Final Option

where they charge a fortune for those awful canvases where people just splash paint. And then, of course, they want to put you and Stephen on the cover.“
    “They what?”
    “You and Stephen on the cover. That’s why you’ll want to wear something inspired for the picture. Your clothes are always so dowdy, and frankly, dear, you and I both know you’ve never been very photogenic. That’s why I had the brainstorm about the trunk show. Now you understand why you should reschedule your meeting. I know that Carolina will do her best, but it’ll still be a rush to get whatever you order today in time for the photo shoot. Where do you think they should take the picture? I don’t think your office is big enough. What is Stephen’s like? Of course you’re welcome to come out to the house. I’ll just give Avery a call and let her know she has that option.”
    “Mother,” I broke in. “I can’t possibly cancel my meeting.”
    “Whyever not?”
    “Because it’s important.”
    “And this isn’t?” she demanded with an edge to her voice.
    “I didn’t say that. But I have to review some documents. I have to respond to a Wells Notice by Friday.” My mother looked at me blankly. I might as well have been speaking Chinese. “Mother, this is my job. I have responsibilities. I can’t just cancel this meeting.” I was trying to sound adult and rational, but in the end I felt like I was blabbering.
    “You always manage to make it perfectly clear where your priorities lie,” my mother replied as she slipped on her gloves.
    “If you’d let me know ahead of time,” I implored.
    “Next time I’ll make an appointment with your secretary,” she said. She made it her exit line.
     
    * * *
     
    Before I left for Hexter Commodities I called Stephen Azorini only to be told he was in a meeting. I didn’t like hearing about the Chicago Magazine business from my mother. Frankly, I didn’t like the whole idea of being interviewed for an article about power couples. Last year Stephen’s company had successfully fought off a hostile takeover, and in its aftermath both of us had gotten a lot of attention in the press. I had been surprised to discover that while Stephen had a definite taste for ink, I did not. Plus, how would Chicago Magazine feel about my gracing their cover after I was arrested for murdering Bart Hexter?
    The offices of Hexter Commodities had the bizarre air of calamity. The waiting room was empty, and phones rang unanswered while employees huddled away from their desks, conferring in somber little groups. Several brokers were in the process of clearing out their desks. Bart Hexter’s body was not yet in the ground and already his tight ship had turned slack—a rudderless, engineless vessel, drifting, I feared, toward disaster.
    I walked, unchallenged, across the trading floor. Through an open door I glimpsed Carl Savage pacing next to his desk. He was wearing the kind of headset that phone operators use and was bellowing into it. I decided to bother him later, and changed course toward Bart Hexter’s office. Barton Jr, I knew, would still be meeting with Kurlander, but the people I was really interested in talking to were the two who worked most closely with the dead man—his secretary, Mrs. Titlebaum, and his nephew, Tim Hexter.
    Tim was not at his desk, but I found Mrs. Titlebaum at her post, grimly slitting open her dead boss’s mail. She was a plump woman in her fifties, with well-disciplined gray hair and a no-nonsense air about her.
    “May I bother you for a minute?” I asked.
    “Of course,” she replied, looking up from her work. “Barton Jr. told me you’d want to see me about some papers. I know I should call him Mr. Hexter, but that’s what I called his father,” she added sadly.
    “You worked for him for a long time,” I said, easing myself into a chair.
    “More than thirty years. He and my Leo started trading at about the same time, but my Leo didn’t have the knack. He got himself into trouble and lost all his money—lost all the money his family had given him, too. He couldn’t face it, and he killed himself. He left me with nothing but a ten-month-old baby to take care of. Leo’s friends took up a collection afterward, but that money didn’t last very long. It was Mr. Hexter who didn’t forget about me and gave me this job. I’ve been with him ever since, and he was always there for me. When the neighborhood started changing he helped me with a new house, when