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premises.”
    â€œNo, ma’am, they’re allowed to leave—they just ain’t allowed to leave town. In fact, they’re all off to the Market to buy souvenirs—just like nothing had happened—except for them Greeks.”
    â€œFraternity kids? Here?”
    The marbles got another good workout. “These ain’t kids. These is real Greeks. Papa-something istheir name. Wanted me to cook them some lamb. You ever eat lamb, Mrs. Timbersnake?”
    It was my turn to laugh—a ladylike chuckle, of course. “That’s Timber lake . Timbersnake was my first husband. But yes, I’ve eaten lamb many times.”
    â€œIt stinks, don’t it?”
    â€œNot if it’s fresh and prepared properly.” I sucked in deeply but was unable to retrieve my words. “A nice tender leg of lamb with mint jelly—but it’s definitely not for everyone.”
    To my relief, she nodded in apparent agreement. “Well, I got to get them rooms cleaned while the folks is out. But you can talk to them Greeks if you want to. They’re in the King George room above the carriage house. But you might want to stomp on the stairs or something, and let them know you’re coming before you knock. You know how it is with them foreigners.”
    I couldn’t resist. “No, how is it?”
    â€œAlways having sex, that’s what.”
    â€œIs that so?”
    â€œThat’s why there’s so many of them.”
    â€œI’ll definitely have to put a stop to that,” I said, “or the next thing we know there’ll be big fat Greek weddings popping up all over the place. The smell of lamb will permeate the city. Vegetarians will have to flee for the sake of their nostrils. Beef prices will plummet and—”
    â€œYou making fun of me, Mrs. Timbershake?”
    â€œAbsolutely—not. Well, I’d better get to it.”
    She gave me a cynical look, straightened sagging shoulders, and marched off to strip linens and scrub toilets.
    I didn’t bother to stomp on the stairs. I weigh less than a hundred pounds, and with my tiny feet, I’d sound more like a palmetto bug than anything else. These bugs are merely a variety of roach, and are essentially harmless, but they are the SUVs of the insect world. Although not quite the size of cats, I have been known to trip over them. Tourists invariably freak when they see them. If frightened badly enough, the guests in the King George suite might greet me at the door with a can of Raid. Maybe even a baseball bat.
    Â 
    The only thing that appeared to be imminently dangerous about the man who opened the door was his brilliant white smile. I am a sucker for tall, dark, handsome men, and although I am happily married to one, that doesn’t always stop me from lusting in my heart. Sometimes, even, the feeling extends to my loins—although that’s as far as it gets. How fortunate I am to be a somewhat lapsed Episcopalian and don’t flog myself with chains of guilt. Besides, I’m sure Greg has similar thoughts when he sees a pretty woman.
    This dude in particular was worthy of a littledrool. His nearly black hair was nicely accented by silver sideburns, and he had a cleft in his chin that rivaled that of Kirk Douglas. His brown eyes were alert and intelligent. And not that it really mattered, but he appeared to have his financial ducks in a row as well. That is, if the heavy gold chains and Italian suit were already paid for.
    â€œAh, you must be the masseuse,” he said.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œPay no attention to Nick,” a female voice behind him said.
    A second later a tall woman pushed the gorgeous man aside. Thanks to Botox, beauty is no longer just skin deep, but even then it is wrong to judge folks on their natural physical attributes. Perhaps I may be given leeway, in light of that fact there appeared to be very little that was natural about this woman.
    Her pinched