bed," he told them good-naturedly. "There's a good doorway down on the highway. Nice view of the river. Gets a good breeze. Some rock and roll doo-wop club. Empty this time of day. Plus a nice warm grate from the laundry next door keeps me warm if I need it. If you'll excuse me," he nodded and ambled off down the block.
"I suppose I should offer him my couch," Auntie Lil said guiltily.
"He won't take it," Herbert told her. "I have tried. He is a man of great independence with a fondness for the river."
"A fondness for the river?" Auntie Lil shivered. "Not me. Did you know that a woman died there yesterday? An old woman. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought it was me from the description."
Herbert looked up slowly. His face grew very still and his eyelids came down ever so slowly until his eyes were nearly obscured. "Description?" he asked softly.
Auntie Lil shrugged. "An old woman. Stout. Wearing too young clothes. That was all I heard."
"Lillian." Herbert's tone was soft and very sad. "Do you not think it a coincidence that one of us is missing? One of us who is stout and old? And prone to wearing clothes that are too young?"
Their eyes met. "How could I have missed it?" she admitted softly.
Herbert's head bowed. "Let us pray that it is not her."
It was nearly noon by the time T.S. awoke. The sun streaming in his bedroom window only served to confuse him more. He looked down at himself slowly. He was wearing pajamas. But he could not remember donning them the night before. In fact, he could not remember very much at all of the night before. There had been that party at Lance Worthington's … and a man. A man named Albert who knew Lilah.
Lilah. He sat up straight and winced as a spear of pain pierced both temples. The last thing he remembered was watching Lilah huddled in a kitchen corner with that rich jerk, Albert. What in the world had happened after that and how in the hell had he gotten home and into his own bed?
He'd never had a blackout before and, yet, he didn't remember drinking all that much. But it hurt his brain to ponder the situation for long. What he needed right now was aspirin.
His body felt like it belonged to someone else. His stomach was tender and, indeed, felt deeply bruised, though no surface scars were evident. His legs were heavy and, when he finally maneuvered them out of the bed, refused to hold his weight at first. He stood, teetering gently, found his balance, then made his way down the hall. Brenda and Eddie emerged from the spare bedroom to watch his progress with reproachful attention and berated him with indignant caterwauling. He had missed their early feeding by hours and hours. Headache and mysteries of the night before momentarily forgotten, T.S. wearily found and opened a tin of chicken-and-cheese bits to still their incessant meowing. It was like having children. Loud and greedy children who could not be ignored.
The kitchen gleamed so brightly that it hurt his eyes. He searched through the cabinets and found the jar of aspirin. A few minutes later he had even managed to pry open the childproof cap. He gulped three of them down then wandered through the living room in his pajamas, sipping at a small glass of warm water. His stomach did not feel as if it would tolerate anything else. Something was not quite right about his apartment. He knew it well and the air held a vaguely foreign scent. Something had disturbed his beloved and rigid routine.
He spotted the coat and froze. A thin black silk evening coat was slung over the entrance chair. Lilah's. But if that was Lilah's coat, where was she? Feeling like one of the three bears, he carefully searched his apartment, discovering fresh evidence of an intrusion in the extra bedroom. The spare bed had been neatly made, but not with his customary precision hospital corners. It was clear that Lilah had slept there last night.
T.S. looked down suddenly at his pajamas… but surely not? He blushed deeply and was glad that he was alone. Especially when he discovered his best suit piled in a small heap in one corner of his own bedroom. That confirmed it. He would never, not under any circumstances, simply toss his attire in a pile. Someone else had undressed him last night. But