Red Leaves

‘Do it well.’

‘Do it the best I can.’

‘So what are you good at?’

He decided to take her at face value. ‘I’m like a hound. I like to think that I have a good sense of intuition.’ Spencer paused. ‘But my partner, Will, would disagree with you. He says I’m a dog whose nose has been ruined by too much pepperoni.’

‘You must be thinking about my dog,’ said Kristina. ‘You seem like a good listener.’

‘I am a good listener,’ he admitted. ‘I’m also a good observer. I watch people and I usually find out more about them by how they sit and look at me than by what they say.’

She smiled. ‘What do you find out by looking at me?’

Spencer smiled back. ‘That you are not afraid of me. You stare me right in the eyes.’

‘Are you saying I’m in your face, detective?’

‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying.’ He was trying to be serious. ‘You’re looking right at me, and you are not afraid.’

‘Got nothing to be afraid of,’ Kristina said, looking away, and Spencer noticed that.

Leaning closer and speaking softer, Spencer said, ‘What are you afraid of, Kristina?’

‘What, like in general? Or most?’

He thought about it. ‘Most,’ he replied.

‘Death. No, not death. Dying,’ said Kristina. Spencer nodded.

‘How about you? What does a cop fear most?’

‘I don’t know about a cop, but me, I’m most scared about having to live with my conscience. I like to sleep at night.’

‘Has your conscience been bothering you?’ She smiled.

‘Not so far.’

She nodded, sipping her drink. ‘In your line of work, you can’t afford to make mistakes, I guess. To be wrong about people.’

‘You’re right.’ Spencer took a sip of his drink. Where was she heading with this? ‘I’m not often wrong about people.’

She smiled coyly. ‘Think you’re wrong about me?’

He willingly smiled back. ‘I’m right on about you. You are brave and smart.’ He wanted to add that she was also very beautiful, but of course one did not say those things to a Dartmouth girl over coffee. Besides, she didn’t need to be told that.

‘Are you flexible, detective?’

‘I’m as stiff as a board,’ he said. ‘One of my many failings.’

‘You don’t seem like you have many of those,’ said Kristina.

‘You’re trying to be gracious. I’m full of bad habits.’

‘Yeah? Like what? And who isn’t?’

‘You, for one.’

‘Me?’ She laughed. ‘I have more bad habits than you’ve had dinners.’

‘Name one.’

She thought for a moment. ‘I’m compulsively neat,’ she said.

‘Really? I’m compulsively sloppy.’

‘I really like to win at basketball,’ she said.

‘I really like to close my cases.’

‘I never wear enough clothing outside and always catch colds.’ As if to prove that, she sneezed.

‘Oh, yeah? I always bundle up too much and sweat profusely.’

‘I constantly do things to make my life really complicated.’

‘I constantly do things to make my life as simple as possible.’

She paused. ‘Sometimes I drink.’

He paused too. ‘Huh! Would that I only drank sometimes.’

And then they smiled at each other.

‘Are you twenty-one, Kristina?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, inexplicably excited. ‘Finally.’

‘I see. You didn’t tell me you drink, okay?’

‘Drink? I meant drink coffee.’

‘Good. We won’t mention it again.’ He paused. ‘So you’re happy to be turning twenty-one? For all the usual reasons?’

She nodded. ‘And then some,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. But she didn’t offer to explain and he didn’t pursue it.

They drank their hot chocolates and nibbled on the Portuguese muffins - a sort of English muffin but bigger, thicker, and sweeter.

‘So Detective O’Malley, have you had any interesting cases? I have to write this article on the death penalty for the Review. I’m thinking of writing something about the criminal.’