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

Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”
    “Positive. Look, if it comes up, we’ll just say the cops confiscated it.”
    “Penny Ann said something about papers to me last night, then Dr. Jerry came in with the tea and she clammed up.”
    “She’s dim-witted.”
    “If she’s so dim-witted, why did Brian and Maglia claim she made the investment decisions?”
    “Puh -lease. Consider the source. If she had won the arbitration, Tony might have lost the office. Bliss Norderman wouldn’t keep a manager who brings in losses. And who says you have to be smart to make investment decisions? Do you want to talk about the chimpanzee who is a better stock picker than any of your financial consultants?”
    “No, thank you. I won’t touch that one.” Nor would she touch the dart-board comparison that someone had made a couple of years back during the bear market of 1990. The random dart had picked better than most of the financial consultants and money managers. “Listen to this, will you, Smith? When I was looking for a blanket to cover Penny Ann, a hatbox full of papers fell off the shelf of the closet.”
    “What were they? Did you sneak a peek?”
    “I didn’t have a chance to. Dr. Jerry could have come back at any time.”
    Smith threw up her hands in disgust. “You are such a wuss.”
    Max knocked again. Wetzon growled at Smith, got up, and opened the door. “Fred Benitos for you, Wetzon, on two.”
    Wetzon stabbed two, doing a slow burn about Smith calling her a wuss. “Yes, Fred? Was Joan Boley in last night?”
    “Yeah. She had all her books copied, but she didn’t leave them with me to do the broker-to-brokers.”
    “She didn’t? I don’t get it. You mean she took them all away with her?”
    “You got it. I don’t like it, Wetzon.”
    “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Fred. I’ll find out what’s going on.” She hung up and stared at the phone, thinking.
    “More trouble?” Smith was studying her reflection in her folding mirror. “They’re beginning to show.”
    “I have to call Joan Boley. She had Fred copy her books last night and then took off with the copies.” Smith wasn’t listening. “What’s beginning to show?”
    “The lines, sweetie pie. I think maybe I should get my eyes done. What do you think?”
    “I think I’m going to grow old gracefully. The thought of anyone taking a knife to my face—ugh! Besides,” she couldn’t resist a needle, “you have great character lines.” Smith looked stricken, held the mirror closer to her face, again touching the lines around her eyes and mouth. Wetzon, with a guilty inward grin, punched out Joan’s number and was told by her sales assistant that Joan was with a client and would get back to her. Replacing the receiver, she said, “Shall we check in with Rona and see what’s going on? We are getting paid until the end of the week.”
    Lines three and four rang simultaneously. She could see that Max and B.B. were on one and two. “Grab four, will you, Smith?” Then line one began blinking and Max knocked. “Alton Pinkus for Wetzon on three and Dr. Jerome Gordon for Smith on four.”
    “Hmmm,” Smith said. “Your call is infinitely more interesting.” She picked up the phone, yawning. “Xenia Smith here.”
    Wetzon hit three and found a lump had formed in her throat. Nerves. “Hello.”
    “Leslie.” There was pure pleasure in his voice. Why didn’t Silvestri ever let her hear that? She almost missed Alton telling her that he had a late board meeting at Mt. Sinai on Thursday afternoon. Would she have dinner with him afterward?
    She gave him a breathy “Yes,” and agreed to meet him at Mt. Sinai at the end of her day. She hung up, cheeks tingling, and looked at Smith.
    “Seven hundred a day plus expenses. Of course, Jerry. We’ll keep you informed.” Smith cradled the phone with a flourish.
    Wetzon raised an eyebrow at her partner. “Did we just take him on as a client?”
    “Yes. He’s going to pay us to investigate Brian’s murder and clear Penny Ann. I agreed we’d apply what was left of what Rona gave us to it. He says Tabitha will turn up. And he’s going to take me to hear Richard’s summation today in the Bostwick murder case.”
    “What a convoluted mess. Doesn’t he know? Penny Ann has been cleared.”
    Smith grimaced. “But we’re not going to tell him, are we, sweetie?”
    “He’ll find out soon enough.” She paused. “You’re going to take the afternoon off to hear that repulsive