Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

Is that her name? She’s upstairs with Patrice. She tried to eat Izz.”
    “She did not. This isn’t funny, Sil—sil—hic—”
    “Silvestri,” he said. “That’s me. And I agree, it’s not funny.”
    She’d almost said Silvestri. What was there between them? “What’s your first name?”
    “Only my mother knows.”
    “Then you must have said Silvestri before—hic.”
    “Not till now.” A kettle whistled. He got up. “I’m making you some tea.”
    “I don’t want tea. I have amnesia—hic. I want to know who I am.”
    “You’re Leslie Wetzon. I’m Silvestri. You scared the shit out of us.”
    “Us.” She mulled that over. “You’re a cop—hic. You thought I was on the gurney, dead, and you were very upset. Do we have a relationship?”
    He got up. “Sometimes,” he said, as he left the room.
    She closed her eyes and saw Zoey, not as she’d last seen her, but vibrant and funny, kind and generous. Izz licked the tears from her face.
    “I’m not sure I like tea,” she said, eyeing the oversized mug Silvestri set down on the floor near the bed.
    “There’s honey in it. You look like one of those anorexic models. By rights I should have taken you to the hospital.”
    “But you were so glad to see me you couldn’t let me out of your sight.”
    She’d stopped him in his tracks, and he seemed to be thinking about it. “Something like that,” he said.
    She choked up. “Horrible things keep happening. Now Zoey’s dead. Because of me.”
    “Was that her name?”
    “Her folks were Salinger fanatics, she said.”
    “Then her name would have been Zooey, and Zooey was a boy.”
    “We did that riff. They were expecting a boy and made the adjustment.”
    “The super said she came to feed the cat and water the plants, but didn’t live there.”
    “She did live there, house sitting. She took me in because I had no place to go. She was easy, a kind of free spirit.”
    “The place was a wreck. You’d better sit up.” He lifted her, raised the pillow. “Slide back.” She liked the way his hand felt on her back. “What were they looking for? Who are they?” He tucked the quilt around her.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Was Zoey into drugs?”
    The tea was hot and sweet. Her hiccups had gone. “No. They were looking for me. One of them came to Mount Sinai—you knew I was there?” He nodded. “Anyway, he said I was this Mary Lou Salinger and he was my uncle and going to take me home. He scared me. I mean, do I look like a Mary Lou? I knew he was lying. That’s why I ran away.”
    “You’re not any Mary Lou Salinger, that’s for sure. Where did T.J. come from?”
    “Temporary Jane, as in Doe. I guess I can’t be T.J. any more,” she said with a frisson of regret.
    He gave her a half smile, but he was hardly listening. “Something stinks about all this. Almost two months ago you took a leave of absence, left Izz with me, and disappeared.”
    “I don’t live here, I take it.”
    “You live on the Upper West Side.”
    “Ah. That’s what they thought at the hospital because I mentioned Zabar’s.” She shivered, thrust the mug at him with shaking hands. “I can’t go home. They’ll be watching for me.”
    “Les, if you were at the scene of that Teterboro explosion, what the hell were you doing there? Is this something Veeder got you into?”
    “V-v-v-veeder?” Her teeth were chattering. “Who’s Veeder?”
    “Say that after you get your memory back. Oh, for crissakes.” He set the mug on the floor again and held her, stroking her hair, until the shivering stopped.
    She liked his arms, his smell, the bristles of his beard. She wanted more. He did, too, but he eased her back against the pillow. “Talk to me,” he said.
    “I was lost,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do. When I left you in the park yesterday, I saw Mary Lou’s Uncle Lew in front of Zoey’s building with someone Zoey and I trusted. David Lumare, the mime master.”
    “The loft on Avenue A.”
    “Yes. We’d told him my story. He wanted the reward. I had to find another place to stay, but I was so tired of running. There was this tall cop who saw me on the street and followed me. I was going to call him and give myself up.”
    “That’s my old partner, Metzger. He spotted you even with all that crap on your face. He followed you to the building on Fifth Street, and called me. When I saw that picture in the paper, I knew it was you. All your friends knew it was you. And I knew you were in