Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

in the next day and threw a brick through the plate glass entrance. The other brokers jumped him and beat the shit out of him, dragged him through the lobby and tossed him onto the street. He was arrested for third degree assault.”
    “He said he was tired of the crummy small firms and wants me to fix him up with Goldman.”
    Smith had a wild glint in her eyes. “If he turns up here, Sean, call the police and tell them he’s harassing us.”
    “This is what comes,” Wetzon said, “of firms opting not to give the real reason for terminating brokers. They’re scared they’re going to get sued, so they use words like, ‘amicable departure.’ And the scumbag goes on from firm to firm, leaving a trail of damaged clients.”
    “Of course,” Smith said, “Is it too much to ask investors to be less gullible and check out the firms and the brokers and the stocks being touted before they send their life savings to them?”
    After Sean left them, Wetzon said, “Now I’ll bet you haven’t heard anything that scummy since I went on my leave.”
    Smith looked at her with slitted eyes. “You love these stories. Admit it.”
    “Truth is more delicious than fiction,” Wetzon said. She raised her hand. “I cannot tell a lie.”
    Sighing, Smith started to speak, stopped, stared at Wetzon.
    “Yes?” Wetzon said, prompting her.
    “Mmmm. I just had a thought. There must be a ... mmm ... will.”
    Wetzon frowned. “Will? What are you talking about?”
    “It’s the only way to explain the Ten of Pentacles in the spread I did for you, babycakes. It predicted a large inheritance.”
    “That’s ugly, Smith. Bill’s money will go to Evelyn.”
    “Who really needs it? That vegetable is loaded.” Smith threw up her hands. “This is so like you.” Bemused, she began to nod. “Carolyn will know.”
    “Carolyn? If you mean Bill’s secretary, she retired.”
    “She couldn’t have,” Smith said. “I spoke with her two weeks ago. She never said anything about retiring.”
    “I called the office yesterday. There are all new people there. Could Bill have brought in a new partner—someone named Farber—before he left?”
    “You’re wrong of course. Why would he do that?”
    “Maybe because he was going to be in L.A. for a while?”
    Phone in hand, Smith punched in some numbers. “Carolyn Dorley, please.” Pause. She looked at Wetzon. “How surprising. I spoke with her recently and she never mentioned anything ... I am. No, I’d prefer not. Thank you.” She disconnected. “This is very strange. A foreign woman—when I said I was a client—wanted to connect me to a Mr. Farber, ‘who has been working with Mr. Veeder’s clients’.”
    “Didn’t I tell you?”
    Smith unwrapped her cards and handed them to Wetzon. “Shuffle.” Wetzon shuffled. Smith cut the cards and thrust them at Wetzon. “Blow on them.”
    “Oh, good grief!”
    “Blow.”
    Wetzon blew on the cards, then watched Smith do the spread.
    “I don’t like the Moon turning up here,” Smith said.
    “What does that mean?” Wetzon asked in spite of her skepticism.
    “It doesn’t bode well.” Smith studied the cards. “Ten of Pentacles again.” The usual furrow did not appear between her brows. She closed her eyes and with her hands flat on the cards, took a slow, deep breath. “It’s glitter. Jewels,” she said, awed. “Lots.”

43
    “H OW DOES she do it? It makes me crazy.”
    “Fasten your seat belt,” Silvestri said.
    “‘It’s going to be a bumpy night?’”
    Silvestri smiled at her. “Bette Davis, All About Eve .”
    “Bingo.” She rested her hand on his thigh. How come, she wondered, men have such stone hard thighs?
    “How was the first day?”
    “Wonderful. Even Smith, though she eavesdropped when I spoke with Clo Hightower. She thinks I won’t catch on when the line stays open a second or two more.”
    “Does it happen often?”
    “Does what happen often?”
    “The line staying open a second or two longer.” He stopped for the red light.
    “Only when she ... wait, no, it happened when she wasn’t in yet.” She stared at him. “What does that mean?”
    “Could mean nothing. I think I’ll send someone over tomorrow to check out your phone lines.”
    “You’ve just creeped me out.”
    “I could be wrong.”
    She sighed. “I set up an appointment for tonight with Clo Hightower, eight-thirty. I told her you would be with me, that you’ll be able to fill in a lot of the blanks.