C Is for Corpse

whole encounter took place in pantomime.
    Rosie had her order pad out. She stood and stared at Henry, behaving as though he were alone, which is exactly how she treats me when I come in with a friend. Rosie doesn't speak to strangers. She doesn't make eye contact with anyone she hasn't known for some time. This is especially true when the "anyones" are women. Lila was all aflutter. Henry conferred with her and ordered for them both. Much discussion ensued. I gathered that Lila had made some request that didn't suit Rosie's notion of gourmet Hungarian cuisine. Maybe Lila wanted the peppers left out or something roasted instead of fried. Lila looked like the sort of woman who'd have lots of dietary taboos. Rosie only had the one. You ate it the way she served it or you went somewhere else. Lila apparently couldn't believe that she couldn't be catered to. Shrill and quarrelsome noises arose, all Lila's. Rosie didn't say a word. It was her place. She could do anything she wanted to. The two men at the bar who'd been arguing about politics turned to watch the show. The couple eating the sonkas palacsinta paused simultaneously, forks in midair.
    Lila flounced her chair back. I thought for a minute she meant to hit Rosie with her purse. Instead, she delivered what looked like a scathing remark and marched toward the door with Henry scrambling after her. Rosie remained unruffled, smiling secretly as cats do in the midst of mouse dreams. The customers in the place, all five of us, got very quiet, tending studiously to our own private thoughts lest Rosie turn on us inexplicably and eighty-six us for life.
    Twenty minutes passed before Rosie found an excuse to head my way. My wineglass was empty and she was bringing me a refill with unheard-of good grace. She set the second glass on the table and then folded her hands in front of her, wiggling slightly in place. She does this when she wants your attention or feels you haven't lauded her with quite enough praise for some culinary accomplishment.
    "Looks like you took care of her," I remarked.
    "Is vulgar woman. Terrible creature. She was in once before and I don't like her a bit. Henry must be crazy nuts to come in my place with a hussy like that. Who is she?"
    I shrugged. "Listen, all I know is her name is Lila Sams. She's renting a room from Mrs. Lowenstein and Henry seems to be smitten."
    "I'm gonna smitten her if she comes in here again! She got something funny with her eyes." Rosie screwed her face up and did an imitation of Lila that made me laugh. Rosie's generally a humorless person and I had no idea her powers of observation were so keen, let alone her ability to mimic. She was dead serious, of course. She drew herself together. "What's she want with him anyway?"
    "What makes you think she wants anything? Maybe the two of them are just interested in a little companionship. Henry's very handsome, if you ask me."
    "I didn't ask you! He's very handsome, He's good fellow too. So why does he need companionship with that little snake?"
    "Like they say, Rosie, there's no accounting for taste. Maybe she has redeeming qualities that aren't immediately evident."
    "Oh no. Not her. She's up to something no good. I'm gonna talk to Mrs. Lowenstein. What's the matter with her, renting to a woman like that?"
    I rather wondered about that myself, walking the half-block home. Mrs. Lowenstein is a widow who owns considerable property in the neighborhood. I couldn't believe she needed the money and I was curious how Lila Sams had arrived at her doorstep.
    When I got back to my place, Henrys kitchen light was on and I could hear the muffled sounds of Lila's voice, shrill and inconsolable. The encounter with Rosie had apparently
    upset her thoroughly and all of Henry's murmured reassurances were doing no good. I unlocked my door and let myself in, effectively shutting out the noise.
    I read for an hour – six thrilling chapters from a book on burglary and theft – and went to bed early, wrapping myself up in my quilt. I turned off the light and lay there for a while in the dark. I could have sworn I still heard the faint rise and fall of Lila's wine, circling my ear like a mosquito. I couldn't distinguish the words, but the tone was clear... contentious and ill-humored. Maybe Henry would realize she was not as nice as she pretended to be. Maybe not, though. I'm always startled at what fools men and women make of themselves in the pursuit of sex.
    I woke at seven, had a cup of coffee while