The waiter appeared. "Excuse me," he said. "May I tell you about our specials this evening."

Alexander nodded.

"First you can get me one more drink," Ronni said.

"Certainly, ma'am." The waiter took the glass, looked at Alexander and me. We shook our heads. The waiter departed.

"Tell us a bit more about yourself, Spenser. We know only that you come highly recommended, that you are unmarried, and agnostic."

"That says it all," I said.

"One of Francis's sources said you were, how did he put it, an ironist."

"That too," I said.

The waiter returned with Ronni's bourbon. She drank it while he explained about the specials. The explanation took a while and I wondered, as I always did when people recited a menu at me, what I was supposed to do while they did it. To just sit and nod wisely made me feel like a talk show host. To get up and go to the men's room seemed rude. Once in Chicago I had tried taking notes in the margin of the menu, but they got mad at me.

When the waiter got through, Ronni said, "Is that duck good?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How about the stuff with the green peppercorns?"

"The game hen? Yes, ma'am, that's excellent."

"Which do you think would be better?" she said.

"Both are excellent, ma'am."

Alexander said, "I'll have the tenderloin of beef, please." The waiter looked grateful. He looked at me. I ordered duck. He looked reluctantly back at Ronni. She finished her bourbon.

"I don't know what to have," she said. The waiter smiled.

"If you'll bring me one more little glass of bourbon, then I'll decide." The last word sounded suspiciously like deshide.

"Anything for you gentlemen?"

I had another beer. Alexander shook his head. The waiter departed. Ronni was studying the menu.