Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

killers, and you know. And you can’t remember.”
    “I guess that means I can’t go to the office and see what headhunting is all about.”
    “No shit.”
    And that’s how it was left.
    Carlos took her to lunch at The Grange on Commerce Street. They ordered burgers, fries, and black coffee, straight. “You look like the peekaboo blonde, Veronica,” he said.
    “As in Lake, you mean?” Her hair, blonde, paler around her face, skimmed her shoulders. “Don’t I wear it like this?”
    “You wear it up in a tight knot.”
    “Oh, dear, that sounds like a rigid personality to me. Do you think Silvestri will like it this way?” She flushed at his intent look.
    “You like him?”
    She nodded. “Why did we break up?”
    “He can be pretty rigid himself. And he’s not what you would call the great communicator. Someone else came along.”
    “Bill Veeder.”
    “You remember him?”
    “No. Did you meet him?” When Carlos nodded, she said, “What’s he like?”
    “Older. Criminal attorney. Tall, thin, very, very attractive. Smooth. Gets what he wants. He wanted you.”
    “And I fell for that?”
    “You were vulnerable. An old girlfriend of Silvestri’s had been murdered and he got into his noncommunicating shit. He moved out. Broke your heart.”
    “So I found someone else.” The burgers arrived, thick and juicy. She went for the fries first.
    With an indulgent smile, Carlos passed her the ketchup. “Well, Veeder was biding his time. You’d met him through the Barracuda.”
    “So that’s why she said he was the love of my life.”
    “You had a thing going with him, but I wouldn’t go that far. Veeder is rich and famous, had a lot of women falling all over him. He wanted you. You were flattered.”
    “I was shallow. How long could that last?”
    “The sex was great.”
    “Do I tell you everything?”
    He grinned at her. “Most.”
    “Have you left anything out?”
    “He was married.”
    “God, Carlos, what kind of fool am I?”
    “Birdie, darling, you a fool? Never. Lustful? Maybe. It wasn’t an easy decision for you. And it isn’t as bad as you think. Veeder’s wife has some kind of Alzheimer thing that left her unmarked but mindless. He never put her in an institution, though he could have.”
    “Are there children?”
    “No.”
    “Well, there’s a blessing.”
    “Irony?”
    “Better than tears. My life sounds pretty messy. Maybe I don’t want it back.” She polished off the burger and licked her fingers.
    “Now none of that! You listen to Uncle Carlos. You have a good life. Your friends love you and you love them.” He looked up at the waiter. “Bring this urchin some rice pudding.”
    “I love rice pudding!”
    “I know.”
    “Carlos,” she said, feeding him a spoon of rice pudding, “I’m thinking I might like to do some detecting—”
    “Uh oh. Nancy Drew lives.”
    “No, really. Do you have to be somewhere this afternoon?”
    “I’m not sure I like that question.”
    “If you have something else to do, I’ll go myself.”
    “You will not.”
    “Ooo, you’re scary.”
    He reached across the table and pulled her beret over her eyes. “Whither thou go-est, I go. La di dah.”
    She raised the beret and gave him a hard look. “I see. You promised Silvestri.”
    Smirking, he held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.”
    “You guys don’t trust me.”
    “We know you, Birdie. You just gave the best example. You want to do some detecting on your own.”
    “Walk this way.” Leslie danced on the sidewalk in front of Carlos. She knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself; he was dancing in her footsteps.
    “You better tell me where we’re going, little witch.”
    “I thought we might beard David Lumare in his den.”
    “You mean the mime master who ratted you out and got your friend killed?”
    She stopped and Carlos, a body in motion, stayed in motion.
    “The very same,” she said, arms around him. “I have to do this, don’t you see? He’s responsible for Zoey. He took money for telling them where I was. I know he was looking in the window last night—at The Big Dipper.”
    “Silvestri said you’re not going back to The Big Dipper.”
    “I’m not, but—Carlos, please come with me. He’s a bad guy. He did a bad thing.”
    “And you want to make him eat it.”
    “Something like that.”
    When they arrived at Lumare’s loft building, Carlos curled his lip. “What a dump.”
    “It’s the space that’s good. Laura Lee always says, in New