Early Autumn

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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This is the least “Spenser”-ish of the Spenser novels, and it's the most quintessentially “Spenser”-sh. If that's possible. I've probably read it more than any other in the series and probably could've written 75% of what I'm going to end up saying here without cracking it open. But why deny myself?

I'm going to try to keep this from getting out of control, but no promises.

Please. I have no one else. Please.”

“There's a qustion whether you need anyone else,” I said, “but I'll take a whack at it on one condition.”

“What?”

“You tell me your name so I'll know where the bill gets sent.”

She smiled. “Giacomin,” she said, “Patty Giacomin.”

“Like the old Ranger's goalie,” I said.

“I'm sorry?”

“Gentleman of the same name used to be a hockey player.”

“Oh. I”m afraid I don't follow sports much.”

“No shame to it,” I said. “Matter of not being raised properly. Not your fault at all.”

She smiled again, although this time it was a little unsure, as if now that she had me she wasn't certain she wanted me. It's a look I've seen a lot.

EARLY AUTUMN

Early Autumn

Spener: For Hire

EARLY AUTUMN

You've gotten yourself in a lot of trouble over this, Jack, and don't you forget it,” he said.

I said, “Name's Spenser with an S, like the poet. I'm in the Boston book.” I stepped through the door and closed it. Then I opened it again and stuck my head back into the hall. “Under Tough,” I said. And closed the door, and walked out.

ad nauseam