I wipe my hands self-consciously on my gray pencil skirt. “Sure. Of course. Why?”
“Well…” Scott’s light brown eyes dart behind me, scanning my living room. The buttery leather sofa, the matching loveseat and ottoman, the wide screen television with surround sound, the photographs on our mantle of our recent skiing trip to Vale. “We got a phone call. One of your neighbors said they heard screaming coming from your house.”
“Screaming?” I paste what I think is a very realistic looking smile on my face. “That’s so strange! Are they sure it was coming from here?”
His eyes lock with mine. “That’s what they said, yes.”
I screw up my face, pretending to think about it. Finally, I snap my fingers. “Oh! You know what it was? I was watching a movie on TV, and then I went out to the kitchen and I turned the volume way up. So they probably heard the movie.”
He nods, considering this. Everyone says Scott is a good policeman—kind but thorough. I squeeze my hands into fists, waiting to see if he buys my story. I look down at my trembling hands again, scared they might give me away. And that’s when I notice it.
A crimson dot on my gray skirt.
Oh God, how did I miss it? How did I let myself answer the door with a drop of blood on my skirt? I quickly avert my eyes, trying not to draw attention to it. If he sees it, he’ll insist on coming inside. And if he does, I’m finished.
“What movie?” he finally asks.
“Well,” I say, “it was Scream. You know, with Neve Campbell and Courteney Cox?”
He clears his throat. “The one with the masks, right?”
“Right. So obviously, there was, you know, screaming.” I smile apologetically. “I’m sorry if somebody got worried. But you can see there’s no disturbance here.”
“Uh huh…”
I hold my breath, keeping my eyes pointed straight ahead. I send Scott a subliminal message: Don’t look down. Please don’t look down.
Scott tilts his head to the side. “Are you alone here?”
I play with my hair, trying for casual and flirty. Easy, breezy. Nothing to see here, Officer. “Yep. Just little ol’ me. Derek is still at work.”
Don’t look down. Please…
Finally, he nods his head. “Okay. Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“Of course!” I laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as weird to him as it does to me. “I’m glad you came. It makes me feel safe to know you’re out there protecting me.”
Scott’s cheekbones turn just the slightest bit pink. When we were in high school and he was embarrassed, his whole face would turn scarlet. “Just doing my job.”
“I appreciate it. And next time, I promise I’ll keep the volume down. Especially when I’m watching scary movies!”
He wags a finger at me. “You do that.”
“And we should catch up sometime,” I add. “Derek and I would love to have you over for dinner.”
“Sounds great, Quinn.”
Scott doesn’t want to have dinner with me and Derek. But that’s fine, since it wasn’t a genuine invitation, anyway.
He ambles down my front steps, and then down my driveway to his parked police car with the flashing red and blue lights. I never quite meant to break up with Scotty Dwyer, but now, for the first time, I wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn’t. If I had married a good, honorable man of the law instead of Derek, the man that I chose. I wouldn’t be standing here with blood on my skirt and on the soles of my shoes. That much is for sure.
I shut the door, but I keep watching Scott through the front window. I watch as he starts up the engine and pulls onto the road, and I don’t look away until his car is out of sight.
He’s gone. Thank God.
Now that he’s out of sight, I inspect my skirt. The drop of blood is about half a centimeter in diameter. I’ve never attempted to get blood out of my clothing before, but I have a bad feeling my best work skirt is ruined. Then again, that’s the least of my problems.
I walk back out to the kitchen, examining the carpet for signs of bloody footprints. The kitchen looks about the same as how I left it a few minutes ago. The sink faucet is dripping like it always does. There’s still that crimson smear on the green dish towel. The three plates I left in the drying rack are still lined up in a row. The refrigerator has that note taped up that I wrote to myself to remember to buy more paper towels.
And also, my husband is still lying dead on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.