It wasn’t an hour later, delivered by a speeding squad car, that Anne was home, dressed in jeans, a pink tank top, and yellow Playtex gloves, yanking the stained wall-to-wall carpet from her front-entrance hall. She should have been sleeping or preparing her opening argument, but she couldn’t do either. The rug reeked of blood and pain, and she wanted it out. She had already gotten up three sides, with only the last remaining, the front right corner. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and tugged harder, and the rug surrendered suddenly, sending her backward onto her butt.

“Argh!” she grunted from the floor. Her shoulder, back stitches, and butt hurt, but she got to her feet, dragged the rug into the living room, and flattened it. She tried not to look at the bloodstains, so she wouldn’t start crying again. She had cried in the shower when she first came home, then she had steeled herself and gotten to work.

She dropped to her knees and rolled up the rug, then snapped open a Hefty bag from the orange box on the coffee table and stuffed the rug inside. She picked it up and was about to take it outside to leave it at the curb for pickup, but she stopped herself. It wouldn’t be respectful. It wasn’t trash. It had Willa’s blood on it. It felt substantial in Anne’s arms, like a human body. Without knowing exactly why, she set the bagged rug down on the floor.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, stood with her hands on her hips, and surveyed the entrance hall, now illuminated by the fixture above. Bloody streaks had dried a cakey brown on the wall and the entrance-hall door. The baseboards were stained, and thin wood slats bordered the floor where the rug had been stapled down, but there were no stains on the hard wood. Plan B was to wash and paint the walls in the hall. She couldn’t leave them this way, not even one night. Cleaning the entrance room would be gruesome and awful, but it had to be done. For Willa. And it was cathartic, already making her feel better, bringing to an end this awful part of her life. Anne got her second wind and suspected it was heaven-sent.

She went to the kitchen and took off a Playtex glove long enough to grab a handful of Captain Crunch, while she filled up the blue Rubbermaid bucket in the sink with a brew of Lysol, Pine-Sol, Comet, and hot water. Fizzy suds formed quickly as the water rose, floating the thick pink sponge, and she turned off the tap, grabbed the bucket, and returned to the living room, flicking on the stereo on the way, a classical station. It would suit her mood and her task.

A lone Spanish guitar came on, playing acoustic. Anne’s thoughts went to her father, the guitar player she’d never met, then to her mother. She wondered idly when she’d see her again, if she’d see her again, but suppressed the tiny tug in her chest. The TV appeal had given her pause, but her past was over. She had to go forward with the rest of her life. It was time to start over starting over. She sloshed to the entrance hall with the heavy bucket.

She put the bucket down and let the guitar music soothe her as she got down on her knees and reached for the steaming sponge. When she bent over, the little Italian charm popped out from her tank top, swinging on Mrs. DiNunzio’s gold chain, and she tucked the necklace away with a smile and started cleaning the wall. The dried blood turned briefly red again when it made contact with the hot sponge, bringing up that carnal smell. Her stomach turned over, but she kept at it, washing streak after streak, thinking of Willa, and blinking away the tears that inevitably came. Anne had gone through three full buckets of sudsy water, a bottle of Lysol, and several Kleenexes when the doorbell rang.

Anne stopped, startled still. Her heart fluttered in her chest. The last time that bell had rung, a killer had been at the door. The ringing echoed through the apartment, quiet except for the guitar playing. She told herself she was being silly. There was nothing to be afraid of, anymore. Kevin was dead; she had seen him killed with her own eyes, and the sight, though it had brought her no satisfaction, at least brought her safety. Right?

The doorbell rang again, and Anne dropped the sponge into the water and stood up to look in the peephole. It was Matt! Everything was all right. She really was safe.

She undid the chain lock in a hurry and opened the door onto the warm summer night. Matt was standing on the stoop wearing a black Dave Matthews T-shirt, jeans, and a smile, and holding his briefcase flat, like a tray. On it, he balanced a bottle of merlot and two wineglasses. Anne couldn’t help but feel happy to see him. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I couldn’t sleep and I knew you wouldn’t be. You said you were starting over, so I brought you a housewarming present.” Matt plucked the wine bottle off the briefcase tray and gave Anne a quick peck on the lips, then followed it up with a warm, deeper kiss she didn’t resist, even though her gloves were dripping suds.

