Chris Carter - The Caller

‘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?’