"No. You most certainly did not." She was always trying to take credit for his own good taste.
"I've found out that Emily lived on Forty-Sixth Street. We just have to find out which building. And you won't believe this, but Lieutenant Abromowitz is working out of Midtown North now."
T.S. groaned. "Now it really is up to us."
"I'll say. What did you find out at the library?"
"No understudies were listed in the Playbill," T.S. admitted reluctantly. "She might have been in the chorus scene or worked backstage, but that's a lot of people. I wrote them all down. There's no one named Emily at all, except for the main character. I could start tracking the cast members down and asking them if they remember her. If anyone's still alive. But she could have been with the company for only a week, for all we know." They were passing the man with the bulbous nose and Auntie Lil gave him a cheery wave as if he were her very best friend. He nodded back and stared at T.S.
"May as well try," Auntie Lil agreed. "But do it in your spare time. We're more likely to have better luck once we find out where she lived."
"That's true." T.S. scanned the now busy block. "Where do we start?"
Auntie Lil took out the pack of photos from her purse. "I doubt she was able to afford these expensive restaurants," she said, looking up and down the sidewalks. "But we can't afford to skip them. Someone besides Billy has to know her."
"Who's Billy?" He held a photo in his hand and suppressed an involuntary shudder at the sight of the dead Emily.
"Billy owns the Delicious Deli back there," she explained. "He said she lived on this block."
Most of the block was taken up by expensive restaurants either closed or filled with crowds of business people. T.S. had to agree that it was unlikely Emily frequented any of them, but just to be on the safe side Auntie Lil insisted on entering every single establishment and showing Emily's photo to the bartender or host. Flashing photos of a dead old lady in front of waiting patrons did not prove to be a popular task and T.S. began to feel more and more like a pariah as they worked their way down the block.
"Maybe we should come back when they're not so busy," he suggested.
"We have to do it while they're open," Auntie Lil argued reasonably. "Besides, now we're getting somewhere. This is more her style." They had reached the end of the block nearer to Ninth Avenue. Large restaurants gave way to smaller shops and cheaper eating places.
"I'm getting hungry," Auntie Lil declared. "I had a hero earlier, but that must have been three hours ago." She eyed the brightly painted sign of a tiny Jamaican restaurant named Nellie's. "That place looks good."
T.S. peered inside. A small black man sat at a lone table eating a stew of unidentified, grayish origins piled over bright yellow rice. A plump woman the color of toffee was perched on a table behind the counter, staring out at the street with half-closed eyes. She had a beautiful face, broad and polished, that was lightly touched by the fine wrinkles of a satisfied woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair was braided in dozens of tiny plaits with brightly colored beads studding their length. The braids bobbed and swayed as she turned her regal neck, watching people go by.
"It looks like a real popular eating spot," T.S. said sarcastically. Just then, the woman's gaze met his and his words froze in his mouth. Her eyes were dark and sparkling. They seemed to see right through him. Unlike so many eyes in New York City, hers were not cloaked in suspicion but held a sharp intelligence and, yes, maybe even a little bit of kindness. The woman surveyed T.S. with unabashed thoroughness and when she was through, her brightly painted red lips curled back over white teeth in a hint of a grin.
"That woman smiled at me," T.S. said incredulously. "Someone just smiled at me right in the middle of New York City."
"I told you it was a good place to eat," Auntie Lil declared. She marched inside and he had no choice but to follow.
"Hello, granny," the woman greeted them in a musical voice full of lilting Caribbean tones. "You in the mood for a little goat curry today? I make it myself."