7I stepped onto the concrete strip. Thick soupy air enveloped me.
I popped the trunk. Extracted the carry-on bag and spinner. Hauled them into the house.
The foyer was dim and way too warm.
I punched the code into the security panel. Shut the heavy front door and relocked it. Pushed the thermostat down to sixty-five degrees.
I unlocked and opened the side door to the garage. Vicky’s pearly white Jeep Patriot was parked in the slot by the door.
My chocolate-brown Volvo hugged the far wall.
I switched off the outside lamp. Hurried up a half-flight of stairs to the foyer level. On the far side, a matching flight of stairs led down to Marina’s suite at the rear of the ground floor.
Entering the dim lower-level room, my sandals sank into thick Merlot-colored carpeting. Matching drapes we
