I began winding the sheets around the body, peeling him up from the mattress, where a pinkish stain spread out beneath him, trying to think only about the next thirty seconds. I didn’t let myself imagine what Lou would say. In my fingers, the body felt like rubber. His remaining eye was closed, but his mouth was open, a faint trace of pale peach sparkle slicked to one lip. Ellen’s lip gloss. I covered his mouth with the sheet and rubbed gently, trying to clean him off. His lips stuck to the sheet, to my fingers, which wouldn’t stop trembling. I gave up, shuddering.

“Miss Howard?”

The staticky buzz of the intercom in Ellen’s living room made me jump, but it made Ellen shriek outright. I thumped her on the shoulder and held a finger up to my lip. She stared at me from the floor, where she was trying to soak up Klein’s blood with a sponge, fingers curling and uncurling. What do I do? she mouthed.

“Miss Howard, it’s the front desk. Pick up, please.”

I nodded at her, and Ellen moved to the intercom on tiptoe, as though they could hear her on the other line. She pressed the buzzer with one trembling finger, staring straight at me.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Miss Howard, do you have a guest over tonight?”

Ellen’s finger slipped off the button, and I couldn’t suppress a rising tide of terror, staring down at the body next to me. Someone had heard his scream; someone had heard the shot. We were so fucked.

“Ummm . . . I . . . I’m not quite sure . . .”

“A silver Audi, parked in the guest spot? You have to fill out the paperwork ahead of time for guest spots, Miss Howard. We’ve been over this. Someone’s already reserved that parking spot tonight.”

I blew out a sigh of relief, leaning forward a little and then catching myself as I swayed too close to Klein’s body. In the living room, Ellen was laughing, borderline hysterical, thanking the front desk over and over, telling them she’d have her guest move the car as soon as he was no longer indisposed.

“It’s not a request, Miss Howard. Please move the vehicle now.”

“Hang up,” I hissed at her, looking around the room for where Klein might have left his keys. His coat, tossed over a dining room chair. I jumped off the bed, Klein bumping up and down as I did so, and shook the jacket loose, searching through the pockets. Nothing. No part of tonight was going to come easy.

The dead man’s pants were in the bedroom, crumpled at the foot of Ellen’s postcoital bed. I avoided making eye contact with the body as I picked them up by the hem.

“What are you doing?” Ellen shrieked.