None of the notes on the fridge meant anything to Vic—they consisted of grocery lists, and phone numbers for businesses around town, and schedules for work or the Y. Though he told himself Matt’s name wouldn’t be listed, Vic couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he couldn’t find it among the day to day scribbles.
With a paper towel in hand to keep from leaving fingerprints, Vic headed out into the hallway. Officer Jones followed, gun drawn and ready to aim. There was a lamp left on in the living room, illuminating a sofa and chair set that could’ve been cut straight from a Sears catalog. The only personal items were a trio of golden trophies on the mantle above an empty hearth. Vic suspected the trophies were constant reminders of what Jordan had been able to accomplish, once, when he
