Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

blonde until Zoey told me that it was coming through.”
    “We ought to start at the beginning,” Metzger said.
    Silvestri agreed. “You’re right, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Here’s what I know. Les called me a couple of months ago and asked if I would take Izz. She said she had to go out of town on business for a few weeks. I figured she was going to the Coast to be with Veeder.”
    “Veeder again.” She was puzzled. He was a blank.
    “He’s trying a big murder case out there. But it turns out Veeder didn’t know where she was either.”
    “You asked me to pick up your mail and check the apartment,” Carlos said. “Wouldn’t tell me what you were up to, just said that it was something you had to do for Laura Lee.”
    “Laura Lee?” Metzger said, reaching for another sandwich.
    Leslie’s eye twitched. She hid it under her hand.
    Carlos said, “She’s Birdie’s best friend after me.”
    “Financial adviser,” Silvestri added. “Wall Street. Come to think of it, why haven’t we heard from her?”
    “I called her after Birdie’s picture was in the paper—”
    “Laura Lee,” Leslie said. She pushed back her chair, sliding a startled Izz to the floor and stood, hugging herself and swaying. “Something’s wrong. I forgot. I’m sorry.”
    They rushed to her. Carlos got there first. They all exchanged glances, how to protect her, understanding she might not let them.
    “Here’s the deal,” Carlos said. “Laura Lee’s office told me she’s been on a leave of absence for the last three months.”

24
    “I D ON’T want a Valium,” she said, pushing Carlos’ hand away. “I’ll fall asleep and forget the rest of my life.”
    “Birdie, I hate to tell you this, but you look like hell, black circles, crazy hair, and nothing but skin and bones.”
    “Thanks, ma.” Then she wailed, “I don’t have any clothes.”
    “Les, just lie down for a little while. Artie and I have to try to figure this out. Didn’t tell you about the Feebs, Artie.”
    “Feebs, for crissakes? This is one of their fuck-ups?”
    Carlos tucked her in and sat with her. He handed her the Valium, which she swallowed with the remains of the tea. “I’ve seen enough tv to know that Feebs is NYPD talk for the FBI,” he said. “What does the FBI want with you?”
    “It’s another clue,” she murmured. “I look like hell?”
    He patted her head. “We have to get you blonde again. Looks weird this way. Everyone’s going blonde with dark roots, you’re dark with blonde roots. Rest, dear heart. Meantime, I’ll go uptown and get you some clothes.”
    “Underwear and makeup.” She was floating now. Somewhere else.
    “Only if you sleep.” He kissed her forehead and headed for the door.
    “Carlos.”
    “Go to sleep.”
    “That awful woman who said I was her partner—”
    His laugh was luscious. “I’m just going to love this,” he said.
    When he opened the bedroom door, she heard Silvestri say, “ ... bodies identified?”
    Shaving cream. She inhaled the smell, opened her eyes.
    “Les?” Silvestri, his hair damp, stood in the doorway patting his face dry. He wore jeans and a white singlet.
    Things slithered back into her consciousness. His Italian wedding shirt, he called it. “What time is it?”
    “Two-thirty.” He hung the towel from the doorknob. “Carlos brought some stuff. If you’re up to it, we’ll drop in on the Feebs. And I promised the guys at the Ninth we’d make a stop there.”
    “I’m okay.” She sat up. A guitar case was sitting on the floor near the door. “What’s that?”
    “Carlos’ clever suitcase.”
    “You’re joking.”
    “Take a look.”
    The guitar case held jeans, her gray blazer, two turtleneck sweaters, charcoal and black, a long black skirt, a tangle of black pantihose, black boots, a pair of Keds, underwear, and a plastic bag full of makeup, a comb, even moisturizer, her travel hair dryer. A soft leather shoulder bag and a black beret. “God!”
    “A packing master,” Silvestri said.
    “All those years of touring,” she said. “I’m pretty good at it, too.”
    “Your leather coat is in the closet. He wore it over his shoulders. Get some clothes on.” Silvestri took a clean shirt from a drawer in an old bureau. “Special Agent Blue has a lot to answer for.”
    She eyed the old bureau whose surface was close to imperceptible, then pushed the unopened mail, books, and papers aside and arranged the collection of makeup Carlos had chosen.