Picking up the empty wine bottle, I walked through the living room, giving the place one last look. At the table scattered with photos, I gave the picture of Chloe in a bikini a close look. Freckles everywhere. I knew it.

I stepped into the courtyard outside and closed the door behind me with the dishtowel. Everything was so quiet. These hills afforded a lot of privacy to those who lived up here. I thought that was a good thing. I left through the outer gate, which didn’t creak, walked two houses up, and started my car, easing away from the curb. I decided to take the opposite way down from Hollyridge. I knew that if I just kept heading down I would eventually run into Beachwood Canyon Drive.

When I hit Beachwood I saw that it was garbage night and that the residents had all put their cans out on the curb. There were the regular cans and the recycling cans. I thought how I never recycled and that I probably should.

I pulled up close to a trash can without a lid and tossed the bottle and the dishtowel inside. The garbage truck would come early the next morning, well before someone would discover Chloe’s body.

I rolled all the windows down and let the air blow in and lift my hair in all crazy directions. A few blocks down Beachwood I threw the plastic Baggie out the window. I hoped no one saw me litter.

I had always wondered, with all the research I’d done into murder, how much of a leap it was for someone when he or she committed a violent act. At what point did hating your husband or someone you work with provoke you into doing something? We’d all been taught right and wrong, but how close were most people to making that small step over the line?

Now I knew there was not much difference. For me, anyway, I was perfectly fine one second, and a minute later someone was dead and I felt exactly the same.

I drove past the Hollywood kids hanging out on the boulevard and up Highland to my place. There was a parking spot right in front. Usually I had to drive around to find a place to park, but tonight was my lucky night.

NINETEEN

NINETEEN

Inside my apartment, nothing had changed. Lucy jumped up on the kitchen counter to say hello, reaching her head up toward my hand. I petted her gently and said, “I love you, kitty, Mommy’s home.” I shed my clothes as I made my way down the hall, leaving each piece in a trail behind me. I turned the tub on hot and drizzled in some of my special lavender and rosemary essential oils, for a treat.