Cinnamon Kiss

“I don’t care,” she said. “You sound lonely. I’m here alone, wide awake.”

“You know a man named Haffernon?” I asked then.

“He was Axel’s father’s business partner. The families have been friends since the eighteen hundreds.”

“Was?”

“Axel’s father died eighteen months ago.”

“What do you think of Haffernon?”

“Leonard? He was born with a silver spoon up his ass. Always wears a suit, even when he’s at the beach, and the only time he ever laughs is when he’s with old school friends from Yale. I can’t stand him.”

“What did Axel think of him?”

“Did?”

“Yeah,” I said coolly even though I could feel the sweat spread over my forehead. “Before today, right?”

“Axel has a thing about his family,” Cynthia said, her voice clear and trusting still. “He thinks that they’re all like enlight-ened royalty. They did put money into our little law office.”

“But Haffernon’s not family,” I said. “He didn’t put any money into your office did he?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“He didn’t give us any money. He doesn’t have much sympathy for poor people. He’s not related to Axel either — by blood anyway.

But the families are so close that Axel treats him like an uncle.”

“I see.” Calm was returning to my breath and the sweat had subsided.

“So?” Cynthia Aubec asked.

1 0 7

W a lt e r M o s l e y

“So what?”

“Are you coming over?”

I felt the question as if it were a fist in my gut.

“Really, Cynthia, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me tonight.”

“I understand. I’m not your type, right?”

“Honey, you’re the type. A figure like you got on you belongs in the art museum and up on the movie screen. It’s not that I don’t want to come, it’s just a bad time for me.”

“So who is this man who might commit a crime under pressure?” she asked, switching tack as easily as Jesus would the single sail of his homemade boat.

“Friend’a mine. A guy who’s got a lot on his mind.”

“Maybe he needs a vacation,” Cynthia suggested. “Time away with a girl. Maybe on a beach.”

“Yeah. In a few months that would be great.”

“I’ll be here.”

“You don’t even know my friend,” I said.

“Would I like him?”

“How would I know what you’d like?”

“From talking to me do you think I’d like him?”

That got me to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Cynthia asked.

“You.”

“Come over.”

I began to think that it might be a good idea. It was late and there was nothing to hold me back.

There came a knock at the door. A loud knock.

“What’s that?” Cynthia asked.

“Somebody at the door,” I said, reaching for the German auto-matic.

“Who?”

1 0 8

C i n n a m o n K i s s

“I gotta call you back, Cindy,” I said, making the contraction on her name naturally.

“I live on Elm Street in Daly City,” she said and then she told me the numbers. “Come over anytime tonight.”