“Oh, no,” Meg
said, surprised at her own vehemence, “you’ve made a mistake. Andy and I just know each other from when we were
kids—that’s it. I don’t mean anything to
him.”
“Then why," Alturis patiently returned, "does he stand on the
corner, gazing at your house for hours at a time?”
Megan frowned. She had never noticed that.
Smiling, Alturis took another bite
of Meg’s pound cake. “He’s a strange
man,” Alturis said. “From what I
understand he has dozens of girlfriends in Chicago, and yet he can’t bring
himself to ask you out for dinner. I
wonder why?”
“Maybe because I’m just his friend
and you’ve misunderstood this whole thing entirely?”
“Or maybe because you are the only
one who’s ever meant something to him.”
“That’s just wonderful,” Megan
retorted, suddenly no longer afraid. Why
be afraid? He was going to kill her
anyway. “You should get your own talk
show—since you seem to have people all figured out, that is. Too bad you’re a raving lunatic. Maybe you can do a podcast from the federal
penitentiary?”
Alturis smiled as he took a bite of
cake. But the smile never reached his
eyes.
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