daylight in front of a grammar school. Auntie Lil's defense—that the middle of the block was a stupid place for a red light and no children were around—had not played well in front of the judge. Especially since, in a display of rookie enthusiasm, the patrolman had actually showed up in court, describing Auntie Lil's impulsive behavior and colorful vocabulary with a flair for overacting not seen since the days of silent movies. Auntie Lil had zero tolerance for being imitated and promptly hit him with her pocket-book in front of the judge, thus ensuring an enormous fine and narrowly escaping a token jail term.
Thus had war been declared between Auntie Lil and the police, a feud underscored since by the City's continuous failure to instill its officers with the need for treating law-abiding citizens with a minimum of respect. Ever since the expensive incident, Auntie Lil had relentlessly kept track of her every contact with the NYPD and T.S. had to admit that very few had been pleasant, despite a lack of provocation from Auntie Lil. Even the most innocuous questions, such as asking directions, seemed to irritate the overworked force. And, of course, once Auntie Lil ran up against Lieutenant Abromowitz any residual respect or sympathy for the NYPD went right out the window. But that was another story.
There were more important matters on Auntie Lil's mind now. "Why would anyone kill a harmless old lady?" she asked, enraptured by the intricacies the mystery promised. She stared into space and slowly twirled a white curl absently around a finger.
"Perhaps it was a random killing?" Lilah suggested, impervious to the skeptical expression triggered by her remark. "Some nut case." Her voice slowed and she shivered delicately. "Perhaps they intended to kill someone else."
Now that was a good point, T.S. felt.
"No." Auntie Lil shook her head firmly. "She was the only one poisoned. It had to have been added to her portion alone. No one would know it was hers unless it was on her tray. I'm sure it was intended for her. How absolutely efficient they were."
"Thanks to your chili. The perfect disguise for poison," T.S. added pointedly.
"They'd have gotten her if we'd been serving egg custard," Auntie Lil protested. "And the caustic effect on her stomach lining was caused by the poison, not by my chili. I don't care what you say."
"Caustic effect on her stomach?" Lilah echoed faintly. She finished the rest of her drink in a sudden, unladylike gulp.
Grady rescued her before T.S. had the chance. "Perhaps, madam, you might care for another drink?" he suggested tactfully. Lilah's dismayed face dominated the rearview mirror.
"We haven't got time for that now," Auntie Lil declared. Her brow furrowed as she stared into the depths of her pocketbook for divine guidance. "We've got to come up with a plan at once and move quickly before the police take over everything and ruin it. Dr. Millerton will notify them tomorrow, I'm sure of it. We must have a plan in place by then."
T.S.—who did not share her eminent domain theory when it came to murder cases—patted Lilah's arm reassuringly. "Really, Aunt Lil. Not everyone relishes murder the way you do, you know."
"I'm not relishing murder," she protested. "I detest murder. I'm outraged. And I'm also too busy thinking to talk." She bit her lip and decided. "Take me home, Grady. I need to think this over at once."
"Before you commandeer Lilah's car," T.S. suggested tactfully, "perhaps you'd like to confer with us." He kept his voice calm but glared at his aunt. Otherwise, she would have totally missed his point.
The glare had a minimal effect. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She flapped her hankie at them. "Just because I'm going home doesn't mean you have to. We must get those photographs developed at once. Go to that twenty-four-hour place at Times Square. It only takes an hour or so. Then you two can go off and booze it up and whatever it is Theodore has in mind. I'm going to work."
"Boozing it up was not what I had in mind," T.S. protested firmly. "But now that you mention it, I wouldn't turn down a stiff drink in a dark bar."
"Neither would I," Lilah agreed faintly.
"Good. Get rid of me and we'll meet in the morning." Auntie Lil was already scribbling ideas in her small notebook, muttering key points of theories aloud. "Relatives?" she asked herself. "Jealousy? The past?" There was silence. "Love interest?" she shouted triumphantly, jotting it down on a