Love in the Time of Serial Killers(29)

“Not a waste of time,” he said. “But sure. Let’s get going.”



* * *





?I BUCKLED MYSELF into the passenger seat of Sam’s truck, stealing a glance at him as he turned his head to watch for traffic while backing out of the parking space. Already, I could see it again, that same strain in the line of his jaw that suggested he was holding something to himself.

Meanwhile, I’d officially lost it. Had I actually thought he’d just randomly kiss me in the middle of the music store? After we’d spent, like, half an hour together? What was wrong with me?

I had to remind myself of all the ways that he might be Buffalo Bill, and my erotically charged moment was his puts the lotion on its skin. He could take me anywhere. He looked like the kind of guy who’d be savvy about which highway exit had the best wooded area for dumping a body. Maybe that was why he drove a truck. Which I was currently sitting in.

Which of those options honestly scared me more—that he could be up to some dark shit, or just that I had a crush? Maybe my true crime reading had desensitized me after all, because I knew which of those made my heart speed up.

“We’re here,” Sam said. We could’ve been sitting in the library parking lot for the last five minutes, for all I’d noticed.

Luckily, Sam had been able to park right next to my car. I hopped down from his truck, opening my driver’s-side door to pop the hood. I hoped Sam didn’t need any more help from me, because that was about all I knew to do. But he’d already reached into a toolbox in the back of his truck, removing jumper cables, and was popping his own hood to hook them up.

“Why’d you leave so suddenly the other night?”

Sam’s head was still bent over my engine when he asked the question, so I almost wasn’t sure I’d heard him accurately. And then I wished there was some way to plausibly pretend I hadn’t, because I couldn’t think how to answer in a way that wouldn’t make me seem like an asshole or a liar.

“I’m just . . .” I floundered, before deciding that something adjacent to the truth would work. “. . . not great at parties.”

He wiggled one of the connections on the battery terminal before wiping his hands on his pants, black streaking the khaki. Jocelyn of Jocelyn’s Music wasn’t going to like that. He started his truck before coming to stand next to me on the grass next to the parking spaces.

“What do you mean, not great at parties?”

I rolled my eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry I crashed it. I didn’t know it would be a work thing. Conner—my brother, you remember him, with his girlfriend, Shani—had the idea to bring a host gift at least, even if it was just some Kit Kats. Still, it was rude as hell. And if I’d stayed much longer, I probably would’ve ended up talking too much about the connection between Charles Manson and the Beach Boys or whatever, and that would’ve been a real downer.”

“Not necessarily,” he said.

He didn’t even know. It had taken a lot of effort for me not to bring it up, and that was only because somehow I didn’t think it was the vibe Barbara Ann was going for with her retirement send-off.

“I appreciated the Kit Kats,” he said. “I was going to make some comment, about how backwards it was—me opening the door all dressed up and you there with a bag of candy.”

I smiled. “You totally should’ve,” I said. “It was Halloween in reverse.”

He scratched at his forehead, and I noticed he’d left a smear of black there, too. “Well, I didn’t think of it until later,” he said. “And by then the moment had passed.”

His gaze slid to me briefly, then away. “I’m also not great at parties,” he said.

That made me think back to the speech he’d made for Barbara, how warm and insider-jokey it had been, how much she seemed to appreciate it. But then I also remembered the way he’d seemed after—flustered, his skin flushed. I’d been thrown off because he’d approached me first, that night by my car, and I knew how difficult it could be for me to make first contact. But now I’d unlocked at least one more mystery behind Sam.

He was shy.

I was still trying to figure out how to respond, when he nodded toward my car. “Try starting it now,” he said. “We’ll see if that was enough juice to get it going.”

I slid in the driver’s side, almost hoping I wouldn’t hear the car turn over. Obviously I wanted it to work again, but there wouldn’t be any harm if it took another five or ten minutes to charge up. Especially now that I felt like I was getting somewhere with Sam.

But of course, because I had the worst luck in the world, when I turned the key the engine sputtered and then roared to life. Through the front windshield, I saw Sam give me a thumbs-up.

“Sounds good,” he said, already starting to unhook the jumper cables. “You’re probably going to want to run your car for at least fifteen minutes before you turn it off again, to make sure the battery gets enough charge.”

“It doesn’t seem too busy here today. I’m sure they wouldn’t care if we hung out a bit longer.”

“Oh, you can drive it,” Sam said. “I’m just saying, maybe take the long way home, do a few loops around the neighborhood.”

It was enough to make me wonder if any connection we’d had was being transmitted through those cables, and now that our cars were apart again we were back to being separate, too. I’d had an idea to invite him to lunch, to offer to pay as a thank-you for helping with my car. But obviously that would be stupid, given that I’d run the risk of my car dying again at any new location, and he seemed anxious now to be rid of me.