I is for Innocent (Kinsey Millhone 9)

The wide stone terrace at the rear of the house looked out over Santa Teresa with a view toward the mountains. In the town below, lights had come on, delineating the layout of city blocks in a grid of streets and intersections. We settled into wicker chairs padded with plump cushions in floral chintz. The pool was lighted, a glowing blue-green rectangle with a spa at one end. Wisps of steam drifted off the surface, creating a mild breeze scented with chlorine. The surrounding grass looked lush and dark, the house behind us a blaze of yellow.

Guda appeared with a bottle of chardonnay nestled in a cooler, two long-stemmed wineglasses, and a tray of assorted canapes. I put my feet up on a wicker ottoman and fed myself little treats. Guda served us water crackers as crisp and flavorless as slate, mounded with soft herb cheese infused with garlic. On the plate with the crackers, she'd arranged tuna-filled cherry tomatoes and flaky homemade cheese sticks. After a sumptuous supper of cold cereal, I had to restrain an urge to snatch at the food like a snarling mongrel. I tried a sip of the wine, a silky blend of apple and oak. Kick-ass private eyes hardly ever live like this. We're the Gallo aficionados of the jug-wine set. "Count your blessings," I said.

Francesca surveyed her surroundings as if seeing all of it through my eyes. "Odd that you should say that. I've been thinking of leaving Kenneth. I'll wait till the trial is over, but after that I can't think what would keep me."

I was surprised at the admission. "Really?"

"Yes, really. It's a matter of priorities. Winning his love used to seem so important. Now I realize my happiness has nothing to do with him. He did hang in there with me through the surgery and the chemo and I'm grateful for that. I've heard a lot of horror stories about spouses who can't handle the prolonged stresses of a battle with cancer. I'm the one who's undergone a shift. Gratitude doesn't make a marriage. I woke up one morning and realized I was out of control."

"What triggered the realization?"

"Nothing in particular. It's like being in a dark room with the lights suddenly flipped on."

"What will you do if you leave?"

"I'm not sure, but something simple. I probably feel the same sense of amazement at this place that you do. I wasn't born with money. My father was a grade-school custodian and my mother worked in a pharmacy, stocking shelves with dental floss and Preparation H."

I laughed at the image. "Well, you look like you belong here."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment. I'm a quick study. When Kenneth and I first started dating, I watched everybody in his crowd. I figured out who was really classy and did whatever they did, with embellishments of my own, of course, just to make it look original. It's just a series of tricks. I could teach you in an afternoon. It's mildly entertaining, but none of it really matters much."

"Don't you enjoy having all these things?"

"I suppose so. I mean, sure, it's nice, but I spend most days in the sewing room. I could do that anywhere."

"I can't believe you're saying this. I heard you were nuts about Kenneth."

"I thought so myself and I was, I suppose. I was totally infatuated with him in the early days of our relationship. It was like a form of craziness. I thought he was powerful and strong, knowledgeable, in charge. Very manly," she said in a deep voice. "He fit my image of what a man should be, but you know what? He turns out to be rather shallow, which is not to say I'm so profound myself. I woke up one day and thought, What am I doing? Really, it's a struggle to be around him. He doesn't read. He doesn't think about things. He has opinions, but no ideas. And most of his opinions he picks up from Time magazine. He's so shut down emotionally, I feel as if I'm living in a desert."

"That sounds like half the people I know," I said.

"Maybe so. It might just be me, but he's changed a lot in the last few years. He's so brooding and dark. You've met him, haven't you? What's your reaction?"

I shrugged noncommittally. "He seems okay," I said. I'd only met the man once, and though I didn't find him attractive, I'm wary about bad-mouthing one spouse to another. For all I knew, they'd reconcile later in the evening and all my remarks would be reported verbatim. I shifted the subject. "Speaking of reactions, what was yours to Isabelle? I take it that's part of what your testimony will be about."

Francesca made a face, stalling her response until she'd topped off our wineglasses. "That and the infamous gun disappearance. All of us were there. As for Isabelle, she was a bit like Kenneth in some ways- charismatic on the surface, but under that, nothing. She did have talent, but as a person she was hardly warm or caring."