"Anything else you can tell me?" T.S. didn't think it was much to go on.
"Naw." Lenny finished scanning the pages and showed them to T.S. "See for yourself."
It didn't help. He couldn't decipher a thing. He simply verified the address of Worthy Enterprises and thanked Lenny Melk for his help.
"My pleasure," the man replied, giving a portly bow. "Here, please, take my card in case you ever find yourself in need again of real estate consultancy services."
T.S. tucked it in his pocket along with the business card of Gregory Rogers, Dance Master Extraordinaire, and made his getaway. He managed to squeeze into the first elevator that arrived, which put him smack in the middle of an angry crowd of patrons who had not made the five o'clock deadline. Fortunately, no one had connected him with Lenny Melk and he felt relatively safe, with the exception of his wallet, which he discreetly patted periodically. He was, after all, in New York.
As he hurried from the building, he saw the small team of entrepreneurs lurking in the lobby and descending on the dissatisfied crowd, offering their services first thing in the morning. T.S. admired their nerve.
He stopped at the nearest public phone that worked, which turned out to be near Canal Street in the heart of Chinatown. Ignoring the shrieks of bargaining Chinese that whirled around him, he picked his way through the debris of a corner fish store and sought refuge in the gutter. Discarded lettuce lay across his shoe like a deflated balloon and he had to keep one finger firmly plugged in his free ear to hear the operator, but he finally obtained the number to Worthy Enterprises and, ignoring the glare of a waiting Chinese mother and small boy, quickly dialed it, not sure of what he would say.
"Good afternoon," a breathless voice answered. Another Marilyn Monroe wannabe. "This is the office of—" A garbage truck roared past, obliterating the rest of her sentence.
"Hello? Hello?" T.S. shouted. "Is this Worthy Enterprises?"
"Drop dead," the breathy voice replied. It was followed by a click.
It was a good thing Auntie Lil failed to warn him that she was also planning to invite Lilah to dinner as well as Herbert Wong. Had he known, T.S. would only have spent the few hours of preparation in being nervous. As it was, he had to endure a few seconds of a humiliating flush that crept up his neck when he spotted her waiting at the bar. Fortunately, Harvey's still believed that ambience required dim lighting and he knew his surprise had been well concealed.
"Got yourself a sunburn, Mr. Hubbert?" Frederick the bartender boomed.
"A sunburn?" he answered. "Why, no. I may have gotten a little more sun than anticipated today. It was quite warm, you know." He kept his eyes firmly away from Lilah.
"The usual?" Frederick asked him. "Auntie Lil has not yet arrived."
"The usual," T.S. confirmed. "My aunt called ahead?"
"No, but this lovely lady let me know the score." Frederick bowed briefly toward Lilah, who flashed T.S. a smile, giving him the opportunity to pretend that he had just spotted her.
"Lilah. What a lovely surprise." He slid onto the stool next to hers and immediately snagged the edge of his sweater on a splinter, pulling out a large loop of yellow yarn that gaped between them like spittle.
"Oh, your beautiful sweater," she fretted, unhooking him from the splinter. "Wait just a moment and I'll fix it." She produced a bobby pin from the depths of her upswept hair, releasing a charming lock of white strands that fell behind one ear. Holding the pin like a tiny sword, she reached one hand under T.S.'s sweater and he breathed in deeply, willing his potbelly to disappear, if only for the next fifteen seconds. She fumbled with the nap, located the offending string and hooked the pin around it, jerking it back through to the inside of his sweater with a quick tug. Holding the side seams tightly between two well-manicured hands, she stretched the nap smooth again. "There," she said, smiling shyly at T.S. "I used to do this for my daughters all the time."
"Not bad," Frederick interrupted from behind the bar. "I could use someone with your skills around my house." He set the Dewars and soda in front of T.S. It didn't stay there long.
"Thirsty?" Lilah inquired. "Have you had a hard day sleuthing?"
"Very hard," T.S. agreed. It seemed incredibly warm in Harvey's. You would think that with all the oak wainscoting and polished wood and brass and hanging plants that it would be at least a little bit cooler than outside. But no, it seemed hotter than a steam room in Hell, at least in his opinion.
