Free Mayhem at the Orient Express by Kylie Logan

but (both weather- and
     murder-wise), I made sure I wiped the salsa off my mouth before I went to the door.
     As it turned out, I was glad I did. First impressions are important, after all, though
     come to think of it, I don’t think I’d ever made the sort of first impression the
     woman on my front porch did.
    I was wearing my sweatshirt, jeans, and, since they were the closest footwear to the
     door when I slipped off my boots, my pink fuzzy bunny slippers.
    She was cocooned in a sable coat that brushed the tops of her knee-high leather boots.
     Alligator—I’d recognize it anywhere, even in the midst of a blinding snowstorm—and
     the three-inch-high heels made her tower over six feet.
    I’d scooped my hair back into a ponytail, the better to man the blender, but it’s
     pretty rambunctious hair to begin with, and great curling wisps of it had already
     escaped my ponytail holder and were whipped around by the wind.
    In spite of that stiff wind blowing off the lake, every strand of her brown chin-length
     hair was perfect. Just like her manicure, her makeup, and the hoop earrings crusted
     with diamonds that winked at me in the light of the porch lamp.
    The perfume she’d ladled on? Not so perfect, at least to my nose. But plenty expensive.
     I caught a hint of jasmine and vanilla and wondered if she wasn’t sniffing the air
     around me and picking up on the unmistakable aroma of lime and tequila.
    “Ms. Cartwright?” The woman’s voice was sultry and just a tad condescending. But then,
     there was the whole tequila/messy hair thing. “I was told you might have a room available
     for the night.”
    When I said, “Of course,” my words were blown away by the wind, so I motioned her
     to come in and I shut out the storm.
    “The electricity is off on most of the island,” she said, sighing with satisfaction
     as the warmth enveloped her. “I heard you had a generator and were open for business.
     The roads are terrible. I was sure I was going to get stuck out there somewhere.”
     She jiggled shoulders that were wide for a woman, but in perfect proportion with the
     rest of her body.
    “You’re not the only one who’s been stranded,” I told her. “But your timing is just
     right. I’ve got a couple extra guests, but there are still three rooms left.”
    I told her the rate, and this time, I didn’t offer a special weather-related discount.
     Like I said, sable coat, alligator boots.
    “I’m so glad I got here when I did. The weather’s getting worse and worse.” She offered
     a hand encased in a leather glove and I shook it. “Mariah Gilroy,” she said by way
     of introduction. “I threw some essentials into my tote bag . . .” She had the leather
     tote slung over one shoulder, and she touched a hand to it. “That way, I could leave
     my suitcase in the car.”
    “If you’d like me to get it . . .” I’d already stepped toward the door when she stopped
     me, one hand on my arm. Which, come to think of it, was a good thing. Bunny slippers,
     remember.
    “I wouldn’t ask anyone to go out in that weather. Not for anything. Like I said, I’ve
     got everything I need for tonight. I’ll worry about the rest of it in the morning.
     For now, if you could just show me to a room, I would be forever grateful. I need
     a long, hot bubble bath to thaw out.”
    I waved her toward the stairs and let her climb up ahead of me, and it wasn’t until
     I turned to follow her that I realized we had an audience.
    From the doorway of the kitchen, Chandra grinned and gestured up and down, one hand
     flat, her fingers splayed, as if to say
ooh-la-la!
    Kate nodded. I suppose that was her way of congratulating me for not offering Mariah
     a reduced rate.
    Luella grinned and gave me the thumbs-up.
    I hurried and caught up to Mariah at the top of the steps. I was right when I said
     her timing was good; now that the three suites at the front of the house were filled,
     Suite #4, the first door to the