Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

talking about, Wetzon thought, hurrying to Clo Hightower’s building. Who’s downstairs? Oh, damnation! Smith must be in Clo Hightower’s office waiting for her.
    She was right.
    Clo Hightower’s office was modest compared to Smith and Wetzon’s. The reception area was small and very modern with Danish type furnishings in bright blue and gold fabrics, recessed lighting, and a geometric patterned rug on dark-stained wood floors. No one sat at the reception desk, but a faint buzzer had sounded when Wetzon opened the door.
    “Hello,” Wetzon called.
    “Leslie?” Hair, a lot of it, very blonde, in an old fashioned shoulder length pageboy. Strong features, strong shoulders, strong woman. She wore a gray business suit, its skirt—a surprise—settling at mid thigh, a white, tailored shirt open at the throat. No question, Clo Hightower’s pride was her legs, long and slim in sheer hose, and good grief, Manolo Blahnick shoes.
    They shook hands. “Is my partner bothering you?” Wetzon asked, her voice dripping irony. “She’s the great appropriator of the Western World.”
    Clo smiled. “She’s a piece, all right. But we can work with her.”
    Oh, sure, Wetzon thought. She’ll run rings around you, too, Clo Hightower.
    A beaming Smith jumped up from Clo’s black leather couch and gave Wetzon a hug. “Where have you been?”
    “With Silvestri. He’s on his way.” Silvestri will have a fit if he finds Smith here.
    Smith groaned. “I told dear Clo all about Silvestri.”
    “Smith!”
    “And I told her everything that’s happened to you, sweetie pie.”
    “You don’t know everything that’s happened to me. I don’t even know that.”
    Clo motioned for Wetzon to sit. “Xenia understands that we’ll need some time in private and she very graciously offered to sit outside, didn’t you, Xenia?”
    “Er,” Smith said, her mouth half open.
    Round one, Clo Hightower.
    “I’m impressed,” Wetzon said, once the door was closed behind Smith. “Smith doesn’t handle easily.” She sat down on the sofa.
    Clo smiled. “She’s a challenge. I love challenges.” She took up a yellow legal pad and pen, rolled the sheets over to a blank page, and sat in the chair opposite Leslie. “Start at the beginning.”
    “You know I’m a headhunter and Smith’s partner.”
    “Yes.”
    “You know I was a dancer—”
    “A gypsy. Yes, Xenia made sure to tell me she taught you everything you know.”
    Wetzon rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
    “She told me that Bill Veeder was the love of your life and that you’re devastated by his death.”
    “She would. She introduced us and got off on the affair, which I’ll admit was hot. He was easy to be with, wealthy, generous, connected, and thought I was wonderful. It was seductive and I went with it. But I always knew it wouldn’t, couldn’t last.”
    “He radiated charm and power.” Clo was making notes on her pad.
    Wetzon sighed. “Don’t tell me you slept with him, too.”
    “We ran into each other fairly often. I’m sure Rita told you we all went to Fordham together, but I assure you, Leslie, there could never have been anything between us.”
    Something in the way Clo phrased it, as well as her direct look, told Wetzon Clo was gay. “Thanks,” she said, though she wasn’t sure why. “Bill and I sort of split when he joined the Dooney Bellemore defense in L.A. and I wouldn’t go with him. I think our relationship had burned out, at least I was. I am not arm candy and I was beginning to feel like that. We took a leave of absence from each other. I haven’t—hadn’t—seen him since Thanksgiving.”
    “Thanksgiving?”
    “I intended to stay for a couple of days but ended up taking the red-eye back the same day.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know. I can’t remember. One of many things I can’t remember.”
    “You took a leave of absence from your job. Why?”
    “Here’s where it gets murky. I’ve lost that part of my life. Something to do with my friend and investment advisor, Laura Lee Day. Laura Lee also took a leave and no one knew where she’d gone either.” A lump settled in Wetzon’s throat and her eyes teared. “Silvestri told me this morning that he heard through channels that she’s surfaced, and alive, thank God, but I don’t know anything more.”
    “You were worried she wasn’t?”
    “I guess. When they found me in the park, they said I kept going on about a woman on the cliff singing a sad song.”
    Clo