CHAPTER 7
Answering the door, he rubbed his hand over his mouth. Looking up from the porch railing he barely noticed the police uniform.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Sir, I'm Detective Emily Stuegner," she said, holding out her hand, "I need to ask you some follow-up questions, if you don't mind."
Stepping toward him, she gestured him aside. Walking through the hallway into the living room, she sat down on the first sofa, the other sofa on her right.
When she heard him enter, she said, "I need a cup of coffee, black."
Frowning, he took a breath and went into the kitchen which was a little further up on the left. Alone, Emily studied the fireplace in front of the wall facing her.
Made with brick and a small grate with a wire mesh in front and absent of photographs, she looked for cracks that would hide a mini surveillance camera. He returned just as she finished inserting one in the center crack under the ledge.
His eyebrows curved inwards, he handed her her coffee. Sitting on the sofa to her left, she motioned for him to sit, bringing the cup to her nose to savor the aroma.
"What are your questions?"
Smiling, she turned to him and said, "Oh, I have lots! Just be patient while I enjoy my coffee."
He scowled, bringing his fingers to his lips in a hook pattern. Then, spreading his legs out further from the V shape he'd already formed he leaned back against the couch and blew out air. When he looked at her, she almost dropped her cup.
"Okay, so," she said, trying to hide her discomfort, "Tell me again what happened the day Jana died."
Pursing his lips, he said, "She was murdered."
"Did you kill her?" she asked.
It was a shift more than anything else, but she was afraid. All of his hostility had manifested, as if he'd answered yes to a question she hadn't asked: Could he kill? If it didn't show in her body, inside she shivered; then she forced herself to relax, reminding herself that he was just another actor, nothing to be scared of.
"It's standard procedure to ask that," she stammered, "To rule you out as a suspect. And guess what? You're not a suspect anymore!"
He moved to get up, but she stalled him. With a big grin on her face, she pushed him back.
"Just sit, okay? I'm going to look around the house."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she put her finger over her lips. Running off she took the stairs to the second floor and looked around for more places to hide the mini cams.
When she returned, he wasn't on the couch; biting her lip, she froze. Hearing the downstairs toilet flush, she chided herself again for panicking.
"Okay, so," she shouted, scrambling to the front door, "I think I got everything I needed. Have a good day!"
"That was intense," Emily said, turning the corner.
"Did he scare you?" Mrs. H asked, laughing.
"Oh my god, yes. I really thought he was going to attack me!"
"That's why I chose him. He's a great character actor. But, hey, what are your plans for this weekend? Because we're having a retreat to work on some acting exercises."
"I can definitely make it. Where?"
When Emily arrived she saw only one other car on the road. What if I'm too early? she thought, parking her car. Seeing the Retreat sign she followed it, her hands over her stomach.
It wasn't dark yet but she felt uneasy. Walking along the hiking path she finally found the clearance Mrs. H had told her about. Seeing the tents and campfire, she grimaced. What is wrong with me today? she asked herself.
When Mrs. H stepped out of the tent, Emily waved, then walked over, her arms at her sides. Kneeling in front of the campfire she smiled, her head and hair falling to one side.
"I think I'm having a mid-life crisis," Emily joked.
"More like an end of year crisis," Mrs. H said, reaching over her and stabbing her in the midriff.
After filching the keys, Mrs. H brought out the plastic tarp from the tent, rolled Emily's body on it, tied it with rope and dragged the ends to the hole she'd dug behind the tent. Wiping the sweat from her face, she pushed the body in and grabbed the shovel. Once she filled the hole she continuously walked over it until it felt natural to her.
Looking at her watch, she said, "Shit."
With less than an hour to go before the real retreat began, she hurried to Emily's car and drove to the rest stop about two miles out. With her years of ten mile a day jogs it took her about 20 minutes to get back. She was standing by her car just as Marise pulled up.
"I was wondering when the food was going to arrive," Mrs. H said, "Did you get the booklets copied?"
"You know I did!" Marise said, happy to be on her own for the weekend, her husband having agreed to take their sons camping.
Several of the actors started arriving just as the grill got fired up. Between eating and talking, no one noticed the bloodstains on Mrs. H's shirt or that she had changed shirts midway through the scary campfire stories.
The next day Marise focused on her studies while Mrs. H oversaw the actors as they participated in two improv exercises (validation and pantomining) and scene work. Helping to prepare the food, Marise got to relax at the end of the day, joining in with the actors as they shared personal stories about themselves.
The day after that Mrs. H waited for everyone else to disperse before jogging back to Emily's car to search for the receivers she needed to check in on him. When she finished with the toilet she walked out of the stall, surprised to find Laura standing there.
"Mrs. H!" Laura said, "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I wanted to freshen up a bit before heading home," Mrs. H said, washing her hands, then her hair.
"But where's your car?"
"Back at the retreat site."
"Do you want a ride back?"
"No, I regularly jog for exercise. It's what keeps me fit," she said, rinsing off her hair, "But I really do have to be somewhere this afternoon. Talk with you another time?"
"Sure! Have a great day!"
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