him a lawyer. They're releasing Bob in a few more minutes."
"They're letting him go?" Auntie Lil asked, surprised.
"Just for now. Believe me, they're not dropping anything."
"Why were you crying?" Auntie Lil asked sharply. "You're a big girl. You knew they had charged him. He needs you to be strong."
"I wasn't crying about Bob. I was crying about you."
"Me?" Auntie Lil demanded incredulously. "Why on earth would you cry about me?"
"I was sitting in a chair by the front precinct door," she explained. "This man at a desk across the partition started calling around to other police stations. He kept saying the same thing over and over. They had found a body floating in the Hudson. It was an old lady, did they have any missing person reports that fit? She had not been dead for very many hours. Then he'd describe her. Stoutly built. Broad face. Wearing very young clothes for her age. She didn't have any identification." Annie gulped and continued. "My imagination got carried away. I was afraid it was you. And that it was my fault for leaving you there alone."
"Me? No, it certainly was not me. Stout, indeed. Quite old? Besides, I do not wear clothes that are too young for my age. I simply have a highly developed sense of joie de vivre." Auntie Lil stared out the street window. The Hudson River had not claimed her that day, but it had certainly claimed someone who looked a lot like her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lance Worthington's building was one of those colored-glass and blasted-sand towers that spread like a plague throughout New York City in the 1980s. The newness had worn off quickly and small patches of concrete peeked through the cheap patina of surface beige. Already, the building sagged, as if collapsing from the weight of too high rents and too many tenants struggling to maintain a lifestyle they could no longer afford. It seemed the perfect home for a borderline Broadway producer.
Grady dropped them off in front of the drooping entrance awning with a promise to return every thirty minutes to see if they were ready to escape. Lilah looked around apprehensively. Though on the East Side, the building was located on a somewhat dubious side street that featured frequent and ominous stretches of shadow.
"I'm already depressed," T.S. decided. "How about you?"
"I am now," Lilah replied, staring at the figure of the slumbering doorman. He was a portly soul packed into a too snug uniform with a yellowish stain above the shirt pocket. He was snoring away behind a waist-high counter, with his feet propped up on the top of it and his chair tipped against the wall. This precarious position caused his head to dangle backwards at a preposterous angle, providing guests with an excellent view of his sinus cavities.
"We'll only be a minute," T.S. told the unconscious sentinel.
"We're just going to burgle a few apartments and be right out." He glowed warmly at Lilah's appreciative giggle and guided her gallantly into the elevator. He had perfected the art of steering her by the arm, a gesture he felt was nearly as intimate as holding hands yet far less juvenile.
"It was a wonderful dinner," she thanked him again on their way upstairs. "I haven't eaten so much food in forty years. The most exotic Robert ever got was French."
T.S. was so pleased at how well their dinner had gone that he had no trouble with being reminded of Lilah's deceased husband. He could afford to be magnanimous. After all, it was not as if he were competing with a legend. Good heavens, Robert Cheswick had been a superior horse's ass and, as it turned out, a rather big liar as well.
They reached the appropriate floor and it was immediately apparent where the party was being held. All thoughts of a small tasteful gathering vanished with the first blast of raucous music and the distant roar of drunken shrieks. The apartment door at the end of the hall seemed to nearly pulsate in its effort to contain the bacchanal inside.
"Perhaps we waited a bit too long," T.S. said, slowing down to consider the situation.
"Come on," Lilah urged him, pulling him forward. "We've come this far, we might as well see it through."
T.S. straightened his tie and steeled himself for the coming chaos. After several fruitless moments of pounding on the door, he finally pushed it open and, quite literally, faced the music. He and Lilah stood in the doorway staring at a sunken living room that