packed it in ice. I knew that was bad—I was supposed to roll it on my palate at room temperature, but once a hick, always a hick, I guess. I liked it cold.

Chapter 9

At seven fifteen I took the pork out of the oven and put it on the counter to rest. I took the lid off the vegetables, turned up the heat, and boiled away the moisture while I shook the pan gently. It made them glaze slightly. I put them in a covered chafing dish over a low blue flame. I put the French bread into the still warm oven. I had stopped on the way back from Smithfield and bought a dozen native tomatoes at a farm stand. Each was the size of a softball. I sliced two of them about a half-inch thick and sprinkled them lightly with sugar and arranged them slightly overlapping on a bed of Boston lettuce on a platter and put them beside the roast to warm up. Tomatoes are much better at room temperature.

I had just finished washing my hands and face when the doorbell rang. Everything was ready. Ah, Spenser, what a touch. Everything was just right except that I couldn’t seem to find a missing child. Well, nobody’s perfect. I pushed the release button and opened my apartment door. I was wrong.

Susan Silverman was perfect.

It took nearly forty years of savoir faire to keep from saying “Golly.” She had on black pants and a knit yellow scoop-necked, short-sleeved sweater that gaped fractionally above the black pants, showing a fine and only occasional line of tan skin. The sleeves were short and had a scalloped frill, and her black and yellow platform shoes made her damned near my height. Her black and yellow earrings were cubed pendants. Her black hair glistened, her teeth were bright in her tan face when she smiled and put out her hand.

“Come in,” I said. Very smooth. I didn’t scuff my foot; I didn’t mumble. I stood right up straight when I said it. I don’t think I blushed.

“This is a very nice apartment,” she said as she stepped into the living room. I said thank you. She walked across and looked at the wood carving on the server “Isn’t this the statue of the Indian in front of the museum?”

“Yes.”

“It’s lovely. Where did you get it?”

This time I think I did blush. “Aw hell,” I Said.

“Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, it’s very good.” She ran her hands over the wood.

“What kind of wood is it?”

“Hard pine,” I said.

“How did you get the wood so smooth?”

“I rubbed it down with powdered pumice and a little mineral oil.”

“It is very lovely,” she said. “Did you do all these wood carvings?” I nodded. She looked at me and shook her head.

“And you cook too?”

I nodded again.

“Amazing,” she said.

“Can I get you a drink?” I said.

“I’d love one.”

“Would you take a vodka gimlet?”

“That would be splendid,” she said. Splendid. In her mouth it sounded just right. Anyone else who said “splendid” would have sounded like the wrong end of a horse.

I put five parts of vodka and one part Rose’s lime juice in a pitcher, stirred it with ice, and strained some into two short glasses.

“Would you care to sit on a stool and drink it while I make last-minute motions in the kitchen?”

“I’ll do better than that, I’ll help set the table while I’m drinking my drink.”

“Okay.”

The kitchen area was separated from the living-dining area by a waist-high partition and some lathe-turned risers extending to the ceiling. As I poured oil and vinegar over the tomatoes, I watched her through the partition. She was probably between thirty-five and forty. Her body was strong, and as she bent over the table placing the silverware her thighs were firm and smooth and her back and waist graceful and resilient where the blouse gapped. She moved surely, and I bet myself she played good tennis.

I sliced half the pork en croute in quarter-inch slices and arranged them on the serving platter. I put the chafing dish of vegetables on the table, put the tomatoes and roast out also. Susan Silverman’s glass was empty, and I filled it. My head was feeling a little thick from five beers and a large gimlet. Some would say a thickness of head was my normal condition.

“Candles too hokey?” I said.

She laughed and said, “I think so.”

“Shall we finish our drinks before we eat?” I asked.

“If you wish.”

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