Free High Heels and Homicide by Kasey Michaels Page A

Why, he even looks so much the writer, doesn’t he? Isn’t this wonderful, Cleo ? I imagine you two will have so much to talk about.”
    Now, sometimes Maggie said bite me , out loud, so everyone could hear her. But sometimes she could say bite me without actually uttering a word. Her facial expression was more than enough. This was one of those times.
    Still, when she did speak, it was to say hello to Sam Undercuffler, smile politely, ask him to please call her Maggie, and agree that it was wonderful that two writers could be here, each with their own hand in the creation, as it were.
    Poor girl. That had to have been painful.
    â€œWell, come on, come on, there’s lots more to meet,” Sir Rudy said from behind them, actually giving Sterling a little push so that he stumbled farther into the room.
    â€œI’ll take care of this, Sir Rudy. Thanks anyway,” Arnaud said, then clapped his hands. “Okay, people, listen up. It’s introduction time. Raise your hand when I call out your name, and let’s get this over with. I’ve got things to do.”
    â€œAnd yet again…charming,” Saint Just said quietly.
    â€œYeah,” Maggie agreed. “I feel so warm and fuzzy…so wanted.”
    â€œOkay…right. Here we go,” Arnaud continued, either slightly deaf or just not caring what anyone else might say; Saint Just was fairly certain it was the latter. “You met the writer. Sam, back up, you’re blocking my view. Okay, over there. The tall guy who looks like an English valet? He’s our English valet, Clarence. Real name, Dennis Lloyd. Raise your hand, Dennis.”
    The man bowed, and Sterling waved to him.
    â€œNext up, Sterling Balder.”
    â€œHullo?” Sterling said, his arm still raised in midwave.
    â€œI don’t think he means you, Sterling,” Maggie said, squeezing his hand.
    â€œThat’s me! Over here on the couch! Perry Posko, otherwise known as Sterling Balder.”
    Saint Just looked at the actor, then at his own Sterling Balder. They were very nearly a match, from their likewise thinning hair to their spectacles, to their pudgy waistlines, to the open, trusting grins on their faces.
    â€œGood casting,” Maggie said. “Clarence and Sterling both. That’s encouraging, right?”
    â€œI imagine so,” Saint Just said, leaning closer to her. “I do have a few reservations about the gentleman in front of the mantel. Is he wearing makeup?”
    â€œTanning booth. Bet you,” Maggie said, then shut up when Arnuad pointed to a rather tall, definitely dark gentleman who seemed to be studiously ignoring everyone.
    â€œEvan? Over here, Evan. That’s Evan Pottinger, our Lord Hervey. The villain, but you know that.”
    Saint Just bowed yet again. “Delighted, I assure you.”
    â€œCompletely and totally unimpressed, I assure you ,” Pottinger drawled, then turned his back on everyone.
    â€œMethod actor,” Arnaud said. “He’s getting into the role. Everybody thinks they’re De Niro. Evan wants to wear the costumes and everything. Wants everyone in costume. Pain in my ass, that’s what he really is.”
    â€œHow very droll,” Saint Just drawled as well, amused, and certainly not ready to reveal that he had no idea what a method actor was. “I believe I should like to see that.”
    â€œWell, you won’t. Period costumes cost a fortune, and we’re only renting them from the company that supplied Sense and Sensibility . I’m not going to have anyone dribbling gravy all over them.”
    â€œAh, my good sir, a true gentleman would never dribble.”
    â€œToo bad, gorgeous. Because I could lick it all up for you,” the leotard-clad beauty said from the floor, so that Saint Just had no recourse but to look at her, watch as, catlike, she uncurled herself and stood up. “Hi. I’m Nikki Campion, and I’m the love