The sleeping quarters held a double bed, sheets folded army-corners tight. Her duvet was a down-filled patchwork of pink, rose, and white. On the left nightstand was a phone; the right was topped with a clock radio. The alarm had been set for 10:00 A.M. There was a television guide stuffed into one of the stand’s drawers along with a book rating feature movies shown on TV. The other stand gave space to another King James Bible.

Decker thumbed through it. Lots of underlined passages, but no specific theme he could detect.

Marie the nurse.

Marie the Bible reader.

And that was about all he knew of her. Nothing else was illuminating the woman.

He went over to the closets.

Marie’s apparel was neatly stowed in a white lacquer dresser and a wall closet. After he’d sorted through dozens of pieces of apparel, it was clear that there were no secret baby clothes and/or blankets squirreled away. If Marie had been planning on bringing an infant home, she’d done an inadequate job of stocking her place with baby supplies.

As intimate and feminine as the bedroom was, it was as generic as a movie set except for the Bible.

Decker waded through the bathroom connecting the two bedrooms. It was papered in vining pink roses on a white background with color-coordinated towels and washcloths. Another bowl of potpourri rested on the white linoleum counters. The medicine cabinet held OTC drugs as well as some prescription meds—erythromycin, Gantrisin, Lomotil, Estranol. Decker wrote down the names and would check their functions later. Under the sink was spare toilet paper, facial tissues, and two shampoo bottles.

Exploring the last bedroom—which had been converted to an office—Decker found much of the same. A small secretary’s desk topped with a white leather blotter, bronze pen-holder, a crystal clock, and yet a third bowl of potpourri. The woman liked sweet smells, but he hadn’t seen perfume on her dressers. He wondered if that meant anything, then remembered a lot of nurses didn’t wear perfume. Scents were often displeasing to sick people.

He started going through the desk drawers.

The supply drawer in the middle contained small items, nothing of any significance. The left drawer held her personal stationery—at the top was Marie Bellson RN done in a florid scrawl. Matching envelopes printed with a return address, as well as smaller note cards also in the same matching calligraphy. The right side of the desk was a bank of files—car, insurance, taxes, bills, bank statements, tax-deductible receipts.