“I’ll grant you that’s a bit unusual.” He began pulling out the drawers in the dresser.

Every one was empty—but the woman did live alone, and she obviously didn’t accumulate many odds and ends that required storage.

“Was she ever married?” Ramirez opened the closet door, and Clark gave the space a quick inspection.

Empty too.

“Yes. According to the neighbor, she’s a widow.”

“Then why aren’t there any photos of her husband around the place?”

“Maybe they remind her of her loss and make her sad.”

“Maybe.” Ramirez didn’t seem convinced. “You want to try the living room?”

“Yeah. There’s nothing in here that will help us.”

As they retraced their steps down the hall, his colleague bent near the spot where the woman had fallen and retrieved a key from the floor. “What’s this for?”

“No idea. I noticed it earlier but didn’t bother to pick it up.”

Ramirez set it on a credenza. “Let’s check out the living room.”

They worked the space, each taking half again.

Nothing useful surfaced.

“I don’t get this.” Clark fisted his hands on his hips. “No address book, no names, no legal documents—nothing.”

“Like I said . . . weird.” Ramirez motioned toward the door near the hall. “That must lead to the basement. You want to rummage around down there?”

“We could do a quick pass—but if it’s like the rest of the house, it’ll be a dead end.”

He descended to the mostly unfinished space. Other than a washer and dryer, the lower level was empty except for the usual heating and air conditioning equipment.

“There may be contact information in there.” Ramirez motioned toward a drywalled area in the far corner. “Some people keep records in filing cabinets in their basement.”

“Why would she do that? The unused bedroom and empty closet upstairs could accommodate that kind of storage.”

“You have any other ideas? There’s nowhere else to look.”

“True.” He crossed the concrete floor. Twisted the knob on the door to the space.

Locked.

“Huh.” Ramirez moved beside him. “Could be she keeps her valuables in there.”

“How many valuables could a woman living in a neighborhood like this have?”

“You might be surprised. Ever hear of a book called The Millionaire Next Door?”

“No.”

“My sister told me about it. The premise is that most millionaires in this country are simple, hardworking people who’ve saved their money, invested well, and lead a modest, unpretentious life. People like your next door neighbor.” He shrugged. “Just saying.”

“That doesn’t help us find any contact information for Olivia Macie.”

“It could be in here.” Ramirez tapped the door. “But I don’t want to break in without an okay from Sarge.”

Except . . .