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"Print," I murmured, though it came out as a guttural mutter, dangerously close to a grunt.
"She does freelance work," Bauer said. "Covering Canadian politics. She's Canadian."
"Oh? Interesting. You guys have a prime minister, right? Not a president."
I nodded.
Leah gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Well, there's the extent of my knowledge of international politics. Sorry."
We sipped our wine.
"Leah's a deputy sheriff in Wisconsin," Bauer said.
I nodded, struggling to think of some germane comment to make and coming up blank. Oh, please, Elena. You can do better than this. Say something. Say anything. Don't sit there like a grunting, nodding idiot. After we'd touched on my career, I should have asked Leah about hers. That was how small talk worked. My experience socializing with other women was e
mbarrassingly slight, but certain rules held true no matter who you were talking to.
"So you're a police officer," I said, then winced inwardly. Duh. If I couldn't come up with something more intelligent than that, I should keep my mouth shut.
"Not as exciting as it sounds," Leah said. "Especially not in Wisconsin. Cheese, anyone?"
She cut wedges from a round of Gouda and proffered the cheese board. We each took one, along with a lacy cracker that crumbled most unbecomingly as I bit into it. As we munched, Bauer refilled our half-empty wineglasses. I downed mine, praying it might help, then noticed both women watching me.
"Thirstier than I thought," I said. "Maybe I should stick to water."
Bauer smiled. "Drink all you want. There's more where that came from."
"So, do you live in Canada?" Leah asked.
I hesitated, but realized if I didn't answer, Bauer would. My life wasn't exactly a secret around here. "New York State."
"Her husband's American," Bauer said. "Clayton is your husband, isn't he? We couldn't find a marriage record, but when we were following you, I noticed he wears a wedding ring." She glanced at my left hand. "Oh, but you don't. That's an engagement ring you have, though, isn't it?"
"Long story," I said.
Leah leaned forward. "Those are always the best."
I inched back in my chair. "So, how about you two? Married? Boyfriends?"
"I've run through the marriageable material in my little town," Leah said. "I've put my name in for a transfer before the seventy-year-old widowers start looking good."
"I've been married," Bauer said. "Youthful rebellion. Married him because my father forbade it and soon realized that sometimes father does know best."
"What does your husband do?" Leah asked me.
"Clayton's an anthropologist," Bauer answered before I could deflect the question.
"Oh? That sounds ... fascinating."
Sipping her wine, Bauer gave a giggling laugh. "Admit it, Leah. It sounds perfectly awful."
"I didn't say it," Leah said.
Bauer drained her glass and refilled everyone's. "No, but you were thinking it. Trust me, this guy is no tweedy academic. You should see him. Blond curls, blue eyes, and a body ... Greek god material."
"Got a photo?" Leah asked me.
"Uh, no. So, how do you like--"
