HOLLY STOOD OUTSIDE the Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Center and watched the flow of people as they arrived for the performance. It was cold, and she snugged her muffler tighter and turned up her coat collar.

She had seen two or three men alone who might have fit the description of Teddy Fay, but they had all met women and had gone in as couples. Ty was over at the New York City Opera, doing the same thing, and she wondered if this was a productive use of their time.

She spotted another candidate for Teddy, a man in a tuxedo who appeared and began loitering around the door, just as she was doing. Too athletic-looking, she decided finally. Probably around fifty.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice said from behind her.

Holly turned to find an elderly gentleman standing there, and she sized him up quickly. Mid-seventies, slim, carrying an aluminum cane and wearing an obvious toupee. Too old.

“Yes?” she asked.

“You’ve been standing here for some time, and I wondered if you were looking for a ticket.” Reedy voice, New York accent. “I have an extra ticket, and I’d be pleased if you’d join me as my guest.”

Why not? Holly thought. Might as well have a look around inside. “Why thank you; that would be very nice.”

He beamed. “Good! Do you mind if I take your arm? I’m a little lame.”

“Please do,” she said.

He took her arm, and they walked slowly into the building. “I had a knee replacement four months ago, and it’s taking hell’s own time to get over it,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I swear, if my doctor had told me about the recovery, I don’t think I’d have done it. I couldn’t play tennis anymore, you see. By the way, my name is Hyman Baum.”

“I’m Holly Barker.”

They made their way into the huge auditorium, and Holly was delighted to find their seats in row H, on the aisle. “What wonderful seats,” she said.

“Oh, yes, it took me a long time to get them. I’ve been coming to the Met since the late sixties; I started in the second balcony, and each year I improved my seats a little. I’ve had these for four years,” he said, “every Friday night.”

“You’re a lucky man, Mr. Baum.”

“Please call me Hy,” he said. “Everybody does.”

They settled into their seats and put their coats in their laps.

“I never check my coat,” Hy said. “Takes too long to get it back.”

Holly was checking everyone within sight for someone who fit Teddy’s description.

“What sort of work do you do, Holly?”

“I’m sort of retired,” Holly said. “I was widowed a couple of years ago, and I sold my little shop and decided to travel.”

“Is that what brings you to New York?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you staying?”

“With friends. What do you do, Hy?”

“I’m retired from the dress business. My father had the business before me, and now my son is running it.”

The lights dimmed, and the curtain came up. La Boheme was beginning. In moments, Holly was entranced.

THE FIRST ACT WAS ENDING when Holly’s cell phone began vibrating. As the curtain came down she turned to Hy. “I’ve got to run ”to the ladies‘,“ she said, and she raced up the aisle ahead of the crowd.

She stood in a quiet corner of the lobby and opened the phone. “Yes?”

“It’s Ty, where are you?”

“I’m inside the Met.”

“You bought a ticket?”

“I got an invitation.”

“You got picked up?”

“Sort of. An elderly gentleman.”

“Is it Teddy?”

“I don’t think so,” she said drily. “Too old, too frail. He’s had a knee replacement. He’s wearing an obvious toupee, and I don’t think Teddy would be obvious. How did you do?”

“Nothing,” he said. “You want to get something to eat?”

“No, I’m enjoying the opera; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, good night.”

“Good night.” She closed the phone, found the ladies’ room, then returned to her seat.

THE OPERA ENDED, and Holly was in tears. She hadn’t expected this. “Had you seen La Boheme before?” Hy asked, as they made their way up the aisle.

“No, I haven’t been to the opera before.”

“Were you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“Yes, a girlfriend; we were going to try to get last-minute seats, but she didn’t show, and you made me a better offer.”

“How about some dinner?” he asked.

“If you’ll forgive me, I’m pretty tired. I think I’d better get home.”

“Can I drop you?” They were outside now.

“No, it’s not far; I’ll walk.” That should ditch him, with his knee. “Thank you so much for the seat. I loved the opera, and I appreciate it very much.”

“Perhaps again next Friday night?”

“I’m afraid I’ll be in London by then.” He was sweet, but boring and way too old for her.

“Then I wish you a happy trip.”

“Thank you, goodbye.”

He turned and made his way down the steps toward the street, and she used the moment to check out the departing crowd. No Teddy.

Then, as she was turning to go, she saw Hyman Baum jogging toward the curb rather athletically, waving his cane at a taxi. He jumped in, and the cab drove away.

Holly was halfway home in her own cab before the penny dropped.

HOLLY FOUND LANCE the following morning in the twelfth-floor dining room having breakfast. “Good morning,” she said, “do you mind if I join you? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Please sit down,” Lance said, handing her a menu. She gave the waitress her breakfast order, then turned back to Lance. She was very uncomfortable with this.

“How are you and Ty working out as partners?” he asked.

“I like him,” she said. “He’s bright and willing, even if he is a little stiff.”

“FBI men are often stiffs,” Lance said.

“The difference in our ages bothers me a little,” she said.

“Holly, I didn’t ask you to sleep with him.”

“That’s not what I mean. You see, we can’t work pretending to be a couple, and we don’t look like sister and younger brother, either; we just don’t look right together, and it complicates things a little.”

“I see your point, but I’m sure you’ll find ways around that. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Holly’s breakfast arrived, and she played with it a little, dreading what she had to say. “I think I might have met Teddy last night at the opera.”

Lance set down his coffee cup and stared at her. “You met him?”

“I was standing outside the Met, looking for Teddy, and this elderly man with a bad toupee and a cane walked up to me and asked if I’d like to be his guest for the opera.”

“Teddy’s supposed to be quite a makeup artist,” Lance said. “I should think that if he wanted hair, he’d make it look real.”

“That was my thought, too. He leaned on me going into the hall, said he’d had a knee replacement, and the recovery was taking longer than he’d thought. He said his name was Hyman Baum and he was a retired garment center businessman, a dress manufacturer. He said his father had had the firm before him, and his son had it now. He said he’d been going to the opera there since the sixties, and that’s why his seats were so good.”

“Where were the seats?”

“Row H, two and four.”

“That would take some doing at the Met; the best seats are held by long-time subscribers. What about him made you think he might be Teddy, and if you thought so, why didn’t you call for backup?”

“Once we were inside, it never crossed my mind that he might be Teddy, but after we left the building, after I’d declined dinner or a drink with him, I saw him running after a taxi, waving his cane.”

“Running after a taxi with a new knee replacement? I don’t think so.”

“Neither do I. But I didn’t think of that until ten minutes later, when I was on the way home in a cab.”