“It has been doing that since five o’clock,” Greg said, pointing a yellow screwdriver at the ceiling fixture.

“I think it is the one in the hall utility closet.”

“I can call the landlord in the morning,” I said, stopping outside my door.

“Don’t bother,” Greg said.

“Vance never answers on Thursdays.

I have a spare nine-volt in my kitchen if you want me to just swap it out.”

“That would be great,” I said.

I reached into my bag for my keychain, my fingers searching past the folded cash in the side pocket.