The following morning I went over to see Billy. She lived with my much beloved elderly neighbor, Justine Wilkinson. Justine was Billy"s grandmother"s cousin, but it was much easier to refer to her as Billy"s aunt. We share the sixth floor of an Art Deco apartment building in Pacific Heights that was converted to condos back in the ʼ50s. Each floor originally had five one-bedroom apartments with formal living and dining spaces, a den, and a good size kitchen. I have one of those, but when Justine"s very wealthy father purchased her unit, he bought three and combined them, making Justine"s the largest in the building, and by far the nicest.
Margie, Justine"s new companion, chef, and sometimes chauffeur—and a retired ghost killer—answered after my first knock. She had a slight scowl on her f
