their jobs implied, she did not begrudge them a few minutes alone together in the middle of a quiet afternoon.
She walked toward the Delicious Deli and slowed in front of the Jamaican restaurant. Nellie was inside serving steaming plates of chicken and gravy to a pair of customers. Auntie Lil peered in the spacious window, wondering if she should go inside. She was positive that Nellie knew more than she was saying. What had she seen staring out of her window to make her clam up so thoroughly? Why had she grown so frightened at the sight of Emily?
Nellie noticed her observer right away, and the look she returned was enough to convince Auntie Lil that, perhaps, her time would be better spent somewhere else. Nellie's eyes had narrowed to small, hard orbs, their former openness replaced by tight beams of suspicion.
Auntie Lil quickly hurried on and passed by Emily's building without incident, but had no doubt that Herbert was lurking somewhere nearby. The Delicious Deli was deserted except for Billy and his young daughter, Megan. The two of them were busy piping whipped cream on top of a large pan of rice pudding when Auntie Lil entered.
Billy looked up and his old smile returned. He nodded toward her table and lifted his eyebrows, signaling her to sit. He was well versed in the across-the-room sign language of New York delis.
"Be right there," he promised out loud. "Megan here is our resident whipped cream artist and I promised she could do the pudding today."
Auntie Lil saw that much of the whipped cream was going into the artist's mouth and onto the artist's Catholic school uniform, but uncharacteristically said nothing. She was too busy trying to decide how to approach Billy about the bad feelings he displayed toward Bob Fleming. But she need not have bothered. Billy brought it up himself as soon as he had shooed his daughter into the bathroom to wash the goo off her hands and change her clothes.
"What were you doing with that guy from Homefront" he asked Auntie Lil, setting a cup of cappuccino in front of her without being asked. "I've been hearing things about him. Things I don't like to hear."
She looked at him, mystified. "He runs a program for young runaways."
"Huh." Billy stared into her coffee, avoiding her face. "Word is he's just as bad as the men he's helping those runaways to escape."
That couldn't be true. She'd had a good feeling about Bob Fleming and she was usually so right about people. "Where did you hear that?" she asked sharply.
"It's going around the streets." Billy shrugged and wiped his hands on his apron, keeping an eye on the bathroom door. He did not want his young daughter overhearing.
"How reliable is street talk?" Auntie Lil asked.
"It's usually pretty good." He stared at her unhappily. "I hate guys like that," he added for good measure. "I think they should be publicly killed."
She shook her head no, unwilling to believe him.
"How's the investigation going?" Billy asked casually.
Auntie Lil looked up at him, surprised. Had she ever said she was investigating… perhaps she had.
"I know you're poking into that old lady's death," Billy pointed out. "There are no secrets in Hell's Kitchen. Street talk is pretty accurate, like I say."
Auntie Lil felt there were a good many secrets in Hell's Kitchen. Too many, in fact. And some of them were probably pretty essential to discovering the truth that she sought. She would use an old trick, one that was quite effective when she didn't feel like answering questions: she'd ask the questions instead.
"I know you don't like those young boys in your store," she told Billy. "But I'm trying to talk to one of them. If he shows up here to meet me, will you let him in?"
Billy stared at her again before finally answering, "If you're with him every second and keep him away from the potato-chip rack and the bottles of soda in back."
"That bad?" Auntie Lil asked.
"That bad," he confirmed, then added: "And keep him away from my daughter, too."
"Of course I'll join you," Lilah said with enthusiasm. "Who are you going to be? I do hope you gave that awful money-grubbing creature a false name. Otherwise, you'll have to put up with endless annoying phone calls. They're really such a nuisance, these investing types. Never leave you alone until they hear you've gone bankrupt, I suspect. You really have no idea."
He gulped in the silence that followed, then finally admitted in