Car wheels rolled in slowly beside her. A window rolled down. “Your ride is here,” Avery said. “Passenger-side door is three steps to your left.”

She reached out until her fingers brushed the warm metal of the door handle of her SUV. Pulling it up, she opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat.

“You have my SUV.” Closing her door, she fumbled for her seat belt. She had never ridden in the passenger seat of her own car and found the reverse location a little off putting.

“Just back from the forensics. I figured if I’m driving you, we might as well have the best ride. Your AC is better than mine.”

“You can consider it your AC now,” Jordan said. “Until I get my sight back, the car is yours.”

“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do. By the way, I brought your cane.”

Her sister’s way of saying this vision thing was here to stay. Jordan refused to accept the prognosis. This all still felt like a nightmare that would eventually end. But until it did, she would use the cane.

“If it’ll get you motivated to use the cane and work with Sally, then so be it. Why are we going to see Casey Andrews’s mother again?”

“It’s been eight days since we spoke, and Mrs. Andrews might have remembered something that’ll help me find her daughter.”

“And the killer?”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to bury him.”

Avery chuckled. “There’s the Jordan I know and love.”

Jordan called Mrs. Andrews, asked her if she could visit, and when she received the go-ahead, Avery and she set out. The drive in the SUV with Avery behind the wheel was no less harrowing than it was in Avery’s small four-door sedan. There had been a couple of quick stops, a “Watch out!” from Avery to another driver, and a gunning of the accelerator, a sign she had run a yellow light. But the armrests in Jordan’s SUV were sturdier, giving her more to grip.

Avery slowed, took a sharp right, and the tires glided over a slightly rougher road. “We’re in her neighborhood.”

“Good.” Routine questions would at least get the conversation started.

The car stopped. “Arrived,” Avery said.

Jordan savored the stillness as her heart rate slowed. “What’s the yard look like?”

“Flat, grass is brown and brittle, and there’s a stone path that leads to a black front door.”

“Is the brick painted? How’s it maintained?”

“No paint, and the maintenance isn’t great,” she said. “Looks like it hasn’t been taken care of in years.”

Casey’s mother worked long hours, had a child with a substance-abuse problem, so the house suffered.

“Let me get your cane,” Avery said.