“So, Ichabod,” Tressa began, altering her voice to match the deep southern inflection of the Danvers sheriff.
“Wow, you can go that deep?” No matter how many times Ichabod listened to Tressa manipulate her voice, the amazement he felt never faded.
“You’re getting distracted, pardner.” Tressa turned away to mix a color for Ichabod’s concealer. “I see you’ve got a violin and a guitar sitting on your living room table. You play often?”
“Y-yeah.” The close proximity of Tressa’s face to Ichabod’s own as she applied his makeup, combined with the way Tressa portrayed the cold voice of the man who could get them both killed, made Ichabod suddenly feel deeply uncomfortable. “The violin’s not mine, actually, my friend Tressa plays that. She just keeps it at my house because we have jam sessions every so often and that’s usually when she–”
Tressa put down her makeup brush. “No, no, no, no. Stop.” Her voice returned to its normal tone.
“Huh?” Ichabod recoiled, jerking his hands close to his chest.
“You’re fidgeting all over the place, your voice raised by an octave, and you gave way too much information all at once.” Tressa gently moved Ichabod’s hands to his lap. “I asked a basic question, and already you seem terrified. The sheriff’s never going to buy that. You are an esteemed scholar, not some timid schoolboy.”
“Sorry!”
“You just need more practice. Relax.” Tressa paused, silently applying more concealer to give Ichabod time to steady his breathing. Once she was done, she stepped back to observe her progress. “Ready to try again?”
Ichabod nodded.
“With confidence, please.”
Ichabod straightened his posture. “I’m ready.”
“Good, pardner,” Tressa began, once again mimicking the sheriff’s voice as she leaned in to apply contour. “I see you’ve got a violin and a guitar sitting on your living room table. You play often?”
“Yeah. I have jam sessions with Tressa once a week.”
“Much better,” Tressa said in her normal voice, before switching back to her role.
“Speaking of, how are things with you and Tressa? Are you two a unit?”
To Ichabod, this question felt like a trap in more ways than one. “Not at all!”
“You squeaked. Try again.”
Ichabod cleared his throat. “No, but you’re not the first to ask that. Tressa and I met in grade school and have been thick as thieves ever since.”
Was that a pun? Tressa suppressed the urge to chuckle. “Interesting. If you’re looking for a girl, you could do much worse than her.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Since the two of you are close, I reckon you’ve been talking about the rise in mob activity lately.” Tressa pulled a photo from her wallet, which Ichabod recognized immediately.
“Do you know this man?”
The question sparked a blinding rage in Ichabod’s heart. Of course he knew this man. That was a picture of Russel, their friend, whose smile and laugh was snuffed out by the very sheriff Ichabod was listening to less than a week ago. He wanted nothing more than to strangle that dirty cop where he stood. And then Ichabod opened his eyes and only saw Tressa, with a concerned smile on her face. “Hey, Ichabod.” Tressa placed her hand on Ichabod’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Ichabod. I’m doing this to help you. I know it hurts to talk about Russel, but he was known to have connections to the organization. The sheriff will definitely ask about him. You need to be able to handle that or he’ll get you too, and I…” Tressa turned away, ostensibly to dig into her makeup bag but really she just wanted to hide her face. She would not, could not lose her composure here. If Tressa started crying, Ichabod would lose it too, and if they couldn’t get through a practice interrogation then he’d never survive the real deal. As Tressa pulls out her lightest eyebrow pencil, she silently repeats: Ichabod can be saved, he can be saved, he can be saved.
By the time Tressa started applying the pencil, she was smiling again, as if nothing happened. “Are you ready?” Ichabod felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, but he said “Yes, I’m ready,” all the same. Tressa took a deep breath. As she presented Russel’s photograph, Ichabod could pinpoint the moment her face morphed from the warm smile of her role as his friend to the cold stare of her role as the Danvers sheriff. “Do you know this man?” Tressa barely had time to finish the question. “No sir, not at all! I’ve never seen him in my life.”
“Mm-mm, that’s not going to work.” Tressa once again lowered Ichabod’s hands to his lap. “You’re too stiff. It’ll be obvious you’re trying to distance yourself. Besides, never seen him in your life? Everyone in Danvers knows that’s impossible.” Ichabod started breathing heavily, and Tressa knew she had made a mistake. The memory of watching Russel agonizingly suffocate was burned into Ichabod and Tressa’s minds. That day had fueled Tressa to never let it happen again, but she wasn’t blind to just how far she was pushing her friend. Ichabod wasn’t the same kind of person that Tressa was. If she kept going, she was going to break him before the sheriff could get the chance. “I’m sorry. We should take a break.”
Ichabod grabbed Tressa’s shoulder with an intense look in his eyes. “No. Whatever that cop threw at you and Russel, I need to be able to take it.”