Back at the hotel in Boston, Fix wanted everyone to eat in their rooms, but Ronni wanted to try the new dining room, Apley's.

"Francis," she said. "I'm tired of being shut up in one room or another. I want some elegance."

Alexander nodded at Fix. "I'm sure it will be fine," he said. "Mr. Spenser can join us, if you're worried about security."

Farrell shrugged. "Your funeral," he said. "I don't eat that French crap myself."

The maitre d' recognized Alexander and found us a table for three without trouble. Apley's was mirrored and elegant. A woman played a harp near the middle of the room. The menu was aggressively nouvelle cuisine.

The waiter took our drink order. I had beer. Alexander had a martini, and Ronni had a Jack Daniel's on the rocks.

Ronni looked at the menu and then smiled at me.

"Do you mind eating here, Mr. Spenser?"

"No. I like it. I eat French crap a lot."

The waiter brought the drinks. Alexander lifted his martini and smiled at us.

"Cheers," he said. We drank. "How do you like campaigning, Spenser?"

"On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

"It can be tiresome, I suppose. Ronni and I have gotten used to it. And I must say there's a lift from…" He made a gesture with his hands as if he were packing a large snowball. "From being with the people. From actually seeing the voters."

"Including the young woman who asked about your stance on public education?"

Alexander smiled his splendid smile. "Politics is compromise, Mr. Spenser."

"You saw how she was dressed," Ronni said. The s's slushed just a little.

"To try and articulate my position at that time, in that place, would not have been wise. She was obviously unsympathetic. The press was there. They'd like nothing better than to describe how I got into a shouting match in a shopping mall."

The waiter appeared. "Excuse me," he said. "May I tell you about our specials this evening."

Alexander nodded.

"First you can get me one more drink," Ronni said.

"Certainly, ma'am." The waiter took the glass, looked at Alexander and me. We shook our heads. The waiter departed.

"Tell us a bit more about yourself, Spenser. We know only that you come highly recommended, that you are unmarried, and agnostic."

"That says it all," I said.

"One of Francis's sources said you were, how did he put it, an ironist."

"That too," I said.

The waiter returned with Ronni's bourbon. She drank it while he explained about the specials. The explanation took a while and I wondered, as I always did when people recited a menu at me, what I was supposed to do while they did it. To just sit and nod wisely made me feel like a talk show host. To get up and go to the men's room seemed rude. Once in Chicago I had tried taking notes in the margin of the menu, but they got mad at me.

When the waiter got through, Ronni said, "Is that duck good?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How about the stuff with the green peppercorns?"

"The game hen? Yes, ma'am, that's excellent."

"Which do you think would be better?" she said.

"Both are excellent, ma'am."

Alexander said, "I'll have the tenderloin of beef, please." The waiter looked grateful. He looked at me. I ordered duck. He looked reluctantly back at Ronni. She finished her bourbon.

"I don't know what to have," she said. The waiter smiled.

"If you'll bring me one more little glass of bourbon, then I'll decide." The last word sounded suspiciously like deshide.

"Anything for you gentlemen?"

I had another beer. Alexander shook his head. The waiter departed. Ronni was studying the menu.

"I assume you have done police work at some time, Mr. Spenser?"

"Yes."

"You didn't like the police?"

"Yes and no," I said. "Like everything else. The work is worth doing, most of it. But"-I shrugged-"too many reports. Too many supervisors who never worked the street. Too much cynicism."

Alexander raised his eyebrows. "Too much cynicism? I would have thought you a cynic, Mr. Spenser."

I shrugged.

"You're not?"

"Not entirely," I said.

"What do you believe in?"

The waiter came back with Ronni's bourbon and my beer.

Alexander said to Ronni, "Why don't you have the game hen with peppercorns?"

Ronni swallowed some bourbon and nodded.

Alexander said to the waiter, "The lady will have the game hen with green peppercorns."

"Very good, sir. Would you care to order wine?"

Alexander said, "No, I don't think…"

Ronni said, "Oh, come on, Meade. Dinner without wine is like a kiss without a squeeze."

Alexander nodded at the waiter. He produced a wine list and handed it to Alexander. Alexander glanced through it and ordered a good California Pinot Noir. The waiter went to get it.

Ronni began to hum along with the harpist.

Alexander looked at me, finished his martini, put it down, and said, "So what is it you are not cynical about? What do you believe in?"

"Love," I said. "I believe in love-Alfie."

Alexander's face was serious as he looked at me. Ronni's humming was a little louder. The harpist was playing something classical that I didn't know. Obviously Ronni didn't know it either, but she wasn't discouraged. She swayed slightly with the music as she hummed.

Alexander kept his gaze fixed on me. "I do too," he said.

Alexander was working a luncheon reception at the Marriott Hotel in Springfield. The crowd was stretch-fabricked and hair-sprayed and there were hors d'oeuvres and a cash bar. The hors d'oeuvres ran to bologna and cream cheese whirls, salami and cheese cubes on a stick, chicken livers and bacon. You could almost hear the arteries clogging as Alexander's supporters wolfed them down.

At one end of the room Meade and Ronni were in an informal reception line, shaking hands, smiling, cursing big government, and praising God. A young man and woman who looked like college kids stopped to talk with him. The boy had a mouse under his right eye. From where I was I couldn't hear them, but I saw Ronni's breath go in sharply, and I saw Alexander frown. He nodded then raised his eyes and looked around the room until he saw me. He gestured me toward him.

As I moved toward him through the crowd, a middle-aged man in plaid slacks said, "You can't just keep giving it away to people who won't work…"A woman in a bouffant hairdo and blue-rimmed eyeglasses said, "… Darwinism simply does not have the data to support…"

Ronni smiled at me brightly. Meade said, "Spenser, these two young people have a rather disturbing story to tell. I wonder if you could find a quiet corner and talk with them." He glanced at the two kids. "This is Mr. Spenser, our Chief of Security." I tried to look modest. "This is, ah…"

"John," the boy said. "John Taylor. This is my fiancee, Melanie Walsh."

I said, "How do you do," and took them to a sort of pantry off the reception room, where glassware and china and things were stored. I leaned against a stack of folded chairs and crossed my arms and said, "What's up?"

The kids looked at each other, then John said, "We're students. AIC. I'm a junior and Melanie's a sophomore. We were handing out literature yesterday for Mr. Alexander down by the Civic Center when a couple of men came along and told us to beat it."

I nodded.

"I said we were not doing anything illegal and what right had they to tell us to beat it. They just sort of laughed and then one of them knocked the bunch of flyers-Melanie had a bunch of Alexander flyers and we were handing them around, you know?"

I nodded.

"Anyway, one of them knocked the flyers out of Melanie's hand onto the ground and the wind blew them around and then I said something and the other one hit me and knocked me down."