CHAPTER 10It was lucky, Don thought, that she had been wearing practically nothing underneath that sea-green satin. No slip, nothing but a Bikini-like panty girdle and bra.
The dress lay burning on the black-tiled hearth, sending up a noxious cloud of yellowish smoke. Rina Baskoulos crouched by the big divan, whimpering and clasping the back of her neck; the smell of singed hair was strong.
The maid ran in, mewling consternation at the sight of her half-naked mistress, the sprawled, disheveled figure of Peter Baskoulos. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” She put clenched fists to her temples. “What…?”
“An accident.” Don retrieved the spool of wire. “Her dress caught fire. He rushed to help her, stumbled against the mantel.”
The maid whipped off her tiny apron, thrust it at the crouching blonde. “Will Miste
