"What are you seeing a psychiatrist for, then?" he asked, his voice low.
"So I won't steal things any more."
He held the edge of the table for a minute, not meeting her eyes. Finally he said, "I see. Well, that's fine, Beth. How've things been at work?"
Beth grinned and told him.
The days were turning cool and the trees had started scattering dry leaves into the wind. On a sharp weekend afternoon Pendleton was killing time in the produce district before driving over to Beth's.
There was a coffee shop open and Pendleton thought about crossing over for a cup of coffee. The whitewashed door of the place shot open and a fat woman with an orange-fringed shawl came out. She was carrying something wrapped up in a paper napkin. She glanced at Pendleton, hesitated a second and then went running off toward a closed warehouse. By the time she reached it, the short-order cook was on the street looking after her. He threw a gesture after her and went back inside.
Pendleton shivered once slightly. He started walking for his car and a block from it he found himself running. He got to Beth's place ahead of the approaching dusk.
The downstairs door wasn't locked, but Beth's apartment door didn't open when he tried it. Pendleton grunted, slapping his pockets for something to pick the lock with.
The door opened. Beth, in capris and a striped sweater, looked out at him, her head tilted slightly to one side. "Did I hear applause? You're early."