The Caller

Forty

As Hunter’s attention moved to the person standing before him he frowned, but the uncertainty in his stare lasted just a fraction of a second before it was substituted by a look of total surprise — a look that the woman standing there failed to recognize.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, unable to hide her embarrassment. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ There was a touch of disappointment in her tone.

‘Of course I do,’ Hunter said, returning his drink to his table. ‘The twenty-four-hour reading room at UCLA.’ He searched his memory for her name. ‘Tracy, right? Tracy Adams.’

Her disappointment gave way to a coy smile.

‘Your hair looks a little different,’ Hunter added. ‘That’s why it took me a second.’

Tracy’s wavy red hair was pegged back over her ears by two small hairclips, revealing a pair of dainty skull earrings, with tiny black rocks for eyes. The rest of her hair fell loose past her shoulders, framing a very attractive heart-shaped face, where expressive green eyes sat behind old-fashioned, cat-eye glasses, but the real difference was in her fringe. This time, instead of looping above her forehead to form a pin-up-style victory roll, it simply fell naturally over her face, partially covering her left eye.

‘Sorry about the intrusion,’ Tracy said, her demeanor still showing a little embarrassment. ‘I was sitting at the bar when I saw the hostess showing you to your table.’ Her shoulders moved up in a delicate shrug. ‘I thought I would come and say, “Hi.” ’

‘No intrusion at all.’ Hunter’s gaze gravitated towards the bar for a quick second. ‘I’m glad you did.’

Not wanting to sound too forward, he quickly accessed the scene. At the bar sitting area, no one was expectantly looking their way. Tracy also had her drink in her hand, which suggested that she hadn’t left anyone waiting for her back at the bar or at a table. Hunter indicated the empty seat across the table from him.

‘Would you like to have a seat?’

She hesitated for a moment before reinforcing her point. ‘Are you sure? I really wouldn’t like to intrude.’

‘You’re not,’ Hunter reassured her. ‘It would be a pleasure.’

The coy smile returned to Tracy’s lips and she finally nodded in acceptance. ‘In that case, sure. Thank you.’

She took the seat, placed her drink down on the table and nodded at Hunter’s glass, making a reference to when they first met by the coffee vending machine.

‘I must say, that looks a lot more appealing than a Caramel Frappuccino Deluxe.’

Hunter smiled. ‘I agree. Probably healthier too.’

‘So, what are you having?’ she asked. ‘The choice in here is overwhelming.’

‘Yes, that’s for sure,’ Hunter replied as his eyes settled on his glass. ‘Scotch. Kilchoman... Caramel Barley Deluxe.’

Tracy laughed. ‘Year?’

The question surprised Hunter.

‘Twenty-ten.’

She made a face, impressed. ‘Great choice. They’re a very traditional distillery. If I’m not mistaken, I think that they are the only ones that complete all parts of their whisky-making process on site. Nothing gets outsourced.’

Hunter tried not to frown at her again, but he was sincerely intrigued. Women in general weren’t very fond of Scotch whisky, which wasn’t at all surprising. Whisky was undoubtedly an acquired taste, one that at first would certainly overpower anyone’s palate and knock the air out of their lungs in the process. Hunter knew that only too well. The trick was to persist, to keep trying, to keep sipping it until one day it finally made sense. Women usually weren’t that patient with drinks. They either liked it at first sip or they didn’t.

‘It sounds like you know quite a bit about whisky.’ Hunter didn’t ask the question, but it silently floated in the air, begging for an answer.

‘My father was Scottish, from the Highlands,’ Tracy explained, before having another sip of her drink. ‘So I was introduced to it at a very early age, and I mean — very early age. He used to dip my pacifier in it when I was a baby to get me to go to sleep. After that, from when I was about four onwards, he would allow me a sip of his Scotch on special occasions, like Christmas and New Year. If my grandfather were around, he’d do the same. My mother didn’t like it at all and she used to tell my father off all the time, but he didn’t care. He’d just turn around and say, “Aye, let the lass have a wee snifter, hen. It’s guid for her, aaricht.” ’

To Hunter’s surprise, Tracy’s Scottish accent was absolutely flawless, and terribly sensual.

