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plastic garbage bags. She stripped off the sheets and mattress cover, and using the bags like gloves, stuffed everything inside another one, triple-bagged it and fastened it tight. The mattress would have to go to the curb, too, but she was lucky this was the worst of it. Television had taught her that much.
    Toting a square floor fan, Janya came back in, searched for and found a plug, and turned it on. The fan began to whir demurely.
    “I really do appreciate your help,” Tracy said.
    “I feel sad for him. I want to do something.”
    Tracy sought out the bathroom, a cramped affair with 1950s tile in shades of pink and gray, and a matching gray sink. Everything was old, and funky enough to be trendy, and she wondered if Herb had found it so or merely outdated, a reminder that the house could not be remodeled to his tastes. She washed her hands, then washed them again for good measure.
    The house was warming quickly, but now fresh air and Janya’s incense scented the air. Herb’s life was over, and by tomorrow, there would be no reminders he had died here.
    “I guess I need to get the mattress out to the curb, too,” Tracy told Janya, who was waiting in the living room. “But I’m going to wait until tonight.”
    “I think I’ll water his plants. He took such good care of them. I know he would not want them to die.”
    “Just because he has.” Tracy immediately realized how the remark must have sounded. “Right. Thanks.” She was glad not to have to worry about them herself. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have thought of it.
    “Then I’ll be going,” Janya said. “But first, will you mind if I turn on a lamp in the room where he died? It’s a custom in my country.” She left, then returned quickly.
    Tracy had been scanning the living room, which was almost sadly neat. She didn’t know how Herb had passed most of his time, but some portion of it had been spent on the minutiae of daily life.
    “Janya, did you know Herb? Better than I did, I mean. I don’t see any photos around. The deputy says the funeral director wants the phone numbers for his next of kin. You don’t happen to know who they are and where they live, do you?”
    “We only spoke a few times. He never told me anything about himself.” Janya spoke in a lower tone. “And I never told him anything about my life, either. Although I think he might have liked that.”
    Tracy didn’t want to feel guilty. After all, the only connection she and Herb Krause had shared was the upcoming rent check. Still, she couldn’t forget the timesshe had made sure he wasn’t outside so she could sneak by his cottage and avoid a conversation.
    “I guess if there’s nothing on the rental agreement, I’ll have to go through his things to see what I can find. His family will need to be notified. I’m sure they’ll want some of his stuff.” Although as she said this, Tracy wondered. There was nothing in sight that was anything like an heirloom. The furniture was inexpensive and unremarkable. Knickknacks had obviously never been his passion.
    “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Janya said politely.
    Tracy had given up looking for anything. But she knew Janya was only talking about Herb.
     
    Ken was gone, but that was no surprise. Wanda’s husband had left the house before she even opened her eyes. She doubted she would see him at all today, even though it was her day off from the restaurant. Most nights he got home after she’d already gone to bed, which was fine with her, since they never did anything interesting on the pillow-top mattress anymore, no way, no how.
    She wasn’t sure where her husband went and what he did when work was over. She was sure she didn’t care anymore. Ken could be whooping it up with his fellow officers or with some cute young thing who thought hanging out with a cop was some sort of Dirty Harry marathon. Whatever was going on, she had lost interest. A woman was supposed to fight for her man, but what happened