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in the library so I can make last-minute addresses. Lennon, up to the third floor. Ellen, you head down the west wing.” She pointed to a nearby hallway. “The suites have nameplates so you’ll know which is yours. Ta-ta, dears.”
    Lennon rolled her eyes. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
    Before Ellen had a chance to reply, Miss Q shooed them off. “Go. I want you to see your suites.” Then, with a swish of her huge plaid skirts, she hurried off in the opposite direction.
    Easily locating the garden suite, Ellen knocked tentatively, reluctant to meet whoever was inside. Lennon had explained that this grand opening training session hosted Josh’s company, Eastman Investigations, where two of his investigators were in serious need of teamwork training. Knowing Miss Q, Ellen might very well wind up rooming with a total stranger.
    After receiving no response, she tried the handle, and found the room unlocked and her luggage already in the entry.
    â€œHello, anyone home?”
    No answer.
    From the doorway, she could see a sitting room with two sets of French doors opening onto a garden. Through the windowpanes, wisteria bloomed, lush against the backdrop of an ivy-covered wall that enclosed the garden to a courtyard.
    The sitting room was simply furnished with several antique pieces in a deep gold upholstery, a sofa, a small dining table, a desk and a set of artfully arranged chairs in front of the fireplace. A spacious area that made her feel a little better about sharing her space.
    The suite passed muster. Would the surprise roommate? “Hello?”
    Still no answer.
    Smooth strains of a familiar jazz piece emitted from within the bedroom, and while Ellen silently complimented her new roommate’s musical tastes, she recognized the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Great. Should she call out to let her roommate know she wasn’t alone? Or close the door?
    Ellen hated awkward situations almost as much as she hated surprises. She’d just decided on the closed door, when a pair of Top-Siders beside the bed caught her eye.
    Top-Siders?
    What woman wore Top-Siders? The thought stopped Ellen cold. The last time she’d accepted Miss Q’s hospitality after Lennon’s wedding, she’d been set up….
    Heading into the bedroom, she took in the toiletries on the dresser and the garment bag hanging from the closet door in one glance. She stopped in front of the shoes.
    My, what big feet you have, my dear.
    Ellen knelt to inspect them, staring at the well-worn shoes as if they might actually launch into dialogue to explain who they belonged to. But in keeping with thetheme of solving mysteries, Ellen had already divined two telling clues.
    One, that slightly gamey aroma suggested their owner wore them frequently without socks, and two, her new roommate was a man.
    Why on earth would Miss Q ensconce her in a one-bed suite with a…
    An awful, awful thought struck her when she remembered Mr. Muscle-Butt from the convention. Surely Lennon wouldn’t have colluded with Miss Q when she’d known Ellen wasn’t interested.
    I want you to have fun while you’re visiting.
    Staring at those shoes, Ellen wished they could talk, because she needed to know if she’d been set up again.
    The shower spray shut off, and a quick glance revealed the bathroom door wide open. Whoever was in there—and she desperately hoped it wasn’t who she thought it was—would step out of the shower— naked —and see her.
    Ellen had this wild urge to drop the shoes and race out of Félicie Allée, not stopping until she hit the highway. But she just knelt there, shoes in hand, panicked, like a squirrel staring down a two-ton SUV.
    The shower door skidded across the track and a hand—definitely male—reached out to grab a towel from a nearby rack.
    Then her roommate stepped from the shower.
    One gorgeously muscular leg appeared at a time,