‘On my sixteenth birthday,’ she continued, ‘my father poured me my first full shot of Scotch.’ She paused, feeling the need to clarify. ‘Have you ever been to Scotland?’

Hunter shook his head. It was his turn to feel a little embarrassed. ‘No, unfortunately not. Actually, I’ve never been out of the country.’

A new, surprised look from Tracy. ‘You need to go sometime. It’s an astounding place, especially the Highlands, but since you’ve never been there, you might not know this — by law, pubs, bars, and restaurants in Scotland have to use a measured shot. No free pouring like over here, so when I say a shot, I mean about this much.’ She indicated on her glass. It was less than half the original measure Hunter had received.

‘Wow.’

‘But as I’ve said, from the age of four onwards, my father wouldn’t just allow me a sip of his Scotch and that was that. He would always explain about the nose, the palate, and the finish, so by the time I started having my own when I was sixteen, I could already discern flavors and underlying tones. Scotch is my favorite drink.’ She paused and made a half-pained face. ‘And I have just bored you stiff, haven’t I?’

‘No, not at all,’ Hunter shook his head. The truth was, he found Tracy very charismatic. Very easy to get comfortable with. ‘That’s a very interesting story.’

Tracy laughed. ‘I can tell that you don’t know many people with Scottish heritage then. They are very serious about their whisky over there, and they start training their young ones early.’

‘And it works,’ Hunter commented, ‘because, as I’ve said, it sounds like you really know your stuff. So now I’m curious. Since you’re a connoisseur, what are you drinking?’ He nodded at her glass.

She paused for a moment.

Hunter couldn’t tell if it was for effect or not.

She looked back at him as she replied. ‘Same as you — Kilchoman, 2010.’

This time Hunter couldn’t hide the frown. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘No.’ She pushed her glass in his direction. ‘There, have a sip.’

Hunter regarded her for a second before reaching for the glass. He first brought it to his nose. As he inhaled the fumes the curious look on his face deepened.

Tracy waited.

Hunter had a small sip and his eyes shot in her direction. Tracy had a whole new smile on her lips. ‘I had you there for a second, didn’t I? With over three hundred different types of whisky served here, it would’ve been an amazing coincidence.’

Hunter returned her glass to the table and pushed it back towards her. ‘Yes, it would’ve been. And yes, you did have me for a second. So what is it, Balvenie?’ Hunter shrugged. ‘Maybe Caribbean Cask or Doublewood?’

The impressed look was back on Tracy’s face. ‘That’s very good,’ she confirmed. ‘Fourteen, Caribbean Cask. You’re talking about me? You sound like a connoisseur yourself.’

Hunter chuckled. ‘Not quite. I have a bottle at home, so its palate is a little familiar to me.’

A tall waiter, carrying a round silver tray, approached Hunter’s table. ‘Here we go: cheeseburger and fries?’

‘That would be mine. Thank you.’ Hunter said.

The waiter placed the plate on the table in front of him. ‘Could I get you anything else — ketchup, mustard, another drink...?’

‘No, I’m fine, thank you. This will do.’

The waiter looked at Tracy.

‘I’m still going here.’ She lifted her glass. ‘Thank you.’

‘Enjoy.’ He addressed Hunter again. ‘If you need anything else just give me a shout. My name is Max.’

As the waiter walked away, Hunter looked at Tracy. ‘Please help yourself to some fries. There’s enough here to feed about four people.’

‘That is a lot of fries,’ Tracy agreed. ‘But thank you, I’ve eaten already.’

‘Please, have at least a couple.’

Tracy studied Hunter for an instant. He hadn’t touched his food yet. Her next question came out cautiously. ‘Are you fearful of eating in front of others?’

Hunter studied her in return. ‘No,’ he finally said. ‘Not at all.’ He reached for the salt and sprinkled some over the fries.

Tracy was still studying him. He still hadn’t touched his food.

