The Groaning Board

Wetzon, and we have her signature on a
noncompete contract, which means we can swear out a complaint against her and
sue her for theft and breach of contract. We can effectively put her out of
business. Temporarily.”
    “Perfect,” Smith said. “I want her to
suffer.”
    “What good will that do?” Wetzon
said. “It’s all revenge, and revenge takes energy and money. Let’s just replace
her and go forward.”
    “Taking her to court might make you
feel better,” Shirley said.
    “It certainly will.” Smith was
adamant. “And now let’s talk about Tom Keegen. I’ve about had it with him.
Let’s discuss what we can do to put him out of business.”
    “Forget it, Smith. The best revenge
is making so goddam much money he’s dying with envy.”
    “Sweetie, you may feel comfortable
turning the other cheek, but not me.”
    “Ha! You’ll have to kill him.”
    “That can be arranged, babycakes. You
just watch me.” She turned to their lawyer, an elegant woman with
shoulder-length streaked blond hair. “Shirley, go do your worst. We’re with
you, aren’t we, sweetie?”
    “Put a goddam ad in the Times. Help wanted. No lying cheating bitch need apply,” Wetzon said. “And please,
Smith, let’s move on.”
    “We’ll put the ad in, but I’m not
dropping this. Are we agreed?”
    “I give up,” Wetzon said. “Have it
your way.”
    “Good,” Smith said. “It’s settled
then.”
    They shook hands all around and Smith
walked Shirley downstairs.
    Wetzon immediately began to search
through the mess of suspect sheets on her desk. Smith came through the door and
watched her for a few moments. “What are you looking for, sugar:
    “Oh, thank God, here it is.” Wetzon
plucked a suspect sheet from the mound. “Benny Flaxman. Rivington Ellis is
bringing him to New York for the full-court press. He’s going to meet all the
department heads—the head of retail, the head of domestic branches, managed
money, syndicate, you name it. He and Gerry Brooker, the Rivington manager
who’s wooing him, get in tonight.”
    “From where?”
    “Ashland, Oregon.”
    “I bet he wears white socks.”
    “You know, Ms. Turn-up-her-nose-at-the-provinces,
I don’t care if he wears clogs, and you won’t either.”
    Smith smiled. “I take it he’s big.”
    “He’s a thousand-pound gorilla from
Loeb Dawkins. Two and a half mil gross with a hundred fifty million in assets.“
    “You are absolutely in your prime,
sweetie pie,” Smith said, waxing eloquent. Then she grimaced. “Wait. He’s not
one of Darlene’s, is he?”
    “No, no, bless us. Max cold-called
him. I’ve been having Max call into Washington and Oregon from that list we
bought in January. We’ve been trying to get this trip set up for three months.
Now it looks as if it’s going to happen.” Wetzon set the suspect sheet aside.
“How did you find out about Darlene? Did the Tarot give her up?”
    “Very funny, sugar. The Tarot did
hint that we had a problem in our midst, but I wanted immediate gratification.
I hired a private detective. I had to rush out to meet him this morning because
he was catching an early Metroliner to DC, where he’s doing some work for that
dear Newt Gingrich.“
    “Please. If you’d called me back, I
would have told you I practically caught her in the act.”
    “Stealing our suspect sheets?”
    “No. Making the breather calls. From
the pay phone on the corner. She was trying to spook me. And she succeeded. But
she underestimated me. Being nervous doesn’t make me stupid.”
    Smith brushed her hands together.
“Well, that’s that.“
    “Not really. When Bill took me home
last night, we found a really horrible obscene call on my answering machine,
and it was exactly the same as the one on Sheila Gelber’s answering machine.”
    “Sheila again. I am so bored with
her. Can’t we forget about her?”
    “No, we can’t, because her killer
killed Micklynn and Jimmy.”
    “Jimmy? Who’s Jimmy?”
    “Micklynn’s cat.”
    “Oh, for pity sakes—”
    “Bill moved me and Izz in with him at
the Museum Tower for a couple of days.”
    “Sweetie, what a setup. You are so
smart. I am taking some of the credit.”
    “Hey, Smith. Read my lips. Obscene,
threatening phone calls. Very scary.”
    “Oh, you.”
    “Oh, me. Yes. Silvestri’s checking my
tape against Sheila’s.”
    Smith rolled her eyes and sang,
“Hello, two lovers...“
    “Very funny. By the way, Max said
he’d work full-time till we find someone