The detective hung up gently and Auntie Lil stared out the picture windows of the darkened storefront. A floater. The waters of the Hudson had claimed another victim. She shivered. The secrets of Hell's Kitchen seemed darker than ever.
It had been an excellent day for T.S. Such a good day, in fact, that he was halfheartedly considering retiring the tan slacks and black sweater he'd worn to mark his triumph. Why, the sweater still smelled faintly of Lilah's gardenia perfume. And surely there were a few of her silver hairs nestled among its nap. After all, they'd sat side by side for hours in the Performing Arts Library, poring over old Playbills in search of Emily Toujours in cast listings or a glimpse of her face in any photos. Their lack of success at this task had not dimmed the triumphs of the day.
At first, he had felt a bit guilty about St. Barnabas and was unsure if his help had been expected there or not. But he had managed to rationalize that worry away quite nicely by remembering that they had tossed his dear old aunt out on her ear, and that Father Stebbins had failed to even recognize him the day before. So surely his obligations to the soup kitchen could take a back seat to the investigation.
And why should he begrudge himself a cozy lunch with Lilah at a small French bistro off Sixty-Second Street? What better way to cap off a morning of careful scrutiny than with exquisite dishes, an excellent dry white, a beautiful woman and a maître d' with enough sense to provide a candlelit atmosphere in the middle of the day. Thus fortified, they had returned to the library and spent a number of happy hours paging through still more Playbills while reminiscing about the many Broadway shows they had seen with other people… and the many more they hoped to see together.
Eight hours passed by as quickly as eight minutes, made that much more delicious by the thought that there was still an evening together to come. Who cared if they had to spend that evening in the supercilious company of a cheesy would-be Broadway producer? In fact, who cared that not a trace of Emily Toujours had been found, not even as an extra or in a backstage capacity? He had spotted several of the other old actresses, he thought, in their earlier incarnations, though he could not be positive. The young and painted faces that stared out at him in faded photographs held little relation to the heavily wrinkled versions they now wore.
Except for Adelle. It was true, he discovered, that she did look quite a lot like she had when she was younger. Her broad face and regal neck weathered well. And he found more traces of her career than anyone else's. She appeared to have worked her way up to featured roles by the late forties and early fifties, before disappearing into obscurity again. It was interesting and rather sad from a sociological standpoint, but shed no light on Emily's murder so far as T.S. could determine.
Fortunately, lack of progress made in finding any trace of Emily Toujours was balanced out by progress that had been made in other, quite important areas. Tonight more would be made, T.S. was sure. He searched his closet for evening attire appropriate for a wealthy investor, and settled on his very best suit, custom-made in Hong Kong according to Auntie Lil's strict specifications.
He had a plan: if all went well, he and Lilah would be able to quickly eliminate Lance Worthington as nothing more than a typical Broadway fringe sleaze. Then they could forget about murder for a few minutes and find a small and charming bistro that served drinks.
He hummed as he dressed. He was starting to like retirement; it afforded the luxury of ignoring business as usual. He had risen that morning without even so much as a glance at the newspaper, and now here he was plunging into a world of dim lights, quick looks and shared smiles. A world that would last for as long as he cared it to. There would be no rising early for him tomorrow, no damnable office to sap his energy. He was free. He could be whoever he wanted to be. The emergence of T.S. Hubbert, new man in town, continued on its uncertain course.
He helped it along a bit by selecting a slim, purple tie