‘It’s OK to be, you know?’ she said in a comforting tone. ‘It’s actually very OK to be. The condition is a lot more common than you’d expect. About ten to twelve percent of Americans are either fearful or embarrassed of eating in front of others. Did you know that?’

‘Well,’ Hunter said, ‘you’re the psychology professor, so I trust you’re right, but I’m really not fearful or embarrassed of eating in front of others. I just thought that it would be a waste because I certainly won’t be able to eat all these fries.’ He finally reached for his cheeseburger and took a bite.

Silence.

Hunter pretended not to notice the confused look on Tracy’s face.

‘And now we are back to our starting point,’ she said at last. ‘Which was — you owe me an explanation.’

‘Do I?’ Hunter asked, once he was done chewing.

‘Well, OK, no, you don’t owe me anything, but I’d love to understand how you knew.’

Hunter played dumb.

‘C’mon. The first time we met back at UCLA we talked for about two minutes outside the reading room. I gave you no clues, but somehow you knew that I was a professor.’

Hunter had another bite of his cheeseburger.

‘I know you didn’t figure any of that out from the books I had with me that night because none of them were on academia, or on the subject I teach. Nonetheless, just now you revealed that you also knew that I’m a psychology professor. How?’

Hunter had a few fries.

‘Obviously, from the phone call you received that night, I gathered that you were a detective with the Homicide Special Section of the LAPD.’

Hunter looked back at Tracy.

‘I had to check that online to find out what it was,’ she explained. ‘So fine, your specialty is figuring things out. At least I’m not that freaked out about you anymore.’

‘Freaked out?’

‘Well, you meet a complete stranger in the middle of the night and within a couple of minutes he’s telling you things about you that he shouldn’t really know. That could be a little unsettling, don’t you think? Especially in a city like LA. You could’ve been a secret stalker for all I knew.’

The word ‘stalker’ triggered Hunter’s brain to re-engage. He put his cheeseburger down.

‘Are you having problems with a stalker?’ Hunter’s tone was so heavy with concern it caused Tracy to do a double-take.

‘What...? No. It’s not that. I was just giving an example.’

Hunter remained quiet.

‘The truth is,’ Tracy moved on, ‘you’re right. I’m a psychology professor, and as such I’d love to be able to understand the thought process behind your deduction. What gave it away? How did you piece it together?’

Hunter had a few more fries. ‘Are you sure you don’t want any?’

Tracy sighed. ‘Will you answer my question if I have some?’

‘Sure.’

Tracy grabbed a few fries and dipped them in the tomato relish that accompanied them.

‘Like I told you before,’ Hunter finally said, ‘it’s just observation.’

‘That’s what you’ve said, yes,’ Tracy agreed. ‘And that’s also why I told you that I couldn’t see it, despite replaying everything I could remember about the episode in my mind countless times. Like I said, none of the books I had with me that night were on academia, or on any subject related to psychology. I didn’t have my badge on display, so how did you figure out that I am a psychology professor at UCLA?’

Hunter was about to reply when he felt his cellphone vibrate inside his pocket. He reached for it and checked the display screen.

‘Give me just a minute,’ he said, getting to his feet and bringing the phone to his ear. ‘Detective Hunter, Homicide Special.’ Hunter listened in silence for several seconds. ‘What?’ Disbelief filled his entire body. ‘Are you sure?’ He consulted his watch — 11:03 p.m. ‘OK. OK. I’m on my way.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ Tracy’s comment came as a whisper. ‘Again?’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Hunter said. The look on his face was somewhere between confused and incredulous. ‘I have to go.’

Tracy didn’t know what to say, so instead, she kept her surprised eyes on Hunter.

He reached for his wallet and placed a couple of bills on the table. As he took the first steps in the direction of the exit, he paused and looked back at Tracy.

‘I know that this will sound odd but... could I call you sometime?’

Tracy really wasn’t expecting that. ‘Umm... yeah, sure. I’d like that.’

Hunter winked at her before setting off again.

‘Wait,’ Tracy said, quickly jotting down her number on a paper napkin and getting to her feet. ‘It would help if you actually had my number, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, that would help,’ Hunter replied as he took the napkin. A second later he was gone.