Elly In Love (The Elly in Bloom #2)

Keith looked confused. “What?”


“I didn’t think of it last night because I was….” Elly’s memory flashed to last night, hysterically crying on the phone to Keith. She vaguely remembered saying the words “serial killer” and “hook-handed murderer.” Oh geez. Keith had rushed over to calm Elly down and to make her feel safe in her apartment. He had also brought his famous black-and-white cookies—and that hadn’t hurt either. Elly gave a sigh. “Yeah, I maybe went a little crazy last night.”

Keith stood and pulled on his jacket while trying to kiss Elly repeatedly. “Don’t apologize to me. If you were concerned, then I am too. There is nowhere else in the world I would have rather slept.” He paused, his tired eyes glinting in the morning light. “Except for on an air mattress. I would have rather slept on an air mattress.”

Elly flashed him a look of adoration.

He grinned. “I don’t think that you overreacted last night. You were unnerved by your experience with this kid already, and to come home in the dark and see that—” he gestured to the disgusting backpack sitting on the kitchen table. “You were well within your rights to freak out. I don’t think you have quite enough material to be on Unsolved Mysteries, like you suggested, but I don’t see the harm in the looking through it. At the very least, we’ll satisfy my curiosity.”

Keith and Elly walked cautiously over to the backpack, which was sitting in the middle of the bare table. He sniffed it, his face contorting with revulsion. “Ugh, this smells like an old burrito. Don’t smell it.”

Elly laughed. “Why did you?”

“I have no idea.” Using a napkin, Keith unzipped the pack and turned it upside down. Keith clutched his heart with mock fear as items fell to the table. “What are we expecting here? Duct tape? Rope?” Keith dropped his voice to a melodramatic whisper. “Is it a serrated knife? It’s always a serrated knife.”

Elly gave a frown as she sorted through the items with a wooden spoon. “It’s more like … Pringles. You watch too many crime shows.” There was a variety of strange items in the bag: a pair of crumpled up tighty-whities, two pairs of stonewashed jeans, a half-eaten Snickers bar, two worn magazines that dealt with video gaming, something called a “A Character Guide to Dungeons and Dragons,” a carefully folded picture of Sarah Michelle Gellar, and a much-loved paperback featuring a half-naked woman straddling a dragon. “What in the …?” wondered Elly, glancing at the book with a look of revulsion. “What does this tell us?”

“It tells us that this kid is a huge nerd who only has one pair of underpants.”

“A serial killer nerd with only one pair of underpants,” murmured Elly as she shook the can of Pringles. Half full. Who did that?

Keith straightened up and gave a horrible impression of a detective. “Based on the contents of the backpack, here’s what I would guess: The kid came back for his flowers, and somehow found his way up to your apartment. He knocked. You weren’t here because you were out with Kim at the restaurant.”

“Oh man, those enchiladas were so good,” Elly whispered.

Keith rubbed her cheek with the back of his finger. “Elly, based on this, I think he just accidentally left his backpack here. I’m pretty sure at this point there is nothing to be afraid of.”

She straightened up and looked at the geeky goods spread out on the table. Elly closed her eyes, feeling his finger brush her cheek. “You’re probably right. I’m overreacting. As usual. The sangria might have helped, now that I think about it.”

Keith picked up the book and thumbed through the pages. “Oh, yuck. This book has illustrations.” He turned the novel over. “I didn’t know that trolls were so well-endowed….”

A small piece of paper slipped out of the book and fell onto the table. Elly cautiously slid it down the table and flipped it over with the spoon. It was a worn out family photo, faded and yellow around the edges. A solemn man stared out from the left of the photo, the agitated look jumping off his face, even from behind thick spectacles. His stiff arm draped over the round shoulders of a cheery-looking, voluptuous woman. Her lap was completely swallowed under the weight of a chubby young boy, who was desperately clutching a plastic Millennium Falcon. While the mother and the boy were obviously at ease with each other, the father looked disinterested and distant. Elly pointed to the picture. “I’m pretty sure this is the kid from the store. Same blond hair.”

Colleen Oakes's books