“No, but while I was in the Walker hearing, someone keyed my car.”

“Sunday?”

“I can’t prove anything.”

“He’s too smart for that.”

“Exactly.”

At 7:15 a.m., the hospital administrator, Ben Barnard, called Spencer. He put the call on speakerphone and asked again about Emma Powers.

“How did you know she didn’t show up for her shift today?” Mr. Barnard asked.

Instead of answering, Spencer countered with, “Is it like her not to come to work?”

“Some in the beginning, but in the last few months she’s fallen into a good routine. She’s turning out to be one of my best nursing assistants.”

“Do you have her current phone number?”

The man recited the number, which matched the number that had called Jordan’s phone this morning.

“Thank you,” Spencer said. “Call me if she comes in to work.”

“I sure will, Ranger Spencer.”

He hung up. “I’m going by Emma Powers’s apartment.”

“I want to come with you.” The words rushed out before she considered she could be a liability.

“Think that’s a good idea? You’ve only been out of the hospital a day.”

“If I sit around here and practice using that white cane all day, I might go crazy.”

“Have you used the cane at all?” he challenged.

“I have the basics down. Enough to get around a little.”

“You won’t know what you’re stepping into or disturbing at a potential crime scene.”

“You can park me in a corner, and I promise not to move around unassisted. Even though her apartment isn’t officially a crime scene, I’ll treat it as such.”

The back door opened. For an instant, Jordan tensed, realizing she had only Spencer to depend on.

“It’s me,” Avery said.

As her sister moved closer, Jordan caught a whiff of perspiration and sunshine. Runs always left Avery pink faced and relaxed in an endorphin high.

“How was the run?” Jordan asked.

“Quick. Did the ranger behave?” A cabinet opened; water rushed from the kitchen faucet and shut off.

“I’m no worse for the wear,” Jordan said.

“I was a gentleman,” Spencer said. “Did you find any of Tammy Fox’s art?”

“Yeah, I did. It’s just two small paintings. Be right back.” Avery returned less than thirty seconds later. “I kept them out for you.”

“What do they look like?” Just having to ask the question was frustrating.

“It’s mixed media,” Avery said. “Lots of dark tones, rough edges, and streaks of red.”

The description reminded her of some of Avery’s work. Not the brightly colored landscapes she sold to tourists, but the ones she kept for herself.

“Very modern looking,” Spencer said.

“Does it tell you anything about her?” Jordan asked.

“It suggests she was struggling,” he said.

Avery gulped water. “That’s fairly accurate. She hated being sober.”

“What are you going to do with the paintings?” Jordan asked.