elbow and marching her out on police orders was not a pleasant one. "I'd better go now," Auntie Lil decided. No sense throwing fuel on Fran's fire. "If you think of anything else, let me know."
"But you haven't told us how we could help," Adelle protested. "She was our friend and we want to help. We want to know where your investigation stands. How will we know what you've found out if we're not involved?"
Auntie Lil did not have time to evaluate the implications of this statement. She was too busy watching Fran approach one of the first tables. Soon, she would be headed their way. "This is serious business," she told the table quickly. "I can't let amateurs gum up the works."
"We are not amateurs," Adelle protested. "My God, we're trained professionals, highly skilled in our craft."
"But in acting, not detecting," Auntie Lil pointed out.
"Same thing," Adelle insisted loftily.
"If I can think of a way you can be of help, I certainly will let you know," Auntie Lil promised. She had to go now or risk ignominious exposure. "I've got to meet Theodore and I'm late," she lied, scurrying out the basement door.
Adelle stared after her. "Well, I never. Talk about poor timing for your exit." She sniffed and the other old actresses nodded their solemn agreement.
As usual, Auntie Lil was getting to do all the fun work while T.S. went off on a futile tangent. But he would still do his best, despite the fact that he wasn't having much luck down at City Hall. First he got lost in the maze of distinguished, Romanesque buildings which looked exactly alike to him and then he was crushed in a crowd of early commuters anxious to head home before the five o'clock rush. By the time he found the building holding housing records, it was nearly a quarter to five. Things were not looking good. He rode the elevator to the proper floor in gloomy silence, trying hard to ignore the surreptitious glances of several of his fellow riders. He straightened his shoulders, conscious of their scrutiny. Why in the world were they doing staring at him? He was the one properly dressed in stylish clothes. They all had on brown or checked suits at least two decades out of date and had let their bodies go to seed. They looked like a convention of ill-dressed penguins... or hair oil salesmen. As the elevator neared his floor, several of the men drew closer to T.S. The doors opened and one ventured a comment.
"Going to records?" he asked brightly.
"Yes," T.S. replied slowly, noting that a number of heads had turned his way. "I need to find out who the owner of a building is." As he spoke, four men accompanied him out of the elevator and began shouting and pushing to get close to T.S. He stared at them mystified, unable to separate their voices. They waved business cards in his face and babbled. One particularly portly gentleman finally succeeded in elbowing his competitors aside and dragging T.S. a short distance down the hall while the others watched enviously.
"Lenny Melk, real estate consultant," he assured T.S. smoothly. "Don't let those amateurs fool you. What you need is a pro. Someone who knows the lay of the land. Not to mention the clerks and the procedures. Are you aware that you could be lost in these hallways for days, without food or sustenance, seeking knowledge and enlightenment that, for a mere thirty-five dollars, I could obtain in five minutes?"
"What?" T.S. removed his elbow from the man's grasp and drew himself upright, trying not to stare. Lenny Melk was shaped like a middle-aged bear—he was all stomach and sloped shoulders. His gray suit had wide lines of red running through it, except for the three spots where a coffee stain had interrupted the pattern—and his shoulders were peppered with a healthy snowfall of dandruff. In fact, it was a blizzard. His clearly visible scalp shone gray beneath strands of greasy black hair and his doughy face was sprinkled with old acne scars.
"Do you mean to tell me that all of you are nothing but vultures, riding the elevators day after day looking for people to descend on?" T.S. asked.
"Certainly not." Lenny Melk was not the least bit miffed at being labeled a vulture. He thrust a heavily jeweled hand into his greasy hair and combed it back over a large bald spot. "I am an entrepreneur and well worth my modest fee.