arrived at the basement entrance a few moments later, his beefy face an alarming shade of purple. "Terrible news, Lillian, isn't it? It's quite a shock to my system." He shook his head in dismay as he unlocked the back gate.
Typically, Fran hovered a few paces behind. Her beatific expression of obedience faded into a scowl the moment she saw Auntie Lil. "What are you doing here?" she hissed. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?"
"What in the world are you talking about?" Auntie Lil demanded. She drew herself up to her full height, but that wasn't saying much. She still stood nose-to-nose with Fran, whose stouter build gave her a decided advantage.
"Now, now, ladies. Please." Father Stebbins raised two arms in a bishop-like plea for peace. He had probably practiced in front of a mirror. "Let's talk to the police and get it over with. They didn't sound very happy on the phone."
So, Auntie Lil realized, the police had called Father Stebbins and Fran had conveniently been lurking nearby. And both of them thought that Auntie Lil had been telephoned as well. She saw no reason to correct their misconception. It would be so much more convenient for them all, especially her, if she simply weaseled her way inside on their coattails.
"Poisoned," Fran hissed in Auntie Lil's ear as they marched inside the soup kitchen. "That certainly was some special chili recipe you used."
Auntie Lil ignored her, yet managed to convey the distinct impression that Fran was too petty to bother with—more important things were going on. The soup kitchen hummed with activity. Several men were going through the cabinets in a mechanical, bored fashion, sniffing condiments, examining the contents of boxes and occasionally placing small samples in labeled plastic bags.
Three uniformed officers sat drinking coffee at an empty table, including Officer King. They flanked the soup kitchen volunteer who had arrived early to find the police waiting to gain entry. She looked frightened and pale, but had joined the waiting patrolmen in observing a cluster of plainclothes detectives gathered around a heavyset man standing at the far side of the cafeteria-style counter. The man was barking out orders in a heavily accented New York voice and gesturing with a hammy hand for emphasis as he spoke. Something about him was tantalizingly familiar to Auntie Lil. She squinted to get a better view. His hair was dark but thinning in back; it glistened greasily under the fluorescent lights. His white shirt was stained under the armpits with sweat and perspiration poured down the back of his neck. The men around him began to inch back subtly, as if afraid his body heat was contagious. Thanks to the man's authoritative roar, Auntie Lil could hear better than she could see.
"I'm handing you the case, George," the beefy man was yelling, as if sure that George would try to disagree. "But I'll be watching you every step of the way."
A middle-aged Hispanic man with a handsome but bloated face raised his eyebrows in mock appreciation. "Thanks for the confidence, Lieutenant," he said, making no attempt to conceal his sarcasm. "This case is nowhere to start with and you're going to be breathing down my back to boot?" Obviously, neither the detective nor his cohorts were aware yet that civilians were present.
The situation was about to change. Officer King had finished his coffee and had finally noticed the presence of Auntie Lil and her companions. He scrutinized them intently. It took a moment to process the information through his hard head, but belated recall finally transformed his scowling features into an expression of menacing recognition. He stepped up to the unseen lieutenant and whispered in his ear, pointing across the room with an accusatory jab.
The gathered officers looked up in interest and the fat lieutenant whirled around. "Where? Which one was cooking?" he asked, staring intently. His small black eyes focused on them without success. Obviously too vain to wear glasses in public, he took a step closer and stared harder.
"Which one of you was cooking?" he demanded again.
Auntie Lil—who was also too vain to wear her glasses in public— took her own step forward. And froze. No. It could not be. It was an impossibility. A piece of luck so incredibly bad that it could not have happened to her. Not this time.
But it had. Lt. Manny Abromowitz stood staring back at her. "You?" His voice swelled with warning and his massive chest puffed up, straining against his too tight shirt. His face