Love Can Be Murder

slipped the shelf back into place with shaking hands, then scooped up the items and situated them back onto the shelves wherever they would fit. Men's toiletries were mixed in with the feminine items (a diaphragm, ew) and Jolie told herself that more men than Gary used Zirh brand premium shave gel. And old-fashioned razor blades. She fingered the packet and realized suddenly that a blade was thin enough and strong enough to loosen the screws on the picture frame.
    Carefully, she removed a blade from the package and was successful in loosening one screw before the blade slipped and slashed the fatty pad of her left palm. She dropped the blade, instinctively pressed her hand to her chest, and puffed out her cheeks, knowing before she looked that the cut was deep...and bloody.
    When she pulled it away, not only did the bleeding resume exuberantly, but the pain lit up her entire arm. She sucked air through her teeth, and looked for something to wrap around her hand. A stack of white fingertip towels sat on a cabinet. She grabbed one and held it against her hand until the bleeding slowed. Upon closer observation, the cut was only an inch long, but it throbbed unmercifully. Remembering the package of adhesive bandages she'd seen in a drawer, she appropriated three to cover the wound. Luckily, the damage was to her left hand, so she was able to restore order to the medicine cabinet, although Sammy would have to be in a stupor not to realize that things had been rearranged.
    She returned the picture frame to her purse, deciding it would go home with her. If it turned out to be unrelated to Gary's photo, she would return the picture to Sammy anonymously.
    Now, what to do with the mess she'd made? A bloody towel, Band-Aid debris. The paper went into the step waste-can. She used the towel to wipe down the white counter and the white sink, then wrapped it inside another small towel and stuffed the whole kit-and-caboodle into her purse. Only then did she get a look at herself in the mirror and saw the big, bloody stain on the silk cream-colored gown where her robe gapped open. She shrieked, which elicited another knock on the door.
    "Do I need to call someone for you?"
    "No!" she called, then gulped a calming breath. She was no textile expert, but she had a feeling that the only way to get blood out of silk was to cut it out. She closed her eyes, chastising herself. Her amateur sleuthing had led to ruining an eight-hundred-dollar nightshirt. She whimpered, thinking how many shoes she'd have to sell. Served her right for stealing clothes, crashing this party.
    She pulled herself up, thinking at least she had her commission from Beck Underwood's home to look forward to. If she hadn't completely blown it with him, of course. He didn't seem like the type of man who would take his business elsewhere because she wouldn't sleep with him, but then again, he didn't seem like the type of man who would do business with a nobody. So if this night was to be salvaged, she needed to leave feeling good about getting his business.
    She pulled her robe together and tightened the belt, relieved to see the bloodstain was covered as long as she didn't flash anyone. She stuffed her aching hand into her pocket, retrieved her champagne glass, took a deep breath, and emerged with as big a smile as she could muster.
    Beck straightened, his expression opening in relief. "If you ever want to make a man go crazy, go into the bathroom and start making a lot of loud, dangerous-sounding noises."
    "Sorry," she murmured. "I was looking for an aspirin, and her medicine cabinet exploded."
    That made him smile, and thankfully, he didn't notice her hand, or the fact that she kept glancing at her own chest every few seconds.
    "I guess we'd better go," she said, "before Sammy sends out a search party."
    He shuddered dramatically and she laughed as they walked into the hall
    "Thanks for the tour. Do you have an idea of where you'd like to live?"
    "Maybe midtown," he said. "Or downtown." Then he grinned. "Or maybe on a farm in Dalton."
    Her heart flooded with intense like. "That really narrows it down."
    He looked around and lifted his arms as they reached the landing that overlooked the enormous entryway on the first floor. Guests' voices carried up, bursts of laughter and clinking glasses. "Do you like this house?" he asked.
    She took in the grandeur around her. "It's a beautiful house."
    "Yes, but would you live here?"
    Her cheeks warmed. "That's something I'll