High Heels and Homicide by Kasey Michaels Page B

good, extraordinarily good. In his element. Relaxed, in charge.
    Perhaps even a tad smug.
    â€œDon’t look so damn happy.”
    Definitely a tad smug. He smiled at Maggie. “I admit to being very nearly giddy. But am I being that obvious?”
    â€œYou’re wearing Regency clothes, standing in a room that could be a Regency Era drawing room. You’re surrounded by adoring fans who have spent the night hanging on your every word. Yeah, it’s obvious. It’s also sickening. I feel so out of place with all you Regency folk. ”
    â€œTabby and Bernie and Arnaud and Sir Rudy aren’t in costume,” Saint Just pointed out reasonably. “Nor is Joanne, our resident harridan, nor our resident scribe, present company excepted, nor our little gofer. Oh, and the robin.”
    â€œThe who? Oh, wait a minute. You mean Byrd. Ha! And I thought you hadn’t noticed. Jealous, Alex?”
    â€œOf precisely what, my dear? The man is a hopeless poseur.”
    Maggie pushed slightly against him. Once, twice. “You’re jealous. Jealous, jealous. Because he’s gorgeous. In an asexual sort of way. I imagine, though, that he’s the kind that would appeal to both sexes. Bernie’s already asked me if I had an idea as to which way he swings.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?” Saint Just asked, cocking one eyebrow. “And I say that with the fervent hope that you and I can both pretend that neither of us knows to precisely what Bernice referred.”
    â€œDon’t worry. She only said that because he isn’t paying her any attention. Not that he’s shying away from Boffo girl. Want to bet where she spends the night?”
    â€œI’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that one at all. Why this fascination, though, may I ask?”
    Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know. Sir Rudy said there’s no television because Arnaud made the workmen take down the antennas or dishes or whatever because of the outside shots, and I don’t feel like reading. I can’t work because somebody talked me into leaving my laptop in New York. So, this is by way of entertainment.”
    â€œYou’re easily amused. No television machines? Ah, now we really are being thrown back in time, aren’t we? I know, let’s have a real Regency evening, shall we? Tabby can play the piano, and Sterling can sing for us.”
    â€œLet me see, how can I say this? Okay— no . We are not having a sing-along. How about cards? We could play cards.”
    â€œOr another game,” Saint Just said, watching as Joanne shot visual daggers at Byrd Stockwell’s back. Odd, that. Was she afraid he’d ask to be put on this thing called an expense account? “Let’s the two of us figure out why our keeper of the expenses is so put out with the nephew, shall we? The looks she’s been sending in his direction all evening are enough to curl the man’s toes in his tasseled shoes. Have they met before tonight, do you suppose?”
    Maggie watched as Joanne, with one last searing look at Byrd, who was busily romancing a very willing Nikki, grabbed up her notebook and all but flounced out of the room. “Maybe. I don’t know. How long has everyone else been here? No, wait, that doesn’t matter. Sir Rudy introduced Byrd to everyone. He wouldn’t have done that if Byrd had been here before tonight. And Sir Rudy doesn’t seem to be very happy he’s here now, if you ask me. Anyway, Joanne’s boring. What else have you got?”
    â€œNot a whacking great deal, I’m afraid. I rather enjoy Sir Rudy. Now, he has previously met Joanne, in London, I believe, which is how we all got to be here rather than in California. He offered his estate at no charge, and Joanne jumped at it. The woman does seem to enjoy pinching pennies for her employer.”
    â€œSo that’s how they got to be shooting the film here? I didn’t know that. And Sir