P Is for Peril

narrow side room. The air smelled of sauteed garlic and onion, roasting chicken, and marinara sauce. The atmosphere was intimate with only half the tables occupied because of the rain. There was a quiet buzz of conversation and the occasional clatter of silverware. Votive candles provided circles of light in the darkened space. The waiter brought us two menus, and after a quick consultation, Tommy ordered a bottle of California Chardonnay. While we waited for that, he sat and played with a fork, making plow lines along the edges of a paper napkin. His watch was white gold and he wore a gold ID bracelet, heavy links glimmering against his ruddy skin. "I went back and read your rental application. You're divorced."
    I held up two fingers.
    He said, "I've never been married. Too much of a rolling stone."
    "I tend to appeal to guys on the move," I said.
    "Maybe I'll surprise you. Where's your family?"
    "My parents died in a car accident when I was five years old. I was raised by my mother's sister, my aunt Gin. She's dead now, too."
    "No siblings?"
    I shook my head.
    "What about the husbands? Who were they?"
    "The first was a cop… I met him when I was a rookie…"
    "You were a cop?"
    "For two years."
    "And the second?"
    "He was a musician. Very talented. Not so good at being faithful, but he was nice in other ways. He cooked and played piano."
    "Skills I admire. And where is he now?"
    "I haven't any idea. You said your parents were gone?"
    "It's weird being an adult orphan, though not as bad as you'd think. What'd your father do for a living?"
    "Mail carrier. My folks were married fifteen years before I came along."
    "So you only had five years together as a family."
    "I guess that's right. I hadn't thought of it that way."
    "Poor babe."
    "Poor everyone. Such is life," I said.
    The waiter returned with our Chardonnay and we watched him politely as he went through the ritual of extracting the cork, presenting a sample of wine, and then pouring two glasses. We hadn't even looked at the menus so we were accorded a few minutes to decide what we wanted. I ended up ordering the roast chicken and Tommy ordered the pasta puttanesca. We shared a salad up front. Once the entrees arrived, Tommy said, "Tell me about the boyfriend. What's the deal on him?"
    I lowered my fork, feeling defensive on Dietz's behalf. "Why should I talk to you about him?"
    "Don't be so prickly. I'd like to know what's going on here. Between us."
    "Nothing's going on. We're having dinner."
    "I think there's more to it than that."
    "Really. As in what?"
    "I have no idea. That's why I'm asking you."
    "What are we doing here, defining our relationship? I've known you an hour."
    His smile was slow. He seemed unaffected by my churlishness, which I couldn't seem to control. "Actually, I think it's closer to two hours than one. I saw you at the rental property twice before and now this." He finished the wine in his glass and poured himself more, adding wine to my glass first. His eyes were really the most extraordinary shade of green.
    I said, "Well, I haven't known you long enough. Besides, you're too young."
    He lifted his brows and I found myself blushing.
    I said, "How'd you decide to move to Santa Teresa?"
    "You're changing the subject."
    "I don't like to be pushed," I said.
    "Let's talk about sex. Tell me what you like in bed in case it ever comes up."
    I laughed. "Let's talk about grade school. I hated mine. How'd you feel about yours?"
    "Good. It was fun. I was captain of the Safety Council two years in a row. I went to four different colleges, but didn't graduate. I may try it again some day. I'd like to finish my degree."
    "I did two semesters of junior college and didn't like it at all. I took Spanish in adult education, but I've forgotten everything except 'ola' and 'buenos dios.' "
    "You cook?"
    "No, but I'm a tidy little thing."
    "Me, too. My brother's a pig. You'd never guess it by looking. He dresses okay, but his car's a mess."
    "I carry cans of motor oil in my backseat."
    "Part of your work," he said, forgivingly.
    We chattered on in this fashion and I found myself liking his face. Also, I was not exactly unaware of his body, lean and muscular. I wondered where Dietz was tonight. Not anywhere in range, so what difference did it make? Few men appeal to me, not so much because I'm picky about them. I'm protective of myself, which means I disqualify all but the most-what…? I couldn't think what it was that allowed some men to get through my