As Lennox and Rose walked past an elderly couple, the white-haired woman raised her head, ran her gaze over Lennox and then winked at Rose. He sailed past the woman without a glance. Rose sat across from him and perused the menu. Within minutes, the waitress was taking their order and the food arrived. She inspected her meal. The lunch’s consistency reminded her of dog food. Her hunger disappeared. “You’re not eating,” he said. “Order something else. You’re too thin.” “Gee, thanks. I’m more the straight hamburger type.” “Try General Tso’s chicken. It’s my favorite.” “Let’s talk about Myra. She’s not the friendly type, is she?” “I’ve found people don’t like questions from the police or advice. Note vice is part of the last word.” “I’ll remember your ad vice. Do you want to hear what I learned from Myra while you were with Horace?” She couldn’t wait for him to take her bait and blurted, “Myra assigned Dahlia the role of the murder victim in the last play.”
