The Psychopath Next Door

22: Let's Call It A Threesome

The look on Cooper's face was priceless.

"Lighten up." They walked side-by-side down the hall, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they swerved to avoid confused freshmen darting from door to door. "This is good news."

"That we have P.E. together? How is that good news?"

"No, you moron." Calla flicked her ponytail over her shoulder impatiently. "I'm talking about Jessica. Mike. Blake. Clues."

"Oh. Right." Cooper walked by her in silence, biting the inside of his cheek. Lowering his voice, he asked, "But like...what clues are we talking about, exactly?"

"Do I have to walk you through everything?"

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair—once, twice, three times—and leaned over to hiss in her ear. "Sorry I'm not Sherlock Holmes! I don't go around solving murders in my spare time."

"Sherlock Holmes? Please." Calla rolled her eyes.

"Are you...?" Cooper grabbed the front of his button down, his face twisting in pain. "Are you implying I'm Watson?"

"I thought that was already obvious."

Calla amused herself by watching him fumble for an answer. He sucked in a deep breath, as if in preparation for some long-winded speech that she certainly didn't have time for.

Her amusement evaporated. "Are you done?"

He poked her shoulder. "This isn't over."

"Poke me again," she said sweetly, grabbing his arm and steering him to the left—away from the gym. "See what happens."

"Where are we going? Calla. The gym is that—"

"I know where the gym is," she muttered, nodding to a set of doors near the end of the hall. "We're making a pit stop."

Recognition lit his eyes. He shook her hand off. "The library."

Knowing they had little time before the next bell rang, they made a beeline for the front desk. The librarian greeted them with her usual pursed smile. Ms. Frey—unmarried and ageless; the woman had looked fifty-five for the last two decades, if the yearbooks were to be believed—leaned against the countertop, a pair of ruby red readers hanging from a strand of turquoise beads around her neck.

"Can I help you?" she asked, not unkindly.

Calla had always felt a certain kinship with the woman. And not because she suspected her of any foul play or insidious thoughts. She had a certain forthrightness that appealed to Calla's nature. She appreciated the librarian's no-nonsense approach.

"We're looking for a textbook," Calla explained, prepared to give more detail if necessary.

"Station three." Ms. Frey gestured toward the miniature computer lab against the far wall. A row of four ancient computers stood by, humming dully. "One's on the fritz. Two and four...well. How much time do you have?"

"Got it." Calla tapped the table in thanks before disappearing into the stacks, her sights set on the third station.

Someone had left a flurry of bright pink sticky notes along the desktop's frame, which Calla ripped off and discarded with ease. Cooper sighed somewhere over her shoulder, allowing her to take the reigns as she pulled up the library's directory and typed in two words.

Brother's Grimm

A loading screen popped up. Calla drummed her fingers against the table.