Moving to the kitchen, she reached for the coffeepot. It was not there. She patted around the counter, searching, and finally found it about four feet to her right. The coffee jar was where she had left it, but the mugs in the cabinet above were not in their place. She found them on the third shelf.

“Avery, I swear you better not be reorganizing.”

She pulled the machine back to its rightful place and plugged it in before setting it up to brew. She moved down to her bedroom and crossed to her dresser. Third drawer down was for workout wear, including sweats and T-shirts.

Instead of her workout clothes, her fingers skimmed over bras, panties, and camisoles. “If this is a joke, it is not funny. Or if it is a test, whoever did this sucks.”

She searched each of the drawers until her fingers brushed soft, worn cotton. She selected a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, but as she turned, she suddenly did not feel comfortable stripping. She thought about the roses. This killer knew where she lived.

“What the hell is going on?” She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Avery’s number. The call went to voicemail again. “Avery, this is Jordan. Call me right now. Either this is April Fools’ Day and no one told me, or there’s some weird shit happening in this house.”

She moved to her nightstand, opened the top drawer, and fumbled in the back for her spare knife. She opened the blade, touching the point with her fingertip. Carefully she closed it and slid it in her front pocket. Maybe she was being paranoid, and there was a logical explanation for this. But she was still a cop, and she was paid to question what did not feel right.

Spencer was thinking about Jordan. He had watched as she dropped her purse and seemed to kick off her shoes by the front entrance. She had proceeded to turn on all the lights. And he knew she was challenging her blindness with every bit of light at her disposal. Trying to turn the no into a yes.

“Got to love that.” He pulled away and was taking a right out of her neighborhood when his phone rang. “Spencer.”

“It’s Captain Lee. There’s been a development in your case.”

“Another woman’s been found dead?”

“No. A local man shot himself. Officers responded to a shot fired and found a room full of pictures filled with your victims. There’re also personal items that appear to have belonged to each of the dead women.”

“Who is it?” He flipped on his overhead lights. Blue and white flashed.

“The man’s name is Rawlings. Seth Rawlings. I know you requested surveillance footage around his store and his police records.”

“I did.” Rawlings’s death was too convenient. “Did he leave a note?”