Love in the Time of Serial Killers(45)

It was no wonder his cheeks looked a little pink.

Alison was giving me a knowing look of her own, and I knew trying to explain myself would only make things worse, so I tried to change the subject.

“So, cat books, upstairs?”

“Yup,” she said, giving me and Sam a wide smile. “And for a vet, I recommend the Care Clinic on the corner of Preston and Crosby. If you let them know that she’s a stray or rescue, they’ll give you a discount on the standard initial shots.”

“I’m probably not going to take her in,” I said. “I just figured I’d read up on the subject.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I like to be informed.”

Alison made eye contact with Sam, standing behind me, and rolled her eyes a little. I turned around to see him grinning, and when I shot him a look of betrayal, he just shrugged. “She named the cat Lenore,” he said to Alison.

“Oh my god,” Alison said, “remember that diorama you made for ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’? You found a way to get the ticking noise and everything.”

“It was just an old kitchen timer,” I muttered.

“How long have you guys been friends?” Sam asked, glancing between the two of us.

That felt like a complicated question. Alison and I had met in fifth grade and become besties almost immediately, which led to three more years of trying to be in the same classes as much as possible, passing notes back and forth, and sleeping over at each other’s houses. Even after I’d moved with my mom and gone to a different high school, we’d stayed in touch for a couple years, until the Incident. So I guessed we were friends for about five years or so, and then maybe again now for a couple weeks, so how did you add that up accurately? It was like a math word problem where any answer was wrong.

“Almost twenty years,” Alison said easily. “We met at the end of elementary school. I’d just moved here and all the other kids made fun of me because . . . well, a mix of things, including racism and a lack of appreciation for my taste in eyewear. Phoebe saw me sitting alone at lunch, and sat down next to me.”

“My old table was all Backstreet Boys fans,” I said. “I got tired of arguing that *NSYNC was better. It’s exhausting being so right all the time.”

“Uh-huh. Meanwhile, I didn’t listen to either band.”

“?‘Being ignorant is not so much a shame,’?” I quoted, “?‘as being unwilling to learn.’ You let me play the No Strings Attached album for you.”

“Whatever,” Alison said, directing the conversation back to Sam again. “The point is, Phoebe was kind to me at a time when no one else was.”

My skin felt all prickly, and I could feel Sam’s attention on me. I hadn’t introduced him to Alison so she could serve as a character witness for me, but I was afraid that was what it looked like now.

“Okay, well,” I said, “you guys can keep going down memory lane if you want to. Meanwhile, if anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs in animal husbandry.”

I headed for the giant ramp leading to the second floor without waiting for a response, although I heard Alison call after me, “Care Clinic!” and then heard her say a quieter Sorry, presumably to nearby patrons who were disturbed by a librarian breaking the number one rule of libraries everywhere in raising her voice. Sam caught up with me easily, falling into step beside me as we headed upstairs.

“Your friend Alison’s great,” he said. “I see her all the time when I come here, but I’d never spoken to her outside of general library-related stuff.”

“We were actually friends when we were kids,” I said. “But we haven’t kept in touch since high school. We only started talking again because I’m in town and I texted her a few questions about the cat.”

I didn’t know why it was so important for me to clarify any of those points to Sam. I worried that maybe he’d gotten one impression from talking with her, that I was this loyal, good-hearted friend who’d stuck by her side since fifth grade, and I’d feel guilty if I didn’t correct the record on that point. We may have had a Baby-Sitters Club–worthy friendship when we were kids, but the more recent history was a lot rockier.

I wandered down the aisle for 636, stopping when I saw all the books about pets. There were at least eighteen all helpfully named Cats, so I just went with my gut and pulled out the thickest one, figuring it’d be the most comprehensive.

“It seems like you have some roots here,” Sam said. “Between Alison and your brother . . . do you ever think about moving back permanently?”

“No.” I flipped through the book, my eyes glazing over as it covered various breeds in detail and described famous cats throughout history. Maybe an encyclopedic approach was overkill here. I put the book back and selected the one next to it instead.

“What if you found a job?” he asked. “Or met someone?”

“Jobs and people exist all over the world,” I said, only half paying attention, “without me having to resort to Florida. Hey, did you know that cats’ noses are as unique as human fingerprints? Lenore won’t be getting away with breaking and entering on my watch.”

“If first offense gets tuna, what does the second offense get? Catnip?”

I started to laugh, only to realize that Sam’s expression looked closed off and not as jokey as I would’ve imagined given his comment. His hands were in his pockets and he was frowning down at the dog books. Either he felt Marley & Me was as emotionally manipulative as I did or I’d fucked up somewhere.