"Look. There's Aunt Lil." Lilah turned on her stool and stared at the doorway. So did nearly everyone else in the restaurant. And no wonder. Auntie Lil was wearing a neon green pants suit of a diaphanous material. In response to the draft from the front door, it billowed about her like a cloud of poisonous gas. An enormous matching shawl exploding with bright purple flowers trailed off one of her shoulders onto the floor behind her. Suddenly, the front door opened again and a small man hurried inside, hot on the trail of the shawl's tail. Scooping it off the floor, he carefully brushed the dirt from the fabric and tucked it back over Auntie Lil's other shoulder.
"It's Herbert!" Lilah cried in delight.
Herbert Wong blinked his eyes slowly as he adjusted to the dim lighting. He was a petite Asian man of undeterminable age, with a military bearing and a small, rounded belly. His skin gave off a burnished glow and warm age spots dotted his pear-like complexion. Thinning hair was impeccably combed back from a jolly oval face that was dominated by sharply alert eyes. He was wearing a closely cut mustard-colored suit nicely set off by a gray and black diamond-patterned silk shirt. It was snazzy attire that any rock-and-roller would have been proud of, but on Herbert Wong it did not look out of place at all. Its gaudiness was tamed by an inner reserve evident in his regal bearing, and it suited him as appropriately as the colorful plumage of the male peacock. Preening ever so slightly, he scanned the restaurant's interior quickly and his face lit up with undisguised admiration when he spotted T.S. at the bar.
"Mr. Hubbert," he called across the foyer, following this respectful greeting with a tiny bow. Reflexively, T.S. tried to bow back and nearly toppled from his stool, saved only by the quick grasp of Lilah's surprisingly strong fingers. That first gulp of Scotch had gone straight to his head, he'd better slow it down.
Auntie Lil did not call out a greeting. She was too busy tussling with the new maître d', who had obviously not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. If he had, he would not have been wrestling with her or trying to convince her to give the shawl to the coat-check girl. As it was, he held one end of the enormous wrap and was tugging on it firmly while Auntie Lil gripped the other end with no intention of letting go. T.S. slid from his stool to intervene. He wanted the evening to start off smoothly.
"Madam, this is as big as a tablecloth," the maître d' was growling. "I really must insist that you check it." He was a small trim man with a pretentious pencil mustache, squeezed into a too-tight tuxedo. He was obviously singlehandedly trying hard to restore 1940s elegance to an unwilling Harvey's Chelsea Restaurant.
"Let go of my clothing, you worm," Auntie Lil said calmly. "This is a Donna Karan original and I'm not giving it up."
"Aunt Lil," T.S. interrupted. "Who would steal it? It screams louder than a burglar alarm. I don't think anyone will even try."
"I don't care. I like my clothing near my body. That is why I wear it." She and the maître d' squared off again and pulled, neither of them willing to let go.
Noticing the skirmish, a waiter hurried up, anxious to placate Auntie Lil. She was a notorious overtipper and thus, a favorite customer. The waiter had wisely decided that it would do no good to antagonize a valuable source of his income.
"Pierre," the waiter cried frantically. "It's no problem. I've plenty of room in my section." Before Pierre—who was more probably named Chip or Bruce—could protest, the waiter led Auntie Lil to her usual table at the rear of the dining room where she had an equally good view of the front door and the huge dessert cart. Herbert darted forward and pulled out her cha
ir for her after cleverly outflanking the overly attentive waiter. The waiter countered by carefully wrapping the shawl around Auntie Lil's chair so many times that it was left looking positively upholstered. T.S. contented himself with helping Lilah to her seat and grabbing the spot next to hers.
"A lovely outfit," Lilah murmured Auntie Lil's way.
"Isn't it?" Auntie Lil turned proudly in her seat. "These are the latest colors. A bit bright, so I decided not to wear a hat. It stands on its own, don't you think?"
"Indeed," T.S. affirmed. "I'd say it more likely races." He greeted Herbert politely and, after the usual round of inquiring after everyone's health and settling a few matters of an ingrown toenail here and a vacation to Mexico there, they all settled into ordering a new round of drinks and letting Auntie Lil order everyone's dinner.
