Free Never Sleep With Strangers by Heather Graham

youth, there was no reason to assume Jon might have any remaining interest in her whatsoever. Her reputation wasn’t exactly a sparkling one.
    She rose for more coffee. V.J. came up beside her, offering her cup to Sabrina to fill, as well.
    â€œAh, you’re watching our host,” V.J. whispered to her as Jon greeted Camy and Joshua, listening to some of their last-minute instructions.
    â€œHe’s an intriguing man,” Sabrina said noncommitally.
    â€œAnd, of course, the question remains—is he a murderer? Does Susan really think so? Except I’m sure Susan wouldn’t think of Cassie’s death as murder. To Susan, if Jon did kill his wife, it was justifiable homicide.”
    V.J. shrugged, sipping her coffee. “Honey, to half the people here, killing Cassandra Stuart would have constituted a public service.”
    â€œLadies!” Reggie admonished from behind them. “We’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead.”
    â€œEven if the dead caused tremendous ills?” Joe Johnston whispered from behind her.
    â€œSabrina,” Camy said, walking across the room to her. She stopped, flushed and corrected herself. “Ms. Holloway.”
    â€œSabrina, please.”
    Camy flushed again. “Your envelope. You only get to know your character now. You’ll get instructions later regarding what you’re supposed to do and where you’re supposed to go.”
    â€œGreat, thanks.”
    â€œDo you have mine, dear?” V.J. asked.
    Camy gave V.J. hers, then handed Reggie her envelope, as well.
    â€œOuch!” Reggie exclaimed, looking up. She smiled. “I’m the Crimson Lady, a stripper, trying—or pretending—to reform.”
    â€œGreat,” Thayer Newby groaned, flexing his muscles. “I’m the effeminate male dancer, JoJo Scuchi.”
    â€œJoJo Scuchi?” Brett said with a laugh.
    â€œCheck yours out,” Thayer warned him.
    Brett read the letter in the envelope and made a face. “I’m Mr. Buttle, the butler. Number two on the New York Times list, and they make me the butler!” he groaned.
    Sabrina, reading her sheet, began to laugh.
    â€œAnd who are you, my dear?” Brett demanded.
    â€œThe Duchess. I run the church choir,” she told him.
    â€œOh, now that is apropos. The lady who ran naked from her honeymoon suite,” Susan said, staring at Brett. “Neither of you has ever explained that situation,” she reminded him smugly.
    Sabrina had lived with what had happened for a long time now, but she still felt her temper rising and her cheeks reddening, especially since she realized that Jon had been watching the exchange. Waiting for a reply?
    Or perhaps not, because he was the one who responded to Susan. “And I imagine they don’t feel they owe you an explanation, Sue,” he said.
    Susan opened her mouth, then quickly shut it, lifting her chin.
    â€œAh, but Susan,” Joe Johnston said, reading over Sabrina’s shoulder, “the Duchess runs the choir by day—and a high-class call girl outfit by night!”
    â€œHey, it’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it,” Brett declared. “Does the butler get to be in on it?” he asked.
    â€œThe butler always did it, you know,” Reggie teased.
    â€œI mean in on the sex,” Brett said.
    â€œYou would,” V.J. said with a sigh.
    â€œYou know I’ve always wanted to make it with an older woman,” Brett stated.
    â€œOlder than what?” V.J. demanded tartly.
    He smiled innocently. “Older than God, darling. That’s you, isn’t it?”
    â€œCute, boy, cute!” V.J. sniffed.
    Dianne Dorsey suddenly started laughing. Sabrina leaned past V.J. to look at her. As usual, Dianne was in black. Black denim shorts, a ruffled black blouse, black socks and black hiking boots. “You’ll never guess who I am.”
    â€œWho?” V.J. obligingly