It was just after quarter to seven when Jenner pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of Stella Maris, Maggie Craine’s house.

Palace, really, he thought. An old mansion roofed with terra cotta tile, the big white house glowed against the overcast evening skies. It had a commanding view straight down the Promenade past all the other big white houses. The estate was surrounded by high cream stucco walls; tall palm trees peeked over the wall. Behind the black gates, a white gravel carriage drive flowed around an oval lawn with a large fountain, where water splashed down through tiered white marble bowls stained with moss.

Jenner pushed the button on the security phone and waited in the blue glow.

A red light flickered on over the camera, and a voice said, “How may I help you?”

“Dr. Jenner for Ms. Craine.”

There was a brief silence; Jenner imagined them checking out his Hyundai.

“Thank you, doctor. You’re expected.” There was a buzz, and a high-pitched grinding sound as the gates swung open. “Please park in the main house lot—that’s to the left; if you go right, you’ll end up in the pool house lot, so please make sure to take the left.”

Jenner followed the drive left, into the house lot, screened from the house by a thick wall of box privet and shade trees. Of the dozen parking spaces, four of the six nearer the house were filled—the household’s cars, Jenner assumed. There was a maroon Bentley convertible, a steel-gray Lexus SUV, Maggie’s vintage Mercedes convertible, and a new navy blue Volvo station wagon.

Jenner followed a path through the hedge, discreetly sign-posted, emerging onto a side garden, the house up ahead to his right. To his left was an immaculately groomed grass tennis court, the chalk lines an eerie, gleaming white at dusk.

Floodlights suddenly turned the walls of the house pale gold. Inside, the building was filled with light, every window lit, light spilling out over the grounds, throwing shadows from the tall palms and ornamental shrubs.

Xanadu.

His cell phone buzzed.

“Doctor? It’s Deb Putnam, from yesterday?”

Christ.

“Deb! God, I’m sorry! I had such a crazy day that I just came home and crashed. I totally forgot—I’m really sorry.”

She laughed softly. “No problem—I thought it was probably that.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at Cormo’s. I waited at your office for a while, then thought maybe you came here directly. I didn’t want to disturb you—I figured you might be held up with something important.”

“I’m really sorry.” Jenner paused. “I don’t think I can do it tonight—I’m completely wiped out. Can I get a rain check?”

“Oh sure! Really, no problem at all, I completely understand.”

“Okay, good. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can make a plan.”

“Sounds good.” She hung up.

He shook his head. Christ.

“Jenner? Never keep a lady waiting—particularly this one!”

Maggie Craine was standing on the terrace at the top of a short flight of stone steps. She was wearing a fitted white silk dress, cut simply to emphasize her shape and her legs; on other women, it would’ve seemed formal and constricting, but she made it effortless and light.

“You like?” She smiled at him, and did a half-twirl. “Tonight Miss Craine is wearing James Perse.”

Jenner smiled back, and Maggie lifted up her hem to kick up a heel. “And Prada.”

She had a tall glass filled with ice and mint in her hand.

He said, “Sorry about the delay. Work call.”

“If you can drag yourself to the top of these steps, I’ll give you a mojito.”

“After the day I’ve had, I’d crawl up those steps for a mojito.”

“Stop giving me ideas!” Maggie took one step down. “Come on, I’ll meet you halfway.”

“That’s not halfway.”

“Well, you better get used to it—this is the Craine version of halfway.”

Jenner stepped up and took the glass from her.

“Welcome to Stella Maris.”

“Thanks.” He took a sip; the drink was strong, sweet, the mint stiff, the rum bracing.

He gestured to the mansion. “It’s kind of weird to think people actually live here.”

She laughed. “Promise you’ll say that to my dad!”

Maggie took Jenner by the arm and walked him along the gravel pathway; Jenner felt the cool drape of her clunky gold charm bracelet on his wrist.

The house was beautiful, classically Palladian, but it was the grounds that set Stella Maris apart. The landscaper had terraced the land into two lawns at slightly different heights, skillfully interrupting the formality of the gardens with palms and shade trees.

Jenner said, “This place looks like Versailles would if Louis XIV had built it in the Caribbean.”

She giggled. “Oh, tell my father that, too!” She plucked the glass from his hand and took a sip. “You’ve been to Versailles?”

He nodded. “I lived in France for a year before I went to medical school.” She raised her eyebrows. “Long story—French girl, love, heartbreak, reunion, lather, rinse, repeat.”

Ahead of them, a man in a white jacket and black pants was lighting torches along the path.

Maggie said, “And? Still lathering?”

Jenner grinned. “Nope, not for a few years now.”

“Good!” She squeezed his arm tight.

They turned the corner at the back of the house onto a stone veranda. On the lower terrace, torches flared among white stone columns and arches around a large swimming pool. Underwater lights turned the pool a luminous blue, its surface rippling and chopping as a man swam laps in an urgent freestyle.

“Your father?”

“Yes.” Maggie nodded, her eyes mischievous. “I wonder if he’s ready for public consumption…”

He followed her down to the pool.

She called out, “Daddy! Are you decent? We have company…”

Chip Craine glided in to slap the concrete by her foot, then tapped a button on his watch. He tugged his goggles off and looked at his watch. “Forty-two. Good enough!”

He peered up at Jenner. “This the doctor?”

“Yes, Daddy. Are you decent?”

“Decent? Maggie, he’s a doctor!”

Craine stretched up a hand; Jenner caught it and leaned back as Craine pulled himself up onto the slate flagstones. He was impressively lean, and even more impressively tan.

And naked.

“Daddy!” Maggie hid her face behind her hands, giggling. She turned away and said, “Jenner, excuse my father—I’m afraid this is one of his ‘eccentricities’…”

Her father snorted. “The doctor doesn’t care, darling. He spends his days looking at naked men, isn’t that right, doctor? Hand me my towel, will you?”

Jenner said, “Something like that,” and handed Craine the towel. “Although they’re usually a little paler.”

Craine barked a laugh. “Ha! You see, Mags? The doctor doesn’t care.” He toweled off, grabbed a big white terry cloth robe and wrapped himself in it. “All right, darling, it’s safe. Daddy’s decent again.”

“Don’t you believe him, Jenner! My father doesn’t have a decent bone in his body…”

“What’s wrong with the human body? Doctor, perhaps you can help Maggie with her issues—I’ve spent a fortune on her therapy and she’s gotten nowhere…”

Maggie squealed and slapped his shoulder. “Jenner, ignore him. My father’s the sort of person who’ll greet my date stark-naked and then make us miss our dinner reservation…”

“Okay, all right, I’m going!” Craine shook his head stoically. “You two have a drink on the patio while I dress.”

He nodded at Jenner, and slipped past Maggie toward the house; there was a yelp as he goosed her.

“Daddy!”

They watched him head up the terrace to the house. There was a fresh pitcher on a side table, but Maggie insisted on sharing Jenner’s mojito.

Jenner was thinking: “Date.”