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Rosita’s was a pretty place on a pretty street half a mile from the pretty Chandler campus. Great aromas, the gratifying absence of bullfighting posters, serape wall hangings, and dangling sombreros.
The minimalist, tasteful ambience was working; the dining room was nearly full and abuzz with conversation. Or maybe it was just the food. The clientele was students and older people who could be faculty or just older people who liked Mexican cuisine.
No one noticed our entry except a blond woman in a corner booth facing the door. She waved, the hostess saw the gesture, smiled, ushered us through, and said, “Here they are.”
The table was set for three. The woman sat with military posture as her fingertips grazed an empty margarita glass. She wore a black cowl-necked sweater and dangling onyx earrings. Fifties, angular andpleasant-looking with tightly curled shoulder-length blond hair and green eyes.
Vivid green, a surprising match to Milo’s. Surprising because only two percent of people have pure-green eyes and I’d never seen ocular emeralds like my friend’s.
Neither Milo nor Kathy Bookbinder seemed to notice.
She said, “Milo? Kathy.” A glance at me.
I said, “Alex.”
Her lips twisted. She stared at me, puzzled, but said nothing.
Milo said, “What’re you having?”
“My usual. Chile relleno chicken taco combo with black beans.”
“Sounds good.”
“If that’s what you really want.” Kathy Bookbinder looked at me again.
I said, “Fajitas sound right.”
“An individualist—no offense to you, Lieutenant.”
“Milo’s fine.”
“Milo, then.” Yet another examination of my face. “I know you. You spoke here a few years ago. Long-term effects of child abuse. You’re a psychologist.”
I said, “Alex Delaware.”
She repeated my name. “Your talk was excellent.”
“Thanks.”
Milo began his speech: “Dr. Delaware helps us on certain cases—”
“Good for your department,” said Kathy Bookbinder. “Being that forward-thinking.” Back to me. “I can see why you’d be on this one.”
A waiter came over and took our order. Kathy Bookbinder tapped her glass and said, “Another, please.”
“Coming up. What about you gentlemen?”
“Iced tea.”
“The same.”
When the waiter was gone, she said, “It’s only my second dose, Milo. In case you’re curious.”
“I’m curious by nature but not about that.”
Kathy Bookbinder folded her lips inward, let them open slowly and settle as a neutral hyphen. “Tell me about poor Persephone.”
He gave her the basics.
