that he used to reach the main house.

 

The walls were sheer, no handholds, at least for an ordinary person lacking

climbing apparatus. The house rose four stories into the air.

 

The best views of the ocean were from the top floor. The sun would rise in the

east, and he felt confident the owner of this place would want to see it do its

thing.

 

He gripped an invisible crevice in the wall and started to climb, keeping his

body tight to the face of the house. His fingers and feet pushed into the

roughened surface, finding handholds where none existed.

 

The windows were dark on the second story.

 

On the third story he noted a dim light and took a chance looking through the

glass.

 

Suzanne Davis, Josh Quentin’s romp-in-the-sheets partner, was lying in bed, this

time alone. The covers barely covered her and evidenced quite clearly that Ms.

Davis opted for no clothing at bedtime even when she was riding solo.

 

Rogers kept going and reached the fourth floor. He veered horizontally against

the face of the mansion until he reached the window. It was open a crack, no

doubt to get the ocean breeze.