gardeners approached us. “Pardon my intrusion, but you are having trouble, no?”

“Yes. Could you help get this thing off me?”

The swarthy-skinned man began to tell a story with his hands. “When I was a boy, I spent many hours playing with snakes. You have to sort of sneak up on them and”—here he grabbed the snake by the head, tugging gently until it loosened its grip on my shoulders—”you grab their neck, like so.” He held it aloft, triumphant.

“Thank you, Jacques.” Stone slipped his phone back into his pocket and crossed his arms, probably hoping Jacques wouldn’t hand him the snake.

“Let’s get him back in the cage,” I suggested.

“Perfect,” Stone said. Relief showed in his aqua eyes.

I led them into my house, which was still full of half-unpacked boxes. I hadn’t even unrolled my favorite, albeit threadbare Indian rug. It would add a nice touch to the wide-plank pine floors.

The snake’s cage was more like an oversized fish tank and the top was tricky to open, but it didn’t take long for Jacques to transfer the willing captive into his preferred bed.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “Are you around often?” I wanted to send him a thank you card.

“Most days I am, mademoiselle.”

I found Jacques’s French accent charming and I dusted off some of my high school French. “Merci beaucoup for your help today.”

Jacques extended a rough hand and I placed mine in it. He lifted my hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “Enchanté.” Giving me a wide smile, he strode back to his work.

Stone seemed a bit shell-shocked, watching the snake winding his way into a ball. “You really are a pet-sitter? For snakes?”

I nodded. “And other animals. I try to be flexible—it pulls in a different clientele than your average dog or cat sitter, though they’re on my roster, too.”

“Greenwich clients?” He pushed his visor up to see me better, which shoved his dark bangs into an artless puff that was adorable.

Although Greenwich, Connecticut, had its share of wealthy pet owners, I’d already built up my business in Manhattan. “So far, my jobs have been in the city, but I do plan to start advertising locally.”

Stone nodded seriously. “Word of mouth is likely the best advertisement. I’m happy to put in a good word for you with my friends. Just give me the go-ahead—you can call up to the house and ask for Stone.” He paused. “Well, you’ll need to ask for Stone the fifth, otherwise they’ll connect you with my father.”

I maintained a straight face. Stone the fifth. I didn’t have to guess what a boon Stone the fifth’s word of mouth would likely be. He was doubtless well-connected in Greenwich, with a name like that and a mansion like the one behind my carriage house.

I walked him outside, grinning. “Sure. If nothing else, you can see I’m really hands-on with my clients.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How long are you on duty with the snake? And why aren’t you watching him at his own home if you’re sitting him?”

“I agreed to take him for outings,” I muttered.

“Outings?”

“I mentioned I had moved to Greenwich and his owner thought that would be an excellent way for...” I struggled to remember the snake’s name. “For Rasputin here to enjoy life, with nice long walks in the sunlight and extended sleepovers in Greenwich.”

Stone laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, he really did believe it would be therapeutic for this aging reptile, like a spa day.”

“Actually, I meant you’re kidding me that someone named his snake after a sadistic maniac like Rasputin.”

“Takes all kinds,” I said, trying to tamp down a full-on grin.

“Okay, well, I was on my way to a match, but I hope I’ll see you around again. You’re quite an interesting tenant, Belinda Blake. Enjoy your new home.”

I waved. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other.”

He nodded before loping off in an elegant, tennis player way.

After walking inside and giving Rasputin a major scolding through the Plexiglas, I brewed myself a third cup of coffee before deciding I could use more sunlight. Ever since I’d moved to Greenwich, I’d had a hankering to be outside. It was a nice switch from my previous studio apartment in Manhattan.

I’d tried to maximize my small yard space by setting up a cheap red bistro table on the stone pavers on the back side of the house. It did bring a sort of international flair to my humble new abode. Anticipating a warm cup of coffee and time to wind down from the snake incident, I threw on a lightweight hoodie and walked around to the back patio.

I dusted off the metal chair and sat down. Taking a long drink of creamy coffee, I found my thoughts returning to Stone Carrington the fifth. The initial impressions I got from him were: wealthy but humble, friendly but cautious, and handsome but not obsessed with his looks.

All this added up to one conclusion. Stone was some kind of delicious enigma. It was strangely comforting to run into a wealthy person with nuance.

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.

Struggling to my feet, I didn’t take time to clear my head. I ran, willy-nilly, toward the manor house. I needed to let my wealthy landlords know there was a dead body in my back yard.