Page 62 of Love Always

That’s it.

I step up right behind him. “Back off.”

He doesn’t startle, which is what I was hoping for. Instead, he gives her hand a gentle squeeze, releases it, and turns to me. This is no befuddled professor. I catch a glimpse of something else and it’s predatory.

“So, do you two know each other?”

“Step away from the counter,” I say again.

“I was just asking Laurel what she did with that little box because you asked me this morning. She wrote about working here in an essay. I thought I’d come here so if you came to ask more questions or if the detective had questions I could give you answers.”

People with long explanations are usually guilty of something. "You need to leave right now.”

Somewhere in his dark little soul he was able to wrest that predator back down and once again he channeled the wide-eyed, nervous professor. “I’m just trying to be helpful. I thought if I asked her, you know, if she actually gave the box to that student, then I could answer that question you asked me. I could help you next time. But it appears you two know each other.”

“I’m her security,” and it’s at this point, I pull my jacket back just enough.

“I was unaware she needed a bodyguard.”

“She does now. You need to move away,” I remind him. I’m two seconds from throwing him through the door.

“All right, all right,” he says, waving his hands. “I’m just trying to be helpful. Don’t forget,” he says looking at Laurel, “you’ve got class tomorrow. I’ll be seeing you anyway.”

“And I’ll be seeing you,” I say.

With that, he leaves, picking up his bag of date-night groceries. Laurel leans against the counter and then puts her head down on her arm. “Oh, fuck me,” she says. “You were right. He is a creep.”

“And please don’t say harmless. Did you write an essay that reveals you work here?”

Shaking her head, she wipes her hair back. “I don’t think so. I’m so careful now about giving him any personal information in essays. I wrote about cooking chickens in the back, it was a sensory assignment piece, but I don’t think I ever mentioned Weaver’s.”

“Social media. Is it public or private?”

“My accounts are private, with real friends. I don’t really have time for that stuff anyway.”

Throwing her shoulders back, she puts her fingers to her temples and does a little massage with small circular movements. I just want to take her in my arms and pull her hands away from her face and kiss those temples.

But there’s a job to do. “What was he asking you about?”

“He wanted to know if I had talked to you about him giving me a package. The weird thing is, he wanted to know how many times he had given me the package… like he couldn’t remember.”

“Did you do it more than once?”

“No. He asked a couple of times, but I made excuses. If he’d asked me a bunch of times, I would have been suspicious, but I just did it that one time.”

“And who was the kid you gave it to? Did you know him?”

She pauses and rubs her forehead. “No. That’s the really weird thing.” She gazes out the window, pulling her thoughts together. “At the time, I didn’t think much of it but now it does seem strange. It was just this guy sitting at a table by himself and it was like he was waiting for me.”

“How’d you know it was him?”

She shakes her head. “We were both looking for someone, I guess. It was weird.”

Often people don’t understand why they know something. I needed her to dig more. “You keep saying it was weird—what was weird about it?”

“I don’t know.” She looks at me as if she wants to deliver a quick answer and she knows it’s there and can sense it. Her intuition has picked up on a clue but the logical part of her brain hasn’t caught up yet. I am going to have to nudge her.

“Just describe him.”