On Christmas morning she woke up to see Adam raised up on an arm, watching her. “I’ve made a decision,” he said. “I’ve decided to wake up like this every Christmas morning.”

 “Ah. Will Santa approve?”

 “I’m very nice,” he said. “And you’re a little naughty. Sounds perfect to me.”

 While Adam did his family thing, Emma relaxed, gathering her strength in the quiet of the day. She’d been warned that the week following Christmas was sheer hell at work. Some of their clients had been out of town over the holidays but many more had extra people in, company from out of town, lots of refuse from the gift exchanging, greasy and splattered kitchens from the constant cooking and baking. School was still on break until after New Year’s, which meant general messiness everywhere and a tougher time cleaning while stepping over people.

 And there were a few things she was eager to find out. First, was Bethany okay? She hadn’t called since before Christmas, but the Christensen house was one of the first on her schedule for Monday. When they arrived, she ran right up the stairs, tapped quietly on Bethany’s bedroom door and when the girl told her to come in, she stuck her head in. “Okay?” she asked quietly.

 Bethany gave her a sheepish smile. “Okay,” she answered.

 “Was it a nice Christmas?”

 She nodded. “And I saw my grandparents. I’m just so glad it’s over. I feel so much more in control now.”

 “Life will be easier now, I think,” Emma said. “Holidays are always a bit tough when you’ve had losses. You have my number.”

 “I do. I’ll call you.”

 When Emma was pulling the door closed she turned and came face-to-face with Shawna, who was frowning. “You’re gonna make trouble for yourself,” she predicted.

 “It’ll be all right,” Emma said, because that’s what she’d been telling herself.

 The Christensen home reminded her a little bit of her own New York apartment—spacious, pristine, the furnishings rich and carefully chosen, and while it was filled with warm colors and dark wood, you could almost feel the emptiness. It was too quiet. Homes were made to be filled with conversation and laughter and even arguing from time to time. It was too clean, too orderly. It felt so lonely here.

 Emma, Shawna and Dellie got busy and as predicted, there was more cleaning than usual. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews had not canceled the cleaning service. Nick caught up with them on Tuesday to tell them he was sending a different crew and he would be watching closely to be sure there wasn’t any trouble. He wouldn’t allow Emma’s crew to return to that volatile house. “For two cents, I’d cancel them,” Nick said. “For now I’ll be keeping a very close eye on that house.”

 At the end of the week when they were nearly finished with the last house, Riley texted Shawna and asked that the three of them stop by the office when they returned to turn in the van. They found a full staff gathered—Nick, Makenna, Riley and her young assistant, Jeanette.

 “Come in, please,” Riley said. “Something terrible has happened and I wanted to tell you. You’ll hear about it tonight if you watch the news. Mr. Andrews is dead. It appears Mrs. Andrews shot him. The police have taken her into custody.” Riley cleared her throat. “Our crew let themselves in and found them.”

 Emma actually swooned against Shawna. “Dear God,” she whispered.

 “Here, sit down,” Nick said.

 “That man probably got what he had coming,” Shawna said. “He was beating that woman.”

 “Has anything like this ever happened before?” Emma asked.

 “We’ve had a delicate situation or two over the years. One of our clients was found unconscious—he had a stroke and went to the hospital and from there into a special care home. Nothing like this. People don’t just have dust and dirt,” Riley said. “They have complex personal lives. Some of them have serious problems. And we’re in their private space. We have to be vigilant and blind—it’s a very difficult balance. I’m sorry this happened.”

 “The other crew,” Emma said. “Are they okay?”

 “Not at all,” Nick said. “It was Cora, Maria and Connie—and they’re shook up. They’re going to take Monday and Tuesday off and if they need to see someone, like a counselor, we’ll find someone.”

 “Was it horrid?” Dellie asked.

 “One bullet in the back of his head,” Nick said. “He still had the TV remote in his hand. Looked like it might’ve happened much earlier or even the night before.”

 “Ew, that ain’t gonna play good for her,” Shawna said.

 “Had he been beating her again?” Emma asked.

 Everyone shrugged.

 “I’m sure we’ll get more information as time passes. I just wanted to be sure to tell you personally since you know the couple and had some dealings with them and the police. Everyone okay?”

 “Sure,” Dellie said. “They have kids, you know. Grown kids in their twenties.”

 “I know. Emma?”

 “Yes. Fine.” She shuddered, remembering Richard. Remembering the cruelty of his suicide. The horrific sight. The smell of blood and gun powder. His open eyes and gallons of blood. The smell of death and all its atrocities. “Fine,” she said again, standing.

 “Then I think we’re finished here. Nick, you’ll let me see that memo before you send it out to our crews.”

 “Definitely.”

 “Thanks, everyone.”

 Emma lingered as people slowly left, talking among themselves. When Riley was alone behind her desk, gathering up her purse and briefcase, she approached. “Um, excuse me. When would be a good time to talk? There’s something I should tell you.”