“Is that what the accent is? Welsh?”

“Gorgeous, isn’t it? But be that as it may, I think . . .”

She trailed off as they heard that distinctive click of high heels on tile.

The first thing Malory noticed was the hair. It was black and short, with thick bangs cut so blunt they might have required a ruler. Beneath them, the tawny eyes were large and long, making her think of Waterhouse again, and his faeries. She had a triangular face, glowing with what might have been excitement, nerves, or excellent cosmetics.

The way her fingers kneaded at her little black bag, Malory went with the nerves.

She wore red, stoplight red, in an abbreviated dress that clung to her curvy body and showed off terrific legs. The heels that had clicked along the tile were a good four inches high and sharp as stilettos.

“Hi.” Her voice was breathy and her gaze was already flicking around the room. “Um. She said I should come right in.”

“Join the party. Such as it is. Dana Steele, and my equally baffled companion this evening, Malory Price.”

“I’m Zoe. McCourt.” She took another cautious step into the room, as if she was waiting for someone to tell her there’d been a mistake and boot her out again. “Holy cow. This place, it’s like a movie. It’s, um, beautiful and all, but I keep expecting that scary guy in the smoking jacket to come in.”

“Vincent Price? No relation,” Malory said with a grin. “I take it you don’t know any more about what’s going on than we do.”

“No. I think I got invited by mistake, but—” She broke off, ogling a bit when a servant entered with another flute on a tray. “Ah . . . thanks.” She took the crystal gingerly, then just smiled down at the bubbling wine. “Champagne. It has to be a mistake. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to come. Where is everybody else?”

“Good question.” Dana angled her head, charmed and amused as Zoe took a small, testing sip of champagne. “Are you from the Valley?”

“Yes. Well, for the last couple years.”

“Three for three,” Malory murmured. “Do you know anyone else who got an invitation for tonight?”

“No. In fact, I asked around, which is probably why I got fired today. Is that food just to take?”

“You got fired?” Malory exchanged a look with Dana. “Three for three.”

“Carly—she owns the salon where I work. Worked,” Zoe corrected herself and walked toward a tray of canapés. “She heard me talking about it with one of my customers and got bent out of shape. Boy, these are terrific.”

Her voice had lost its breathiness now, and as she appeared to relax, Malory detected the faintest hint of twang.

“Anyway, Carly’s been gunning for me for months. I guess the invite, seeing as she didn’t get one, put her nose out of joint. Next thing I know, she’s saying there’s twenty missing from the till. I never stole anything in my life. Bitch.”