Without A Clue. Trish Jensen

maintaining the place had made certain the cleaning service was doing their job. He wasn’t into dust.

      His whistling stopped in mid-toot when he emerged from the tunnel of foliage and passed through the brick gates, and into the mansion’s cul de sac. There had to be ten cars parked in his driveway! What the hell?

      Pulling in to the first available spot, he cut the engine and practically leapt from the car. A scowl tugged at his lips as he passed car after trespassing car. It grew even fiercer when he looked up the steps between the giant columns to find the oak double doors thrown wide open.

      Racing up the stairs two at a time, all kinds of thoughts were scrambling through his head. Especially the one of how he was about to murder a Realtor.

      He reached the door and stopped dead in his tracks. The sight that greeted him nearly made his eyes bug out.

      Chaos reigned.

      2

      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