I is for Innocent

"I'd say the day was fair. I suffered a little episode of heart palpitations…" William's voice was powdery and feeble.

I put a hand to my ear to indicate I was having trouble hearing him. Henry leaned toward me.

"We spent the afternoon at the Urgent Care Center," Henry yelled. "It was fun. The equivalent of the circus for those of us on Medicare."

William said, "I had a problem with my heart. The doctor ordered an ECG. I can't remember now what he called my particular condition…"

"Indigestion," Henry hollered. "All you had to do was burp."

William didn't seem dismayed by Henry's facetiousness. "My brother's uncomfortable at any sign of human frailty."

"Hanging around you all my life, I ought to be used to it."

I was still focused on William. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, thank you," he replied.

"Here's how I feel," Henry said. He crossed his eyes and hung his tongue out the side of his mouth, clutching his chest.

William didn't crack a smile. "Would you care to have a look?"

I wasn't sure what he was offering until he took out the tracing from his electrocardiogram. "They let you keep this?" I asked.

"Just this portion. The remainder is in my chart. I brought my medical records with me, in case I needed them."

The three of us stared at the ribbon of ink with its spikes at regular intervals. It looked like a crosscut of ocean with four shark fins coming straight at us through the water.

William leaned close. "The doctor wants to keep a very close eye on me."

"I should think so," I said.

"Too bad you can't take a day off work," Henry said to me. "We could take turns checking William's pulse."

"Mock me if you like, but we all have to come to grips with our own mortality," William said with composure.

"Yeah, well, tomorrow I've got to come to terms with somebody else's mortality," I said. And to Henry I added, "Morley Shine's funeral."

"A friend of yours?"

"Another private investigator here in town," I said. "He used to be pals with the guy who trained me so I've known him for years."

"He died in the line of duty?" William asked.

I shook my head. "Not really. Sunday night he dropped dead of a heart attack." The minute I said it, I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I could see William's hand stray to his chest.

He said, "And what age was the man?"

"Gee, I'm not really sure." I was lying, of course. Morley was a good twenty years younger than William. "Golly, there's Rosie." I can "Gee" and "Golly" with the best of 'em in a pinch.

Rosie had just emerged from the kitchen and was staring at us from across the room. She approached, her face set in an expression of determination. As she passed the bar, she reached over and muted the volume on the TV set. Henry and I exchanged significant looks. I was sure he was thinking the same thing I was: She was going to take care of William and no two ways about it. I found myself almost feeling sorry for the man. The jukebox shut down and the noise level dropped. The quiet was a blessing.

William pushed his chair back and rose politely to his feet. "Miss Rosie. What a pleasure. I hope we can persuade you to join us."

I looked from one to the other. "You've been introduced?"

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 a

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 ru

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-"

"He

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.