page. "Perhaps corporate espionage? Or drug trafficking? Poison… that's a woman's method. Women are poisoners, not men. And what did that old man mean by 'The Eagle' . . . remember? He said he'd seen 'The Eagle' breathe evil into her mouth?"
The air was thick with possible theories as Auntie Lil's disjointed monologue continued while the limousine crawled slowly through the ever present construction jams that dotted the main roads toward Auntie Lil's Queens apartment house. T.S. did not attempt to translate the obscure and strange collection of possible motives tumbling from Auntie Lil's mouth. There was no talking to her at the moment, T.S. knew. Not when her brain had been seized by such an enticing puzzle. He could practically see the theories zinging wildly from synapse to synapse as Auntie Lil built, pooh-poohed and quickly replaced theories.
He ignored her mutterings and smoothly fixed Lilah a fresh drink from the limo's bar, pouring out a healthy Dewars and soda for himself. It was just as well that Auntie Lil was so preoccupied. He was in no mood to hear what she had to say. He, too, needed time to think. Why had someone murdered a harmless old woman? Good Lord, this was much more interesting than those stupid soap operas.
While Lilah waited for him in the limousine, T.S. chivalrously escorted Auntie Lil to her door. She scarcely noticed his presence.
"Want me to clear a table for you, so you can work?" he suggested. She nodded absently, too busy wrestling her Jolly Green Giant hat off her head to pay any attention to him.
Auntie Lil's apartment looked like a cyclone had recently blown through and deposited the contents of three other apartments and a museum or two throughout her four small rooms. He picked his way past waist-high stacks of books in the small hallway and managed to unearth a table at one end of the cluttered living room by shoving the bolts of material and magazines covering it onto the carpet where the mess would lie, unnoticed, for perhaps another century or so. He tripped over her bathrobe—which had been hanging from a knob on a china cabinet—when the terrycloth belt became wrapped around one of his pants legs. Untangling it, he noticed that an easel had been set up in the dining room area and that small tubes of acrylic paint cluttered those portions of the mahogany dining table not already covered by unopened Book-of-the-Month Club packages, baskets of letters, empty envelopes, stacks of stationery and a good three dozen pens and pencils. Not to mention the new pair of pink tennis shoes with Auntie Lil's initials etched on the side in gold glitter that protruded from the center of a forgotten bowl of fruit.
It was enough to make him drop to his knees and begin scrubbing, straightening, alphabetizing and bringing order into the utter chaos that was Auntie Lil's home.
Chaos to him, at least. With irritation, he noticed that she sailed directly through the debris to a large cabinet where she quickly found a thick volume with the physician's staff symbol on its spine. "You run along, Theodore," she told him absently, flipping through the pages with purpose. "Have a good time and I'll see you in the morning."
Have a good time? Doing what? Talking about murder? Not his idea of a romantic date. But definitely Auntie Lil's idea of a good time. She was already hard at work, flipping through pages and scribbling theories in her notebook. A pool of light from a nearby lamp cast a halo around her sturdy head, giving her a deceptively angelic look. He gave her an affectionate glance, then shut the door behind him, carefully locking both locks. He'd hate for a burglar to stumble in on Auntie Lil. The poor guy wouldn't stand a chance.
By the time he and Lilah reached Times Square again, it was past eight o'clock and the well-dressed crowds of theatergoers were safely ensconced in their plush cushioned seats. A momentary lull had descended on the busy streets. Neon lights blinked off and on brightly in the new twilight. The early evening slasher-and-action shows had already started at the many movie theaters nearby. It would be an hour or more before those audiences were disgorged onto the sidewalks, blinking in the artificial glow of New York night and—all pumped up with images of car chases and knife fights— anxious to spill their excitement onto the crowded sidewalks.
"I always find Times Square so overwhelming at night,"