Blood on the Street (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery, #4)

the tarot never lies. Do you think she’s back at work?” Sitting, Smith tapped out some numbers with the eraser of her pencil and waited. “Rona Middleton, please.” She lowered one eyelid at Wetzon. “Is she there, sweetie?” Pause. “Well, be sure to tell her to call Xenia Smith. Right.” She hung up. “She’s expected.”
    To B.B.’s knock, Wetzon called, “Come in, B.B.”
    B.B. opened the door. “Fred Benitos for Wetzon. On two.”
    Wetzon picked up the phone and released the button. “Fred, how are you?”
    “Wetzon, you’ll be happy to hear that Joan Boley joined us this morning.”
    Wetzon motioned to Smith, thumb up. “Well now, Fred, congratulations. You did a great job.”
    “So did you, Wetzon.”
    She hung up and jumped to her feet. “Send Joan Boley a gold pen. She’s at Marley Straus.”
    “Mmmm, love that fee.” Smith stood, and they gave each other a high five in the middle of the room. “Didn’t I tell you it’s not over till it’s over?”
    “And, point of reference here, even when it’s over, it’s not over.”
    “Now it is. Things are definitely looking up. With Rona back at work—”
    Another knock, and B.B. said, “Phone for Wetzon. Rona Middleton.”
    “Oh, I want to talk to her.” Smith picked up the phone. “Rona, sweetie pie, we’re just so pleased for you.” She motioned to Wetzon. “Sugar, pick up. It’s Rona.”
    Wetzon growled. She hated three-way phone conversations, particularly when Smith was the third party. “When you hang up.”
    Hand over the mouthpiece, Smith said, “Oh, for pitysakes.” Lifted her hand. “The phones are just ringing off the hook, sweetie, so here’s Wetzon.” She made a face at Wetzon and hung up.
    “Rona? I’m so happy you’re in the clear.”
    “Thank you, Wetzon. I’d like to talk something over with you— Oh hi, Neil—” Rona lowered her voice. “This is not a good time. I’ll talk to you later.”
    Wetzon stared at the receiver, then hung up.
    “That was fast. What did she want?”
    “I never found out. She sure got off fast when Neil came in.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. So long as she’s back, she’s working for us.”
    “B.B. had a start on Friday.”
    “How big?”
    “Not big. One seventy-five. Covers his draw, though.”
    “He doesn’t bang them out the way Harold did.”
    “He’s also not as devious as Harold.”
    Smith opened their door. “B.B.!” She left the door open and went back to her desk.
    “Yes?” B.B. stood in the doorway with a suspect sheet in hand, always a little uncertain around Smith.
    “I hear you had a start on Friday. Well done. Keep it up.”
    He was beaming. “Thank you.”
    “What do you have there?”
    He looked down at his hand. “Oh. I wanted to talk to Wetzon about him. He does two million and I can’t get past his sales assistant, who’s his wife.”
    Wetzon took the sheet. “Paul Schlessinger. I think I’ve heard about him. He was written up in Registered Rep last year. Okay, let me try.” She sat down and called his direct number.
    “Can I listen?”
    She nodded.
    “Paul Schlessinger’s office.”
    “Hi, this is Leslie Wetzon. My firm is Smith and Wetzon. Is Paul available?”
    “This is Donna Schlessinger.” A very tony phony voice. “What is this in reference to?”
    “Well, Donna, I’m a recruiter, and Paul was recommended to me.”
    “A recruiter? You mean a headhunter?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you have any idea how much he does?” The voice dripped scorn.
    “I do.”
    “We’ll only be interested in one million upfront.”
    Wetzon responded in her own tony voice. “Mrs. Schlessinger, Donna, my clients are all top-tiered firms. They don’t buy brokers. They want quality. They are not interested in brokers with price tags. Why don’t you take my number, and if Paul fits our criteria, he can call me.” She left her number, replaced the phone, and shrugged. “Let’s see what happens.”
    The phone rang. He couldn’t be calling back this fast.
    “Smith and Wetzon.” B.B. answered it at Max’s desk. Max’s hours started Monday afternoon. “Wetzon, Sheila Reitman.”
    “Who’s Sheila Reitmen?” Smith was dialing out. “I’m going to see how our candidates are doing at Ameribank.”
    “It’s about the apartment.” Wetzon knew that would turn Smith off immediately. It did. “Sheila, hello. Any luck?”
    “Not much. Our computers are all down. This is what I’ve been able to get, but I couldn’t