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psychologist, she thought. Trying to solve the jitters with an expensive Pinot Noir.
    She’d just stepped from the shower when she thought she heard the faint creak of a floorboard.
    â€œIs anyone there?” Rain was aware of the sounds old houses made. Feeling foolish, she wrapped a towel around herself, then opened the bathroom door and peered into thebedroom. It was unoccupied except for Dahlia, who’d returned to the rumpled coverlet and was basking in a fat streak of sunlight. The door to her bedroom that led into the hallway was half-open, but Rain couldn’t remember if she’d left it that way. A drawer in her dresser bureau hung agape as well, with silk undergarments in various shades draped over its edge like strands of Mardi Gras beads.
    Get a grip, she told herself, and went back into the bathroom to dress.
    Standing on the staircase twenty minutes later, she realized it hadn’t been her imagination. Oliver Carteris lounged on the chintz sofa in her parlor, sipping from one of her Wedgwood cups.
    â€œI made coffee.” His voice held a faint British accent, and his dark eyes reflected intelligence. “I needed the caffeine.”
    â€œYou’re early,” Rain pointed out. A half hour early. It unnerved her greatly that Oliver had managed not only to get through a locked door but also to bypass her home security system. She gave him a hard look as she came the rest of the way downstairs, then walked to the sideboard in the dining area, where she poured a cup of chicory-laced coffee from the thermal French press.
    â€œYou don’t wait to be let in?” She sounded tense as she came back into the room.
    Oliver gave a practiced shrug. His longish hair was glossy black, and today, shot through with streaks of red. Despite the New Orleans heat, he had on dark jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that advertised an industrial-metal band. Scuffed leather boots were on his feet. Since he didn’t seem interested in moving from the sofa, Rain sat in the armchair across from him.
    â€œWant to tell me how you got in here?”
    â€œOld houses.” He nodded toward the glass-paneled door. “Piece of cake to snap the locks.”
    Rain knew about Oliver’s background of B and Es that were part of his sealed juvenile record. Now that he was eighteen, however, the predilection was causing considerable concern for his father, a respected cardiac surgeon.
    â€œAnd my security system?” she asked.
    â€œYou keep the pass code taped inside a cabinet door in the kitchen.”
    â€œYou’ve been going through my cabinets, too?”
    â€œJust looking around.”
    Despite the casual discussion, she felt furious that Oliver had sneaked into her house and had been snooping. But she’d spent months trying to build a rapport with him, and she was hesitant to lose the progress they’d made.
    â€œWe need to have a discussion about boundaries, particularly when it comes to my home, Oliver. Did you take anything from my bedroom?”
    â€œI wasn’t in your bedroom.” Avoiding her gaze, he picked at the black polish on his fingernails.
    â€œIf you were, just tell me—”
    â€œI said I wasn’t there.” He glowered at the chandelier that hung from the parlor’s high ceiling. “This is bullshit.”
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œThese lame counseling sessions.”
    â€œI’m sorry you feel that way.” Rain placed her cup on the end table. “I was under the impression our sessions were helpful. Regardless, your attendance is court-ordered—”
    â€œWho’s David?”
    The question came from out of the blue. “Why?”
    â€œGo look for yourself.” Oliver pointed to the kitchen. Rain stood and walked through the arched entrance. On the counter, under the iron pot rack that held Celeste’s prized coppercookware, was a bouquet of lavender roses. It lay on its side, wrapped in tissue