In fact, the swimming had made me ravenous. I wanted to eat, but instead I fled the room and slipped up the smooth wood steps to the second floor.

I wasn’t going to be stupid and reckless tonight. I knew I shouldn’t try to help Ray. But Zania’s comments about her father and his past had made me curious. He had known James Compton well. He wasn’t coming home until later. As long as I didn’t spot a surveillance camera, I might wander into the wrong room, momentarily confused, or maybe a little nosy about a famous guy’s digs, on my way back downstairs. I would stick to my timeline, and my timeline would keep me safe.

The bathroom smelled faintly of sage. I turned on the light and fan and closed the door, to signify occupancy, and tucked my dry clothes in the linen closet. Anyone coming upstairs would assume I was inside, changing. Then I tiptoed down the hall, entering a cloud of acrid maleness and dust, the scent of a bachelor’s house. There were two other doors. At the end of the corridor, one was ajar enough to allow me to spot the edge of a bed.

I peered in at the bedroom, sweeping the ceilings and corners first. No cameras. The decor looked like it had been designed by the same eye as Nelson’s gallery office—it had a geometric black-and-white theme, understated but masculine, tasteful enough but yielding no clues to the owner’s true personality. A light fur of dust coated two photos, one of Nelson holding baby Zania, and another of overlapping shadows on a rocky beach, a taller and smaller figure. Father and daughter.

I scanned the ceiling corners again, then stepped in and slid open the door of the closet, cringing at the whooshing noise. The scent of dry cleaning gusted from a neat row of suit jackets, white and pastel shirts, ties dangling from a special hanger. The man had his wardrobe hyperorganized. Or maybe he had a house cleaner who liked taking garments to the cleaners and hated dusting. At any rate, the lack of clutter intrigued me. Everyone has a bit of junk they overlook or stash away, but this closet held only essentials, each one in its place. I was about to peek behind the suits when there was a noise in the hall.

I froze, hand extended, breathing the chemical odor of Nelson’s clean clothes.

What would I say if someone came in?