Tell her you want to go on a drive to the country to relax, just you and her.

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him too, but time isn’t on your side. You used a pay phone to set up the deal didn’t you? I hope you did. The fuzz will look at your phone records. Bury the jewelry on some random plot of land. You won’t remember where and that’s a good thing. Looks like you stopped to take a piss and nobody is gonna come snooping around when you got a handful of your prerequisite for the “PP Club.”This is where the fun starts. You’ve disposed of the body and some may say you’ve done the hardest part. Those people are idiots. The hardest part is making your story believable. You can use this one but some people like to make up their own. Anyways, you burst into the bed and breakfast frantically.“My wife!! My wife!! Is she here?!! We spent the night under the stars and when I woke up she was gone. I thought she’d come back here since we were just up the road. I checked our room but she wasn’t there.”The old couple try desperately to calm you, fooled by your act. Be sure to send them flowers and a bottle of bourbon for unknowingly helping you with your plan. After you “calm down,” you get a few locals to go on a search for her. The next 10 days are spent tirelessly searching for a body that can’t be found. The local sheriff tells you they’ve done all they can and there’s no sense in continuing. It's a small town and it's an even smaller chance that she’ll be found alive after this long. You cry-attack him and break down in his arms.You’ve built a healthy rel

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ationship with the town. This is important for when the naysayers accuse you of murder. The locals will defend you to different degrees depending on how hard you search and how much they saw you sleep. Don’t sleep. Search and search and search, it’ll pay off later. They’ll remember you turning down a bed at their place in order to stay out in the rain searching by the creek. They’ll remember you downing coffee, provided by the local diner, when others stopped to get food and you kept going. They’ll remember you chain smoking Marb reds with a furrowed brow, muttering “…we were so close to happiness. How could it all come crashing down like this” or “as long as there is love in my heart, I’ll continue this search”. They’ll be quoted saying these things by the local news, don’t sleep.After thanking everyone for their hard work and giving the sheriff a number to contact you with any leads, you drive back to your house. Beaten down and depressed from the loss of your partner. You spend another couple of weeks, or as long as your job will allow, sitting at home “grieving.”Your out will come. Family and friends will say they miss you. Tell you they think it’s time to move on and exactly 13 days after the first person says that, you begin your recovery. Slowly becoming the person you used to be, only with a smile twice as big and zest for life only seen in those cheesy ABC Family movies. You’ll be happier than you’ve ever been, knowing you got away with murder.</article></body>

Tell her you want to go on a drive to the country to relax, just you and her. Of course you’ve already set up an arrangement with a pig farmer in Michigan.

You take a tour of the area, staying at a local bed and breakfast. Reaffirm your love for her, telling her you know what’s been going on and you still want to work things out. You’re willing to forget about it all so you can remain a happy family. In fact you’d like to drink to it and spend the night making passionate love. She agrees. Of course she agrees, wracked with guilt. Lovemaking under the stars starts with a toast to a happy future, devoid of the issues of the past. Little did she know while you sipped your merlot, or Pinot Noir, whichever you fancy, she sipped on the sleeping pills you crushed and put in her glass.

Remember that pig farmer? Of course you do, you paid him a fair sum of money to dispose of the body for you. And dispose he shall. He’ll probably want you to work with him in separating the body parts from the torso so I hope you brought your hazmat suit. Chances are he’ll have an extra, but if you think he’s letting you use it you’re a damn fool. It won’t be easy, or clean, but it has to be done. So take your balls out of your Coach “carry-all” and get your hands dirty.

Get rid of jewelry. You’ll want to give them to the farmer. Don’t. I repeat, you’ve already paid the farmer in full and don’t want anything tying yourself to him. In a perfect world you kill him too, but time isn’t on your side. You used a pay phone to set up the deal didn’t you? I hope you did. The fuzz will look at your phone records. Bury the jewelry on some random plot of land. You won’t remember where and that’s a good thing. Looks like you stopped to take a piss and nobody is gonna come snooping around when you got a handful of your prerequisite for the “PP Club.”

This is where the fun starts. You’ve disposed of the body and some may say you’ve done the hardest part. Those people are idiots. The hardest part is making your story believable. You can use this one but some people like to make up their own. Anyways, you burst into the bed and breakfast frantically.

“My wife!! My wife!! Is she here?!! We spent the night under the stars and when I woke up she was gone. I thought she’d come back here since we were just up the road. I checked our room but she wasn’t there.”

The old couple try desperately to calm you, fooled by your act. Be sure to send them flowers and a bottle of bourbon for unknowingly helping you with your plan. After you “calm down,” you get a few locals to go on a search for her. The next 10 days are spent tirelessly searching for a body that can’t be found. The local sheriff tells you they’ve done all they can and there’s no sense in continuing. It's a small town and it's an even smaller chance that she’ll be found alive after this long. You cry-attack him and break down in his arms.

You’ve built a healthy relationship with the town. This is important for when the naysayers accuse you of murder. The locals will defend you to different degrees depending on how hard you search and how much they saw you sleep. Don’t sleep. Search and search and search, it’ll pay off later. They’ll remember you turning down a bed at their place in order to stay out in the rain searching by the creek. They’ll remember you downing coffee, provided by the local diner, when others stopped to get food and you kept going. They’ll remember you chain smoking Marb reds with a furrowed brow, muttering “…we were so close to happiness. How could it all come crashing down like this” or “as long as there is love in my heart, I’ll continue this search”. They’ll be quoted saying these things by the local news, don’t sleep.

After thanking everyone for their hard work and giving the sheriff a number to contact you with any leads, you drive back to your house. Beaten down and depressed from the loss of your partner. You spend another couple of weeks, or as long as your job will allow, sitting at home “grieving.”

Your out will come. Family and friends will say they miss you. Tell you they think it’s time to move on and exactly 13 days after the first person says that, you begin your recovery. Slowly becoming the person you used to be, only with a smile twice as big and zest for life only seen in those cheesy ABC Family movies. You’ll be happier than you’ve ever been, knowing you got away with murder.