“Wow. Come on in,” she said and closed the door behind him as he crossed the threshold and tiptoed over the wet floorboards in wonderment.

“Are you cleaning?” He winced only slightly when he smiled, since the residual swelling from his goose egg had subsided.

“Yep. I just finished washing.” Anne appraised her handiwork, but couldn’t deny the darkness that still stained the white wall in many places. “With two coats of white paint, it’ll be back to normal.”

“Sure it will.” Matt set the wineglasses on the floor just outside the entrance hall, then slid a corkscrew from his back pocket and sat down on the floor. “I can’t believe you’re doing this yourself. You could have hired a service or something. I thought you’d be getting ready for trial, planning how you’re going to kick ass.”

“Nah, this is more important.” Anne stripped off her wet gloves and draped them over the side of the bucket.

“What? What happened to the girl who would do anything to win, including hire a stripper?” Matt laughed as he unwrapped the metal seal from the top of the merlot, then inserted the corkscrew and extracted the cork with a festive pock. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed.”

Anne thought a minute. “Hell, no!”

“Praise be.” Matt grinned and handed her an empty wine- glass. He poured them both some merlot, then set down the bottle and raised his glass in a toast. “To you, and to your not changing. Ever.”

Anne raised her glass. “And to you—”

Brrng. Brrng. It was the unmistakable ringing of a cell phone, and they both reflexively went to their holsters, but Anne had left her cell in her purse in the living room. Matt unholstered his phone. “Rats,” he said. “Just when you were going to tell me how great I am.”

“You’d do it better,” she said, as he flipped open the cell phone and answered it. She watched his blue eyes light up.

“Oh, really? Okay. Relax. I understand, we’ll discuss it. I’ll be right over,” he said, then snapped the phone closed excitedly. “That was Bill Dietz.”

“Anger Management Boy.” Anne sipped her wine. The thought of Dietz killed her mood and she took a bigger sip. “What did he want?”

“To see me. He said it was important. I think I may be getting my old job back.” Matt took a swig of his wine and was already getting up, and Anne felt happy for him. Sort of.

“Dietz assaulted us both. Why do you like him so much?”

Matt looked conflicted. “He just told me, he’s sorry he pushed you. He lost his temper.”

“Oh, that makes it okay.” Anne took a gulp of merlot. It tasted terrific. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten and was starting not to care.

“I’m sorry to run out on you. I have to go over to the house.”

“See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.” Anne took a final gulp, draining the glass. “If you become opposing counsel again, then we’re over until the trial ends. I’m a brunette now and we’re not as loose as redheads.”

“Oh, all right. Be that way.” Matt leaned down and gave her a quick good-bye kiss. “Will you be okay? You seem okay.”

“I’m more than okay.” Anne poured herself another glass of merlot and hoisted the bottle, channeling a tipsy Lucy Ricardo. “’The answer to all your problems is in this lil ole bottle.’”

“Vitametavegamin!” Matt said with a smile, and Anne couldn’t believe her ears.

“You know Vitametavegamin?” she asked, astounded. “From ‘Lucy Does a Television Commercial’? Episode No. 30, May 5, 1952?”

Matt laughed. “I don’t know the dates, but I know the episodes. The chocolate factory, stomping the grapes, crushing the eggs, baby chicks, Teensy and Weensy, you name it. My mother was a Lucy freak, too.”

“I think I’m in love,” Anne said, meaning it, and Matt blew her another kiss before he opened the door and hustled out, leaving her with a bottle of merlot, a bucket of suds, and a tingle of hope.

She got up, relatched the chain, and began to collect the gloves, sponge, and bucket to get ready for painting. She was working only five minutes when the doorbell rang again. Ha! Matt must have forgotten something. Maybe the rest of her toast? Maybe another kiss. A random firecracker exploded somewhere with a distant crak! It had been that way since she’d gotten home.

“Coming, Matt!” she called out, getting up to answer the door. She undid the chain lock without checking the peephole because she knew it was Matt.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Matt.