A floorboard creaked underfoot as they stepped onto the second-floor landing. The master bedroom was mid-sized, with off-white carpeting and a queen-size bed. A jewelry box occupied the center of a dark wood dresser. With a gloved fingertip, Brody lifted the lid. Metal and stones sparkled against navy-blue velvet.

“There’s an iPad on the nightstand, too.” Stella peered over his shoulder. “I’m no jeweler, but it looks like she has a few nice pieces. Those studs look like diamonds.”

“Definitely not a robbery.” Brody eased the lid closed.

Stella crossed the carpet to the entrance of the master bath. Blood spattered the tiles and walls. Gold-colored glass shards littered the tile floor, and the room reeked of perfume. The glass door to the shower was open. The hamper was overturned, and the bathmat shoved against the wall. But Stella’s gaze lingered on the crimson trail on the white tile.

“The blood drops are dry, but they look fresh.” The drops would darken as they aged due to oxidation of iron in the blood. “It couldn’t have happened too long before the husband called it in. Maybe she was showering when someone surprised her.” Stella let her gaze sweep the room. She suppressed a shudder as she imagined standing in the shower, naked, vulnerable. The shower door opening. Terror washing over her as she saw the stranger in her bathroom. She envisioned her wet feet slipping on the tile, perhaps gaining her footing for a few seconds and reaching for the vanity. A man grabbing her, dragging her toward the door.

“You ready to talk to the husband?” Brody asked.

“Yes.” Shivering, Stella headed for the stairs with Brody on her heels.

At the foot of the steps, they walked down a short hall and into a living room open to the kitchen. The downstairs appeared undisturbed. There was the normal amount of daily living clutter: some mail on the hall table, a pair of athletic shoes half tucked under the sofa, two glasses in the sink, but nothing that indicated a struggle.

Adam Miller sat at the kitchen table. In his early thirties, he was clean-cut and dressed in my-daddy’s-a-lawyer attire: basic salmon-colored shorts and a white polo shirt. He blinked up at them as they walked into the room. His eyes were empty and stunned.

Stella turned a chair to face the husband, sat, and then introduced herself and Brody. “Mr. Miller, can you tell us what happened?”

His gaze dropped to his clenched hands. “I came home from the golf course to change. The door was open. It’s never open. Dena always keeps the doors locked when she’s home alone.”

“Was the door wide open?” Stella nudged him back on track.

“No. Less than an inch. Not enough for me to notice until I tried to put my key in the lock.”

“What did you do?”