I remember the way he said it. So seriously. The way he was so serious about everything in our relationship. Like once he said those words, he meant them with his very soul.

Shit.

I reach for my phone. I bring up my list of Favorites and see Sam’s name topping the list. I put him there after our third date. But I can’t call him now. I’m not ready to confront him yet. Instead, I press Shelley’s name.

It rings three times and I’m certain she’s not going to pick up. She’s been avoiding me since Denise’s murder, which can only mean she thinks I did it. But then I hear her voice on the other line. She sounds subdued, but at least she answered.

“Hi, Abby.” Her voice is wary. “How are you doing?”

Against my will, my eyes fill with tears again. “Shelley, can you please stop acting like I’m a murderer?”

There’s silence on the other line. My stomach twists as I wait to hear what she’s going to say. I don’t think I can take being rejected by one more person I care about.

Finally, she lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Abby. It’s just… well, you have to admit, it looks bad.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“And you hated Denise more than anyone…”

“I didn’t hate her,” I say honestly. “We just… we had a falling out. But I didn’t hate her.” I pause. “And anyway, there’s a difference between hating someone and stabbing them with a letter opener.”

Shelley lets out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“Listen,” I say, “is there any chance you could meet me for coffee? I really need to talk to you.”

“Sure, Abby. Just tell me when and where.”

_____

It takes about half an hour to fill Shelley in on the entire story from beginning to end. By the time I finish, culminating in my visit to Cynthia’s apartment, her mouth is hanging open. I don’t know if she’s shocked or if she thinks I’m nuts. The former, I hope.

“Wow,” she breathes. “That’s…”

I hang my head, staring into the depths of my mug of coffee. “I know. You always used to say Sam was a little too perfect. Guess you were right.”

“Well,” she says thoughtfully, “he wasn’t that perfect. He was nice. But…”

I frown. “But what?”