We followed him down the narrow carpeted hallway that led toward the master bedroom. The air grew warmer with every step we took away from the front door.
By the time we reached the threshold of Lorraine’s bedroom, my skin was damp with sweat. The digital display on the wall thermostat showed eighty-two degrees.
She never keeps it this warm, I said. She usually keeps the air conditioning set to sixty-eight.
Officer Miller pushed the master bedroom door open the rest of the way. The room was immaculate, the floral quilt pulled tight across the mattress without a single wrinkle.
He walked over to the walk-in closet and slid the double doors back on their tracks. The hangers rattled against the metal rod, but the space was empty of anything unusual.
Nothing here, Miller said, switching off his flashlight.
I looked at the bedside table. Lorraine’s reading glasses were gone, but her small gold-trimmed jewelry box sat in its usual spot.
