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

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

Titel: Blood on the Street (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery, #4) Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Annette Meyers
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elegant clientele in Mark’s Bar took notice.
    “Stop that, please,” Smith ordered. She shook her finger at Penny Ann. “I will never be able to show my face here again.”
    Penny Ann looked stunned, but she stopped crying, took off her glasses, dried them, dabbed at her eyes, reset her glasses.
    “We want two days in advance before we start.”
    “This is a little different from a consulting project for a major brokerage firm, Smith.” Rona made a motion to Barbara, who took out a blank check from her bag. “I’m suggesting a short, quick investigation with a short, concise report. Five hundred.”
    “Seven fifty.” Smith smiled. “Because it’s you, and you’re a friend.”
    Rona threw Smith a cynical look, then nodded to Barbara.
    “Make it out to Smith and Wetzon, dear,” Smith said.
    “Let’s get this straight,” Wetzon said. “You want us to find Tabitha Ann in this city of a hundred million people?”
    “And my papers,” Penny Ann said, biting nails already bitten to the quick. “Dr. Jerry felt that it would be easier for people like you to get information than the police.”
    Yes, people like us , Wetzon thought, are very good at getting information. “Look, Penny Ann, we’re not going to take your money if we can’t help you.” Smith’s fingers clamped down on her thigh, and Wetzon gave up. “Let’s give it a week, okay? And we’ll see what we can find out.”
    Smith beamed and took the check from Barbara. “I’ll do up a little letter agreement. Who gets it?”
    “I do.” Penny Ann gave them an address in Redding, Connecticut, which Smith entered on a cocktail napkin with Wetzon’s pen. “We’re practically neighbors,” Smith said. “I’m in Westport.”
    “Do you have our card?” Wetzon handed Penny Ann a business card and gave another to Barbara, who was fidgeting with her handbag. Short attention span.
    “I’ve got to go.” Barbara stood abruptly, bumping the table. The glasses teetered and liquid sloshed. “Penny Ann?”
    “Wait, please. What does your daughter look like? Do you have a photograph?” Wetzon took her pen back from Smith and opened her Filofax, flipping through it to a blank page.
    “She’s beautiful,” Penny Ann said. She fumbled in her purse.
    “She’s fat,” Barbara said.
    “Baby fat.” The photograph Penny Ann handed to Wetzon was of a young woman in a floppy straw hat sitting on a beach towel. She was wearing a very scanty bikini from which flesh spilled dangerously.
    “Ugh.” Smith coughed, taking the photograph from Wetzon and holding it as if it were contaminated.
    Wetzon nudged Smith with her knee. “What was she wearing when you last saw her?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?” Smith spoke the words, stretching them out in disbelief.
    “Well ...” Penny Ann was flustered. “Her Reeboks are missing, but her clothes ... I don’t know ... I wouldn’t be able to describe ... they’re so weird.”
    “Okay,” Wetzon said. “White Reeboks.”
    “Red.”
    Smith and Wetzon looked at each other. Red Reeboks.
    “How is she with accents?” Wetzon asked.
    “Accents?”
    “Come on, Penny Ann,” Rona said impatiently. “You know she’s a good mimic. Why are you asking?”
    “How about Spanish?” Smith said.
    “Umm, her au pair was Spanish. She can speak a little.”
    “And imitate a lot,” Rona said. She got up, joining Barbara, who looked as if she was going to bolt momentarily. Rona motioned to Penny Ann. They shook hands all around. “You’ll keep us informed.”
    “The diary,” Wetzon said. “I think we should have it.”
    “Good thinking,” Smith said, patting Wetzon on the thigh this time.
    “Gosh, I don’t know,” Penny Ann said at a funereal pace. “I’ll talk to Dr. Jerry. Don’t you think I should talk to him, Barbie? He’ll know what to do.”
    Smith rolled her eyes. “You read it, of course.”
    “Well ... um ... I skimmed it.” She stared at Smith, trying to figure out if criticism was implied, then said, defensively, “I’m her mother.”
    “I’ll get the car and meet you in front,” Barbie said.
    “Let’s go, Penny Ann.” Rona gave her a push. “We’ll see you get the diary.”
    “Fed Ex to the office, please,” Smith said, not looking up.
    “Start with Maglia,” Rona said. “You understand why we can’t?”
    “Not really, Rona. If she were my daughter, I would have been in the city talking to everyone she knew.”
    “I would have alerted the

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