I is for Innocent (Kinsey Millhone 9)

Henry said, "She came over to the table when we first got here."

Rosie's gaze strayed to William and then dropped modestly. "You might be engaged in conversation," she said, fishing for reassurance as usual. This from a woman who bullies everybody unmercifully.

"Oh, come on. Have a seat," I said, adding my invitation to William's. He remained standing, apparently waiting for her to sit, which she showed no signs of doing.

Rosie barely acknowledged Henry and me. Her glance at William shifted from coquettish to quizzical. She focused on the ECG tracing. She tucked her hands beneath her apron. "Sinus tachycardia," she announced. "The heart is suddenly beating one hundred times a minute. Is horrible."

William looked at her with surprise. "That's it. That's correct," he said. "I suffered such an incident just this afternoon. I had to see the doctor at an urgent care facility. He's the one who ran this test."

"There's nothing they can do," she said with satisfaction. "I have similar condition. Maybe some pills. Otherwise is hopeless." She settled herself gingerly on the edge of the chair. "You sit."

William sat. "It's much worse than fibrillation," William said.

"Is much more worse than fibrillation and palpitations put together," Rosie said. "Let me see that." She took the tracing. She adjusted her glasses low on her nose, rearing back to see it better. "Look at that. I can' believe this."

William peered over at it again as if the strip of paper might have been injected with a whole new meaning. "It's that serious?"

"Terrible. Not as bad as mine, but plenty serious. These wavy lines and these spiky points?" She shook her head, her mouth pulling down. She handed the tracing back abruptly. "I get you a sherry."

"No, no. Out of the question. I don't imbibe spirits," he said.

"This Hungarian sherry. Is completely different. I take myself at first sign of attack. Boomb! Is gone. Just like that. No more wavy lines. No more spike."

"The doctor never mentioned anything about sherry," he said uneasily.

"And you want to know why? How much you pay to see this doctor today? Plenty, I bet. Sixty, eighty dollars. You think he don' want you come running beck? You got that kind of money? I'm telling you, do what I say and you'll be just like new in no time. You try. You don' feel better, you don' pay. I guarantee. I give you the first. On the house. Ebsolutely free."

He seemed torn, debating, until Rosie turned a steely gaze on him. He held his thumb and his index finger an inch apart. "Perhaps just a bit."

"I pour myself," she said, getting to her feet.

I raised my hand. "Could I have a glass of white wine, please? Henry's treating."

"A round of blood pressure medication for the bar," he said.

Rosie ignored his attempt at humor and moved off toward the bar. I didn't dare look at Henry, because I knew I'd smirk. Rosie had William eating out of her hand. While Henry had been mocking and I'd been polite, Rosie was treating William with the utmost seriousness. I had no idea where she intended to go from here, but William seemed to be thoroughly disarmed by the approach.

"Doctor never said anything about spirits," he repeated staunchly.

"It can't hurt," I supplied just to keep the game afloat. Maybe she meant to get him drunk, soften his defenses so she could tell him the truth-for a man his age, he was as healthy as a horse.

"I wouldn't want to do anything counterproductive to my long-term treatment," he said.

"Oh, for God's sake. Have a drink," Henry snapped.

Under the table, I placed my foot on top of Henry's and applied some pressure. His expression shifted. "Yes, well, that just reminded me. Grandfather Pitts partook of occasional spirits. You remember that, don't you, William? I can still picture him on the front porch, sitting in his rocking chair, sipping his tumbler of Black Jack."

"But then he died," William said.

"Of course he died! The man was a hundred and one years old!"

William's expression shut down. "You needn't shout."

"Well, shit! People in the Bible didn't live as long as he did. He was healthy. He was hale and hearty. Everybody in our family-"

"Hennnnrrry, you're losing it," I sang.

He was abruptly silent. Rosie was returning to the table with a tray in hand. She'd brought a glass of white wine for me, a beer for Henry, plus two liqueur glasses and a small ornate bottle filled with amber liquid. William had obediently risen to his feet again. He pulled a chair out for her. She put the tray down and sent him a simpering smile. "Such a gentleman," she said and actually batted her eyes. "Very nice." She passed the wine to me, the beer to Henry, and then sat down. "Permit me, please," she said to William.