Читать книгу Without A Clue - Trish Jensen - Страница 10

MEG WAVED as best she could at their new arrival. He looked a little dumbfounded, which was probably natural, considering she was using an unconscious man’s hand to deliver the greeting. But her corpse was her only tool at the moment. The rest of his sprawled self had the rest of her sprawled self plastered to the marble floor.

“I’ll be right with you,” she kind of grunted, as she heaved with all her might until Mr. Brogan rolled off her body and ended up spread-eagled on his back.

Now another dilemma presented itself. How to gracefully rise from the floor in a skirt that wasn’t constructed to give much leeway unless she hiked it up around her thighs. So thinking quickly, she rolled onto her stomach pushed to her knees, then one leg at a time got to her feet.

She ran a hand through her hair before turning around to face the newest guest. For some reason his lips were slightly parted and he was staring at her midsection. She had the feeling he’d just taken in an eyeful of her butt poked high in the air.

She jumped over Terence, her hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Megan. Are you the butler?”

“Excuse me?”

“One of the paid guests?”

“Excuse me?!”

Meg dropped her hand, seeing as he looked too dumbfounded to shake it. He was really cute, but apparently a little dim. “Are you lost?” she suggested. That was a better option than an escapee from a mental institution. Last time she checked, they didn’t have any straitjackets on hand.

His brown eyes cleared a little and he shook his head. “No, but you must be. I’m Matt Rossi and this is my property.”

Meg took a step back, took a deep breath, then plastered a smile on her face. “Thank you so much for renting it to us.”

“I didn’t rent it to you.”

“Well, um, yes, you did.”

“I think I would know, don’t you?”

Okay, he wasn’t all that cute. Well, he was, but in a downer sort of way. “We signed a contract.”

“Who are we? I know I didn’t sign anything.”

Terence Brogan began to moan pitifully, and Meg glanced around to see all the witnesses frozen like statues, including Tina. This wasn’t good. “How about we go to my office and talk about this?”

Both of his brows lifted. “Your office?”

Nope, he wasn’t in the least bit cute. His hair was too black and his jaw was too square and his nose was crooked. Meg conceded that his mouth was sexy, but what came out of it wasn’t. “Yes, my office. At least for the duration of our…of the lease.”

“Well, then, by all means, let’s go to your office.”

MATT WAS FLOORED. It had been like walking into a Laurel and Hardy movie that was freeze-framed. Everybody who’d been in motion had gone still, and the one still person had arisen from the debris of the wreckage and taken charge.

He needed to regroup fast. Except, the woman who had risen from the carnage had a smile that could scramble eggs. And his eggs needed to stay intact. As far as he could tell, his home had been invaded without his consent. And apparently this brain scrambler was claiming they had legal permission to invade. If she was right, there was going to be one hurtin’ Realtor in Charleston.

“Follow me,” the woman said, as if he needed a guide.

Gladly, he decided after catching the view.

She led him down the maze of hallways to the study. His study. Which she had confiscated and turned into her office.

He seemed to vaguely take in that she was chatting pleasantly the entire time. But scrambling did strange things to his brain because all he was digesting were words like “murder” and “guests.” He wasn’t into murder as a rule and he most definitely wasn’t into guests. Any guests.

They reached the study and she took command of the desk as if she owned it, smiling while she offered him the guest chair.

If she hadn’t used the smile, he might have tossed her straight out the bay window. But her mouth and face were weapons he had a hard time overcoming.

She had rust-brown hair that fell in wisps to her jaw, and gray eyes that defied description. She smelled good. And that butt moved right. He’d never known there were wrongs and rights in butt-moving before, but he knew right when he saw it swaying in front of him.

Nonetheless, she was an intruder, and therefore had to be considered the enemy.

“Mr…?”

“Rossi. Matt Rossi. And this is my house, Ms…?”

“Renshaw. But call me Meg. And we’re thrilled to be able to use this spectacular house for our mystery weekend.”

“Don’t be so thrilled. You have no right to be here.”

“As I said, we’ve signed a lease,” she said, rooting through a file drawer.

