Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

would he be doing there? This is connected to Bill, isn’t it?”
    “Has to be. There’s a common denominator: the diamonds. He must have made a deal with someone. Was he in to the shylocks?”
    “How would I know? He never talked about money or business things like that.”
    “But he always had a lot of it.”
    “Yes. Evelyn was rich enough for ten people.” She paused. “Loan sharks? Wouldn’t he know better? On the other hand, he would know where to go, wouldn’t he?”
    “He was a cop before he jumped to the other side.”
    “What if Evelyn’s money was in a family run trust? What if she got the interest but couldn’t touch the principal? They each lived rather sumptuously in different apartments.”
    “I’ll see what I can find out about that tomorrow.”
    She yawned. “What are you going to do now?”
    “I’m going to take a shower and come to bed.”
    “You’d better hurry because I can’t keep my eyes open.”
    In her sleep she thought she knew, was sure she knew and that when she woke up, she would tell Silvestri. But like fluff from a dandelion it was gone even before Silvestri, smelling of soap and shaving cream, untangled her from the robe and pulled her close.
    “Sit tight and let me handle this,” Silvestri had told her, dropping her on Second Avenue and Forty-ninth on his way downtown. “Don’t instigate anything.”
    “Instigate? What would I instigate?” No matter how she said it, it sounded as if she was not telling him everything. But this time, she was being flat out honest. She wasn’t looking for any more trouble.
    He chucked her under the chin. “I wish I could believe you.” But he was cheerful when he said it, so maybe he did.
    “Why do I feel you know more than I do?”
    “Because I do.” Silvestri pulled away from the curb and drove off. Good God, she thought, Silvestri was smiling.
    He was going to look into Evelyn Veeder’s financial background. Bill’s taking on big cases for wealthy clients might have allowed him to live in the style he did without Evelyn’s money, but, Wetzon realized, he hadn’t had a big case for a while. Which must have played into his decision to take the Dooney Bellemore murder case in L.A.
    She didn’t really expect to see Smith in the office this early, but when Wetzon had tried her at home, there’d been no answer.
    As she opened the door to the office, the realization jolted her. Bill had never planned to return. She could come with him, or not. But he’d known all along she wouldn’t come with him. Her whole life was here. Silvestri was here. Bill had understood that whatever her denial, Silvestri was always between them.
    “Good morning, everyone. Smith in yet?”
    “Not yet.” Cheryl handed Wetzon a thin sheaf of pink message slips. Sean, phone wedged between neck and shoulder, waved.
    “Anyone heard from her?”
    “No. I put your mail on your desk. One envelope was delivered by messenger about ten minutes ago. Do you want coffee?”
    “Yes, yes, yes.” Wetzon headed up the stairs. “Any problems or potential problems?”
    “Do you know someone named Solly Morganstern? Go on up, I’ll follow.”
    Wetzon hung her leather trench coat in the closet and sat down at her desk, noting, but not really registering, the messenger delivered envelope. She took the mug of coffee from Cheryl. “Solly Morganstern. Old timer. OTC guy. Started with Luwisher Brothers. Where is he now?”
    “Bliss Norderman. Sixth Avenue.”
    “What about him?”
    Cheryl handed Wetzon a pink message slip. “He just missed you yesterday. Can you call him first? He seemed pretty upset and wouldn’t talk to me.”
    “Okay. Get on Smith’s phone if you want to listen.” Wetzon punched in Solly’s direct number.
    “This is Solly,” he said.
    His voice invoked his image. They’d met for a drink a few years back. He had the tough, lined face of a man older than he actually was. Streetwise, yet not more than five and a half feet tall. Hair-dyed too dark, combed straight back and gelled to death. Moe Ginsberg suit. Nicotine yellowed fingers. A very successful Over the Counter broker, specializing in inexpensive Nasdaq listed stocks, riding them up and selling to protect profits. He did his own research.
    “The market goes up, the market goes down. We take our profits where we find them. No profit in being greedy,” he’d tell his clients. They loved him.
    But these days firms were nervous about brokers doing their own research. They