Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

to know what’s in the bag—” His beeper went off. He checked the number, took out his cell and made a call. “Excuse me.” He turned his back. “Silvestri.”
    Wetzon and Clo Hightower exchanged glances. A Krispy Kreme bag would have a doughnut in it. Or would it? They waited.
    Silvestri said, “I’m on my way,” and tucked his phone back in his inside pocket. “I’ve got a homicide. You don’t need me.” He gave Wetzon a swift kiss. “Later. Maybe.” He stopped. “Take a cab.”
    Wetzon said, “Get out of here, Silvestri.”
    “Wait,” Clo said. She handed Silvestri her legal pad and pen. “I’m going to need Marty Lawler’s phone number. I want to give him a heads up. When we talk to the FBI I’m going to have to bring him into it.”
    He flipped through some pages in his notes, found what he was looking for, wrote the number on Clo’s pad, and handed it back.
    They heard the outer door close.
    Clo shut her office door. “Okay, let’s see if what we have here is just a stale doughnut, or—” She uncrumpled the bag and reached into it. “Uh oh.” Out came her fist, knuckles powdery with sugar. She opened her hand.

46
    “G OD,” WETZON said.
    Clo swept some papers off the coffee table and emptied the bag on the glass surface. Powdered sugar and diamonds, dozens of them, spewed every which way across the glass.
    “Sugar-coated diamonds,” Clo said, adding those in her hand. She shook the paper bag to make sure there were no reticents in the creases. Seven more joined their mates.
    “Dirty diamonds,” Wetzon said, trying to keep the horror from taking charge. “So the FBI was right. I did have them and hid them away.” She sank onto the sofa, head in her hands. “What was I going to do with them?”
    “Somehow I have a feeling you were going to do the right thing.”
    “Oh, for pity sakes!”
    Neither Clo nor Wetzon had heard Smith steal in, but now there she stood, hands on hips, the picture of irritation. She came closer, like a bird dog zeroing in on her prey. For Smith, prey was the stones that couldn’t hide their glitter under powdered sugar.
    “Diamonds,” Smith breathed, picking up a handful and blowing away the sugar dust. “Sweet babies!”
    “Put them down, Xenia,” Clo said. “They’re evidence. I’m going to turn them over to the FBI tomorrow.”
    “That’s right, Smith.”
    “But sugarbuns, finder’s keepers, don’t you think?” She rolled them around her palm like dice.
    “Not this time,” Clo said. She caught Wetzon’s eye before stepping to her desk and taking out a manila clasp envelope.
    I’m supposed to keep an eye on Smith. Ha, Wetzon thought.
    Smith made a little wheedling coo. It was going to be fun watching her fork over the diamonds.
    Clo opened the mouth of the Krispy Kreme bag and held it out to Smith. “Just drop them in here, Xenia, thank you very much.”
    “Humpf,” Smith said, but she complied.
    Gathering up the rest of the sticky stones, Wetzon slipped them into the bag with the others.
    “So are we finished?” Smith asked, impatient.
    Clo said, “I think so.” She put the Krispy Kreme bag into the manila envelope and sealed it. “Leslie, I’ll call you tomorrow with the meeting time.”
    Looking around the room, Smith said, “Where’s Silvestri?”
    “He had a homicide.”
    “I didn’t see him leave. Must have been when I was in the ladies’.” She looked I’ve-got-a-secret pleased. What was she up to, Wetzon wondered. “I’ll go ahead and get the car.” Oh, yes, she was definitely up to something.
    They watched her leave. “You are a saint,” Clo said.
    “Thanks, Clo. She’s not as bad as she seems.” Wetzon grinned. “Whatever that means. You’ll want a retainer.”
    “You can give me a check tomorrow for $2500, and we’ll take it from there.”
    When Wetzon came out on Columbus Avenue, Smith’s sable Jaguar was double-parked in front of Clo’s building. Smith gunned the engine; Wetzon opened the door and got in.
    “What’s going on, Smith?”
    “You’re dawdling and we have an appointment.”
    “An appointment?” She fastened her seat belt. “What appointment? Dinner, I hope. I’m starving.”
    “Not dinner. Carolyn Dorley. Did you mention her to Silvestri?”
    “No. I meant to but never got to it. What about her? I was thinking I’d go up to see her. I looked her up in the phone book and got her answering machine when I called.”
    “Well, I spoke to her.”
    “Hey! Did you