“That my agent had no right to draw up.”

She pulled it out, still serene as all get-out. “He told us he has the authority to sign off on anything to do with the maintenance of this house.”

She was right, but he wasn’t willing to concede that easily. “Renting it to intruders technically is not maintenance.”

“We’re not intruders. We paid for the privilege to use it.”

That fact finally hit him. “Is this your first time here?”

“Yes, it is,” she said, smiling even brighter. “And it’s perfect.”

Matt took the lease from her hands and perused it. “You know, I could have you evicted,” he said, between clenched teeth.

She nodded. “You go right ahead and begin eviction proceedings first thing in the morning. By my calculations we’ll have been gone at least three weeks by the time they come to toss our butts out.”

Right again. As long as they’d signed the lease in good faith, it would probably take weeks before he could legally have them kicked to the curb. This wasn’t good. “Okay, the lease says that you pay for cleanup and any and all damages that might occur during your occupancy.”

Her mouth popped open and she waved at the papers. “You barely glanced at that thing. How do you know that?”

Matt shrugged. “I read fast.”

“Wow, that’s pretty impressive.”

He’d question her sincerity, but her smile actually did look genuinely impressed. And he knew she knew her rights, so she wasn’t trying to butter him up. Still, he felt a twinge of pride. “Here’s the deal, I’m not leaving. I’m staying to protect my investment.”

Ms. Renshaw nodded. “You’ll have a great time. And it only costs—”

“Don’t even try it.”

“—not a dime for you! Have fun on us.”

“And I, of course, will be staying in the master bedroom,” he added, trying to grab back some control over this untenable situation.

She pursed her lips and her brow furrowed. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. The murder victim is going to be the owner of the mansion. It wouldn’t do to have him found in a guest room.”

“Kill him off in the kitchen.”

She shook her head, and the light from the bay window showcased every single nuance of highlight in her hair. “Owners of mansions don’t generally even know where the kitchen is.”

He was about to argue until he realized that even he wasn’t exactly sure where the kitchen was. “Off the dining room?” he ventured to guess.

“Do you even know where the dining room is, Mr. Rossi?” she asked, sweet as cream pudding.

“Right off the kitchen,” he answered her, getting a little irritated she was grilling him. More irritated he didn’t know the answers. After all, this was a big house. “How about killing him off in the dining room?”

She shook her head. “The script calls for him being found dead in his bed. In the master bedroom bed.”

“Meg,” a woman said, striding into the study, a look of complete consternation on her face. “We have a problem.”

Matt recognized her from the foyer. She was tall and skinny with a face that might be pretty if she smiled once in a while. Great, he had a smiler and a frowner on his hands. Both female. It almost felt as if he was caught in a cosmic estrogen tornado.

“Tina, this is Mr. Rossi, owner of this property,” Ms. Renshaw said. “Mr. Rossi, Tina Brown.”

“Hiya,” Ms. Brown said, with a perfunctory smile, which vanished instantly. “Meg, Mr. Brogan isn’t going to be delivering any speeches anytime soon. He’s really whacked out on those drugs.”

“You have drugs in my house?” Matt said.

“Prescription,” the Renshaw woman said quickly. She tapped her jaw. “Root canal.” She looked from him to Tina. “We’ll have to improvise. Maybe he can play the silent but sinister butler. This isn’t a problem.”

“Meg, we need a corpse. One that can read his lines.”

Matt couldn’t figure out how a corpse would need lines, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Megan Renshaw began tapping her lips with one finger. Then her head swiveled in his direction. “Are you as quick at memorizing as you are at reading?”

Uh-oh. “Well, technically, I guess. But—”

“And you want to sleep in your own bed in the master suite, right?”

“Since I own the place, I think I have the—”

She thrust out her hand. “Hello, Mr. De Wynter.”

“We’re dead,” Tina Brown muttered.

“No, but he will be. Eventually.”

Matt stared at the woman who was turning the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen on him. “I hope you mean that figuratively.”

She grabbed his hand and pumped it. “You’re hired.”