C is for Corpse (Kinsey Millhone 3)

"Oh Kinsey, now look what he's gone and done," she said and held her hand out. She was sporting a big square-cut diamond that I hoped was some gaudy fake.

"God, its gorgeous. What's the occasion?" I asked, heart sinking. Surely, they weren't engaged. She was so wrong for him, so giddy and false, while he was genuine.

"Just celebrating the fact that we met," Henry said with a glance at her. "What was it, a month ago? Six weeks?"

"Well, naughty you," she said with a playful stamp of her little foot. "I have half a mind to make you take this right back. We met June twelfth. It was Moza's birthday and I'd just moved in. You catered that tea she gave and you've spoiled me rotten ever since." She lowered her voice then to its most confidential pitch. "Isn't he awful?"

I don't know how to talk to people this way, exchanging pointless banter. I could feel my smile becoming self-conscious but I couldn't make it go away. "I think he's great," I said, sounding somehow lame and inept.

"Well, of course he's great," she said in a flash. "Why wouldn't he be? He's such an innocent, anyone can take advantage of him."

Her tone was suddenly quarrelsome, as though I'd insulted him. I could feel the warning signals clanging away like crazy, but I still couldn't guess what was coming. She was wagging a finger at me, red painted nails piercing the air near my face. "You, for one, you bad girl. I told Henry and I'll say it right to your face, the rent you pay is a scandal and you know perfectly well you've been robbing him blind."

"What?"

She narrowed her eyes, pushing her face toward mine. "Now don't you play dumb with me. Two hundred dollars a month! My stars. Do you know what studio apartments are renting for in this neighborhood? Three hundred. That's a hundred dollars you take away from him every time you write him a check. Disgraceful. It's just a disgrace!"

"Oh now, Lila," Henry broke in. He seemed nonplussed that she'd launched into this, but it was clearly something they'd discussed. "Let's don't get into this now. She's on her way out."

"You can spare a few minutes, I'm sure," she said with a glittering look at me.

"Sure," I said faintly and then glanced at him. "Have you been unhappy with me?" I felt the same sick combination of heat and cold that Chinese-food syndrome produces. Did he really feel I'd been cheating him?

Lila cut in again, answering before he could even open his mouth. "Let's not put Henry on the spot," she said. "He thinks the world of you, which is why he hasn't had the heart to speak up. You're the one I'd like to spank. How could you take an old softie like Henry and twist him around your finger that way? You should be ashamed."

"I wouldn't take advantage of Henry."

"But you already have. How long have you been living here at that same ridiculous rent? A year? Fifteen months? Don't tell me it never occurred to you that you were getting this place dirt-cheap! Because if you say that, I'll have to call you a liar right to your face and embarrass us both."

I could feel my mouth open, but I couldn't say a word.

"We can talk about this later," Henry murmured, taking her by the arm. He was steering her around me, but her eyes were still fixed on mine and her neck and cheeks were now blotchy with rage. I turned and stared as he moved her toward his back stairS. She was already starting to protest in the same irrational tone I'd heard the other night. Was the woman nuts?

When the door closed behind them, my heart began to thump and I realized I was damp with sweat. I tied my door key to my shoelace and then I took off, breaking into a trot long before I'd had a chance to warm up. I ran, putting distance between us.

I did three miles and then walked back to my place, letting myself in. Henry's back shades were down and his windows were shut. The rear of his house looked blank and uninviting, like a beachfront park after closing time.

I showered and threw some clothes on, and then took off, fleeing the premises. I still felt stung, but I was getting in touch with some anger too. What business was it of hers anyway? And why hadn't Henry leapt to my defense?

When I pushed into Rosie's, it was late afternoon and there wasn't a soul in sight. The restaurant was gloomy and smelled of last night's cigarette smoke. The TV set on the bar was turned off and the chairs were still upside down on the tabletops, like a troupe of acrobats doing tricks. I crossed to the rear and opened the swinging door to the kitchen. Rosie glanced up at me, startled. She was sitting on a tall wooden stool with a cleaver in her hand, chopping leeks. She hated anyone intruding on her kitchen, probably because she violated health codes.