"We'll pretend this is a Chinese restaurant," she said. "And we'll sample each other's entrees."
"Excellent idea," Herbert Wong beamed, but he was prone to beaming at anything Auntie Lil suggested. They had become constant companions as both were infused with inexhaustible energy and insatiable appetites for new adventures and friends.
"Don't forget that we are here to work," Auntie Lil reminded them as soon as their appetizers arrived. (Appetizers always arrived shortly after Auntie Lil did.)
Lilah volunteered to begin with a report on the medical examiner's findings. It was brief. Emily had indeed been poisoned. The substance was formally identified as a nitroprusside, a form of cyanide easily accessible to photographers, jewelers, metallurgists and goldsmiths, all of whom relied on it for various chemical synthesis purposes. It could have been put in her food in either powder or liquid form; there had not been enough evidence to support a particular finding either way. Emily had been thin, even considering her age, but not ill nourished. She had not eaten much that day, which had probably contributed to an almost instantaneous reaction to the minute amount of poison that she'd had time to consume before her death. Her age was estimated at between seventy and eighty-five. It was the assistant medical examiner's opinion (Lilah did not refer to him by name, much to T.S.'s satisfaction) that Emily had borne at least one child in the past and that she had suffered from a slight bone deformity in one leg, which may have helped explain Adelle's belief that she had been a poor dancer. Her teeth were in good shape and indicated regular professional care. She had dyed her hair with a popular silver coloring agent. Finally, she had no tattoos, scars or birthmarks that might help distinguish her from a million other little old ladies. And there was no mention made of her marvelous cheekbones.
They were silent, contemplating the method of murder.
"Women are poisoners," Auntie Lil remarked darkly. "I knew a woman in Montreal once who went through four husbands before they caught her. She even tried to poison the horse of the Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman who finally apprehended her."
"Men poison, too," Herbert politely disagreed. "At home in Singapore, there was a man whose wives always mysteriously died once their bloom of youth had withered. Curiously enough, his mother-in-law’s died soon after. We all suspected, but what could we do? One night he drowned off the coast and was eaten by sharks."
Well, good God. There was no way T.S. could top those two when it came to anecdotes about death. He contented himself with a small critical comment instead. "Whether it was a man or a woman, it was a good choice of method. It would almost certainly have gone undetected," he pointed out. "If the coroner had not been training a new assistant, I doubt the poison would have been found. Without an identity, there was no family to insist on an autopsy."
"Indeed," Auntie Lil agreed. "It was ingenious. Right there in a public place, with witnesses present to attest to her heart attack. No identity left on the body. But the killer obviously didn't know that she had friends there who might have been able to provide her name and address. That was a risk. He thought she was a loner."
"Which means the killer had not been stalking her long enough to know that the other actresses were her friends," Herbert added.
"That's right. Probably, he'd known her only in the last few months or so," T.S. decided. "She'd been feuding with the other actresses for about that long. Before then, I'm sure she probably sat at the same table with Adelle and the others. So you're right. He hadn't known her very long."
"He?" Lilah asked and they told her about The Eagle.
"The Eagle?" Herbert Wong repeated thoughtfully. "That's interesting. Did he mean an American Indian?" They stared at him silently and he defended himself. "A wise man covers all possibilities."
"That's right," Auntie Lil agreed, pushing her bowl away. She had already finished her soup and couldn't have done a faster job with a straw. "Which is why we need to cover all the bases in the weeks ahead."
"You have a plan?" Lilah asked, though the others knew this was a rhetorical question. Auntie Lil always had a plan in mind and it usually involved the efforts of others.
"Yes. I've asked Herbert to begin watching the apartment building where she lived. And I'm going to go to the police for help." She added this last sentence as if it were a great sacrifice on her part. "Theodore—did you find out who owned the building?"
He told them what he had learned and it was decided that he would try to track down the person or persons behind the dummy corporation, Worthy Enterprises.
