“Mr. Rawlings, the owner of Thompson’s Market, shot himself in the head. It’s an apparent suicide.”

“What? That can’t be right. I just saw him. He seemed in high spirits.”

“You and I both know that’s not always the best predictor.” She had learned many suicide victims felt a sense of peace and happiness just knowing their life was going to end soon.

“I know. But I just didn’t see that one coming.”

“There’s more. His apartment was filled with pictures of the women who were suffocated to death in plastic. There were also trinkets from each woman. Personal items, jewelry, and driver’s licenses.” Jordan shrugged off her jacket, and Avery took it. “Please hang it in the same spot in the hall closet. I’m learning my lesson about organization.”

“I know.”

“Speaking of which, the coffeepot was in a different place on the kitchen counter, and the clothes in my drawers were rearranged. Did you do that?”

“No, I did not,” Avery said. “Are you sure you didn’t move it and forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” Jordan said. “I’m blind, but my memory is as sharp as ever. Has anyone else been in this house?”

“No one I’ve let in.”

Jordan rubbed her hand over the tight muscles banding her neck. “Then who moved my stuff? If it’s meant to be a joke, it’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Do me a favor and check all the windows and make sure they’re locked. I’ll check the doors.”

“Sure.”

Jordan carefully ran her fingers over each lock, searching for scratches or imperfections hinting of a break-in. She found the doors were all locked and unmolested by an intruder.

Several minutes later, both reconvened in the living room. “All the windows are locked.”

“And none look like they’ve been tampered with?”

“No.” Avery laid a gentle hand on Jordan’s arm. “You’ve been under a hell of a lot of stress since your attack.”

“Do not tell me this is in my mind,” Jordan said.

“Let’s be realistic. With all that’s going on, it’s easy to move something and then forget you did it.”

“I did not forget.”

“Okay, let’s assume you didn’t.”

“I don’t assume. I know.”

“Then what do you propose to do about it?”

“I want to get a camera in the house. Whoever was here moved my shit around to get under my skin.”

“Who would do that, Jordan? How did he get in?”

“I don’t know, hence the camera!” Since she had lost her sight, she had been patronized far too much. She had lost her ability to see, not her mind.

“Okay, okay!” Avery countered. “I have a friend at the university who sells reconditioned nanny cams. He hides them in stuffed bears, clocks, and shit. We’ll go see him in the morning.”