“That is, without question, the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” Ruby gave a start of surprise at the unexpected voice so close behind her and jerked the leash in her hand. Predictably, the dog on the other end—­a poodle shaved and trimmed into a series of white puffs like a Q-­tip—­didn’t move. Ruby had been holding on to her for over five minutes, and she had yet to see the dog do anything but blink. Her owner had commanded her to stay, so stay was what she intended to do. “I shouldn’t say that,” the voice continued in a low, flirtatious rumble. Its owner, a tall, well-­built stranger with shoulders like a linebacker, smiled as he stepped close. “I’m not supposed to play favorites, but you’ve obviously put a lot of time and effort into this dog. What’s his name?” “Her,” she said. “It’s a girl dog.” “Well, she’s got something special, that’s for sure.” The man extended a hand, his eyes smiling down into hers. They were gorgeous eyes, so dark they were almost black and ringed with the kind of long, curling eyelashes that Ruby had regularly pasted on when she was kid. “I’m Spencer Wilson, by…

“Sacked?” Witherspoon repeated. “And your family has no idea you no longer have a job?” Percy nodded. “That’s correct. I wouldn’t have said anything about the matter except you’re going to speak to my former employer. I know this makes me look very bad, but I assure you, I’ve nothing to do with my stepmother’s murder. I simply don’t like working. Well, that wasn’t the exact situation. It was more a case that my employer didn’t appreciate the hours I wanted to keep. Apparently, they expect you to be there from early in the morning until half past five or even six o’clock in the evening.” Surprised, Witherspoon simply stared at the man. It took him a good thirty seconds to recover and ask another question. “When were you sacked?” “At the end of September.” “You’ve been pretending to have a job since the end of September?” Witherspoon pressed. He wanted to understand, to ask how on earth anyone could possibly keep up such a tiring charade? But other than satisfying his own curiosity, the man’s employment situation probably had very little to do with Mrs. Andover’s murder. On the other hand, from what he’d learned of the dead woman,…