"Hi, we're looking for Bill Breslin," Glinda said, batting her eyelashes at the manager of the café.

The manager looked up at the curious foursome from his seat at an empty table. He was busy cleaning stacks of laminated menus with a dry rag. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Miss. Bill ran out of this place yesterday, claiming something about a 'family emergency'," he said, adding air quotations." He hasn't returned yet."

Glinda's shoulders fell. Of course it wouldn't be this easy.

"Is there any way to get him back soon? This is urgent," Christine tried.

"I'm afraid not."

"But—" Fiyero began

"Hey!" The manager leaped to his feet, cutting him off. "A scarecrow? Oh god, don't tell me you're—"

"Gomez!" A familiar voice came from the front of the restaurant. Gomez turned around.

"Margo?"

"Margo Weatherfeld? The Times reporter?" the manager asked in disbelief. "So you musical fellows really do exist?"

The characters ignored the manager, eager to hear what Margo had come all this way for.

"I spoke with my daughter as soon as you left," the reporter began. "She informed me that she has three more of you at her apartment: Mrs. Lovett and the children." Gomez's eyes lit up, but the moment of delight passed when he noticed the still-solemn faces of the others. "Unfortunately I still haven't heard anything from the remaining group."

"We just asked this man for Bill, but apparently he ran away for some urgifying event," Glinda explained.

"So that's what this is all about?" the manager asked. Everybody nodded in unison.

"Do you have his cell number?" Margo asked.

The manager nodded and pulled up his contacts. He read off Bill's number and Margo dialed. Everybody waited in complete silence, including the few stunned customers who were trying to look busy.

"Bill? Thank god!" Margo hit the speaker button and continued. "This is Margo Weatherfeld. I saw you yesterday in Times Square during the broomstick incident—"

"If you're here to interview me or request anything for publicity reasons, I cannot help you," he responded agitatedly.

"No, no! I need to talk to you about the others. I'm here with four of them, and my daughter has the other three. We need to know where you are. We're planning to meet in Times Square later this afternoon."

Bill was silent on the other end. "You see…well…there's a slight problem there. The four I was with kind of got…kidnapped."

Margo sighed in frustration. They had come so close. "Did you catch any faces? Can you report anything to the police?"

"There were four big guys dressed in black with ski masks, and they all just jumped us out of nowhere. They only went for the characters though. I was just standing there unharmed, so I started throwing some bagels at them, but—"

"Bill, this doesn't help us. Where were you?"

"Central Park."

"Do they have a phone or any means of communication?"

"No."

"Well that's helpful," Margo muttered. "Why don't you just meet us in Times Square in an hour and we'll talk in person. We'll figure out what to do from there."

"Okay. Sounds good," Bill confirmed.

Margo hung up. The restaurant was quiet. Even the customers that pretended not to pay attention were staring helplessly.

"Well, at least we have most of us located," Christine offered. But that only made the situation worse.

"We should go to Times Square, then," Fiyero proposed.

"I can drive you there," Margo offered. "But my car is parked several blocks down. I couldn't find a space, so we'll have to walk a bit."

"I can drive," the manager offered. "My car is parked right out back, and that way you won't have to worry about finding a spot near Times Square. I hear there's some convention going on today. I'll just drop you guys off and Margo can lead you to wherever you're meeting."

For once, the manager was helpful. They accepted his offering and filed out the back door.

*PAGE BREAK*

"We'll never find them here!" Mrs. Lovett exclaimed over the noise of the convention. Tourists, fans, and agitated locals wandered about the closed streets from booth to booth, receiving information and free stuff from the current Broadway shows.

"Just keep looking," Sally instructed.

They passed the Addams Family stand, and out of the corner of her eye, Sally spotted someone frantically trying to get her attention: the stage manager. Great.

She instructed her three guests to stay where they were and reluctantly made her way to the anxious producer.

"Sally! Thank god! We've got a slight emergency here. Krysta just called in this morning with bronchitis and won't be able to sing in this afternoon's performance. Are you still babysitting those creepy lookalikes?"

"Yeah."

"Can she sing?"

"She's the actual character from the musical. Of course she can sing."

"Perfect!" The producer's face lit up with relief. "If you can get her to perform today, I'll give you a bonus. What do you say?"

Sally couldn't pass up the opportunity. "Wednesday!" she called, motioning for the three to come. She barely waited for them to come within hearing range before she began. "Wednesday, the actress portraying you is out sick today and we need someone to perform in the convention performance this afternoon. Will you do it?"

"What? You want me to sing? Up there?" she gestured to toward the stage in which actors from The Lion King were currently performing.

"Come on; you look exactly like Krysta Rodriguez. Nobody will know it's you. Please, you have to do this!"

"We're exhibiting one song today," the producer said. "When you're an Addams, in which you have only a line or two. If you could do this for us, you would totally save this performance."

Wednesday considered. "And I have to perform with Bebe Neuwirth who probably thinks I'm some freakish fan girl and hates me right now."

"She'll understand; in fact, she probably won't even be able to tell you from Krysta," the producer reassured. "Now come with me; we have to work on blocking," he said, leading Wednesday down the street. Pugsley was almost as reluctant as Wednesday. Although he knew she was in good hands, he didn't like the idea of being separated further from his family. Perhaps this was how poor Mrs. Lovett felt.

"Well, Thing, it's just you and me."

Thing slowly lifted the lid of his box and gave a thumbs-up sign.

"Pugsley, what did I say about keeping that box closed in public? You'll draw too much attention."

"Sorry," Pugsley said glumly, tucking the elegant box under his arm.

Sally turned to face Mrs. Lovett and Pugsley. "My mother said that she's on the way with some of you; I just don't know where she wanted to meet. Fortunately, we'll draw attention when Wednesday sings. Let's go get a good spot by the stage," she said, not waiting for a reply. She grabbed the arms of her guests so as not to lose them in the crowd and began weaving like a skilled New Yorker.