“Excuse me,” Izzy called while still across the street. She glanced for cars and then broke into a light jog.

The woman startled, clutching her purse where it swung at her side. Izzy held up her hands, palm out.

“Hi, I’m Detective Isabel Santiago,” Izzy said, as soothingly as possible. “I’m working on a case in the area. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

The introduction was enough for the lady to loosen the white-knuckled grip she had on her strap but also earned Izzy a thorough up-and-down perusal. The woman had thick, straight eyebrows that turned her face severe—a look that was not helped by her tight, pinched lips.

“Do you live here?” Izzy asked when the silence passed the point of socially acceptable.

That earned Izzy a quick jerk of her head. “No,” the woman finally said. Her voice was deep, almost surprisingly so. But it fit with the too-broad shoulders and the square jaw. “Let me see your ID.”

Izzy pulled the leather case that held her badge, number, and picture, and held it up and open for the woman. She leaned in to study it, her hazel eyes slipping from it to Izzy’s face more than once. Izzy didn’t mind. She actually wished more people would be as careful when she told them who she was.

Finally, the woman nodded once and straightened. “I don’t live here. I’m just the home nurse, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Teresa.”

Izzy knew no last name was forthcoming.

“Are the owners home?” Izzy asked, turning a bit toward the house.

In her peripheral, Teresa shrugged. “Yes. But I doubt he’ll be able to answer your questions.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“He sleeps more than anything these days,” Teresa said as she started toward the stoop, digging in her purse. She pulled out a large ring with more than a dozen keys jangling together. With the efficiency of someone who was familiar with the place, Teresa unlocked the door and began switching on lights in the foyer even as she dumped her bag on a side table.

“Are you here all day?” Izzy asked, for lack of anything better to say. If the owner was out of it, there wasn’t much she was going to get from her time here.

“Hmm, yes,” Teresa answered, her back toward Izzy. “Vera comes at night. Our schedules are off by about an hour.”

Izzy nodded even though Teresa was already heading toward the kitchen. So she hadn’t gotten lucky; she hadn’t really expected to. “There’s no other family then?”

Before following Teresa, Izzy dipped into the living room. No personal touches, no photos, no knickknacks set out solely to collect dust. Everything was clean, neat. But it lacked any warmth.