Beside it lay a heavy brass paperweight.

Hunter had used it to crush the delicate chips.

I walked past the desk to the built-in bookshelf on the far wall.

My eyes scanned the titles.

*Advanced Organic Synthesis.*

*Principles of Molecular Biology.*

I reached for the thick, navy-blue spine of *Inorganic Chemistry: Third Edition*.

My fingers brushed the dusty paper cover.

I pulled the book from the shelf and opened the back cover.

The small, black adhesive pouch I had taped to the inside cover was there.

But it had been sliced open with a razor blade.

The micro-SD card was gone.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck.

How could Hunter have known about this?

He never touched my academic books.

He did not even know the difference between organic and inorganic chemistry.

I dropped the book onto the desk.

I noticed a small, pale blue sticky note attached to the corner of the computer monitor.

It was written in elegant, sharp cursive.

*A good mother cleans up her son’s messes,* the note read.

It was Barbara’s handwriting.

My mother-in-law had been here.