That's what it was. Who would bring her roses? Not to mention sneaking into the house to leave them. A florist would have left them on the back step.No, maybe not. She pulled at her earlobe. The open door could have seemed like an invitation. Who knew what people did here? Maybe they were so at home with each other, they just walked into people's houses without knocking.After all, Eugenia had, earlier. But she had been chasing her bird.Frowning deeply, Leslie ran upstairs to get her purse. The house seemed undisturbed, although her nose twitched when she reached her room. Was that roses she smelled up here? She wasn't sure, and the scent could be drifting through the open French doors from the overgrown garden.This room was the master bedroom, with a large bathroom next door. She had removed the dust covers and made up the bed with linens from another closet in the hall yesterday afternoon. Good thing she'd done that in daylight; otherwise she'd have been poking around in the dark last night when the apparent short circuit had made her nervous about the lights.She closed the French doors, and let the roller shutters cover them against the sunshine that turned rooms into saunas by midday.