"Excuse me," Herbert Wong then announced politely. They turned to him and waited. "I am most happy to devote all waking hours to my appointed task. But there are times when I must sleep," he admitted reluctantly.
"Of course. You'll have to have help watching the building." Auntie Lil drummed her fingers impatiently and the waiter, misinterpreting her movement, brought them another large basket of bread. She bit absently into a huge breadstick, which immediately crumbled into a small anthill on a spot of the tablecloth directly beneath the chin. She brushed the crumbs idly onto the floor, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "I've got it," she finally said, then swallowed. "Adelle and the other old actresses want to help," she quickly explained. "Herbert, you can supervise them in shifts. We'll watch that building like a hawk, or eagle as it were. There are enough of them to follow anyone who leaves the building. Keep track of their descriptions and the addresses where they go. It won't be easy, but then we won't be doing the work, will we? And it could be most informative." She smiled, extremely pleased at her logic.
That decided, Lilah asked how she might help. Without missing a beat, Auntie Lil explained how it was important for her dear Theodore to have someone he could call on night and day for aid.
Her extreme lack of subtlety went unnoticed by everyone but T.S., who was acutely embarrassed by the "night" part. But Lilah was unfazed and happily agreed, pleased to be a part of their plan.
"I'm going to keep interviewing neighborhood people," Auntie Lil assured them. "I'll go back to the Delicious Deli owner first. He mentioned she'd been out quite late at night a month or so ago. It was a change in her pattern and there must have been a reason for that change." She rooted around in her pocketbook while they waited, and finally produced the strip of dime store photos. "I'm also going to try and find out who these young boys are and what their connection to Emily might be."
T.S. was silent for a moment, but knew that he needed to speak up. He did not want to tell them what he'd seen going on next door to Emily's apartment, but there might be a connection. If so, Auntie Lil needed to be told. The trick would be to do so tactfully. T.S. was a big believer in tact.
He cleared his throat but was saved from immediate action when their entrees arrived. The apportioning, tasting and exclaiming that followed made it easier for him to broach the subject.
"Those young boys," he told his aunt as she shoveled shepherd's pie into her mouth. "I have a feeling about them," T.S. continued. "I think you'll probably find that they live on the streets. And earn their living doing… odd jobs and stuff around the neighborhood."
Auntie Lil looked at T.S. as if he were daft. "Odd jobs?" sh
e repeated skeptically. "There are no lawns to mow in Hell's Kitchen."
T.S. sighed. "No. But there are plenty of disgusting and perverted human beings willing to take advantage of starving runaways forced to make a dollar any way they can."
Auntie Lil stopped chewing and stared at him. She swallowed slowly and blinked. "Oh, dear. You don't say."
"I say," T.S. confirmed grimly.
"All right, then. I promise to be careful." Auntie Lil's shoulders slumped a little as she returned to her meal and Lilah gazed anxiously at T.S. Herbert patted Auntie Lil's hand and murmured something soothing. She was not overly fond of children, but Auntie Lil did delight in innocence.
"Perhaps you should try to speak to someone who works with runaways in the area," Herbert suggested diplomatically. "They may know the young boys."
"Brilliant!" Auntie Lil perked back up and patted his tiny hand fondly. "Herbert, you're a man after my own heart."
Carried away by her enthusiasm and praise, Herbert puffed up and made a rash promise. "On my part, I will search without ceasing for this man you call The Eagle," he announced. "I, too, believe he must have given Miss Emily that poison. I will not rest until he has been exposed."
"Then you had better start with trying to find the old man who saw him sitting next to Emily the day she died," Lilah said. She smiled at the group. "See? I have a good idea every now and then, too." Her smile focused on T.S. and he smiled happily back. Lilah was one big good idea, in his book.
By the end of the evening, they'd carefully laid out their plans and each of them had assigned tasks to perform. And although they'd not gotten very far yet, they all felt better knowing that their words would soon become actions.
The only thing left to decide was who would pay the check. After a brief tussle with Auntie Lil and Lilah, T.S. won. Herbert Wong took care of the tip. T.S. was not surprised to notice that it was as excessive as any Auntie Lil had ever left behind.
A Cast of Killers Page 15
