The Groaning Board

just a kid, but in Medford we called her Baby Death.”

Chapter Sixty-Four

     
     
     
    Wetzon
looked at Smith with horror. “How did she get that name?”
    “Let Benny finish,” Smith snapped.
She pointed to Benny. “Go on with your story.”
    Benny grinned. “You remind me of my
wife, Smith.” Smith scowled.
    Benny’s grin faded. “Okay. It’s
because everyone around her dies. First, her father dies when she’s ten or so.”
    “I thought he had cancer,” Wetzon
said.
    “Yeah. They confirmed that when they
exhumed his body.”
    “Exhumed his body,” Wetzon murmured.
She felt a little dizzy.
    “Anyway, her mother dies a few years
later. Course, Viv Moore liked her hooch, so when she fell down the cellar
stairs and cracked her head open, no one was real surprised. Then it turned out
that maybe she was pushed. Baby Death admitted it was an accident when her
mother tried to hit her, claimed Viv was abusing her. They took it to trial and
got a hung jury. Twice. Third time, called it involuntary manslaughter. She
served a few months in one of those juvenile detention places. The boyfriend
got five years.”
    “Wow,” Wetzon said. “Did you say ‘the
boyfriend’?“
    “Yeah. She said he set up the whole
thing.”
    “Tell about the old lady,” Smith
prompted.
    “Yeah, old Mrs. Applegate, the
neighbor, took the kid in afterward. The old lady had a bad heart and the kid
was supposed to help her out around the house. Maybe eight or nine months, the
old lady’s heart gives out. Boy, let me tell you, everyone was relieved when
the kid left town and came East. Figure in New York everyone’s like Ellen
Moore. Maybe you should hire an exorcist when she goes to work for you. Haw,
haw.”
    “God,” Wetzon said.
    “Seriously, there are people who give
off this kind of energy,” Benny said. “I read about it once.”
    “Well, I’m not sure we should hire
her. What do you think, Wetzon?” Smith ground her eyes into Wetzon.
    “I don’t think so, especially since
we have at least two other really outstanding candidates.”
    Smith made a big show of checking her
watch. “Oh, my, Benny, look at the time. You’d better get going, sugar.” She
took his arm and wrestled him out of his chair, steering him toward the door.
“It was so grand spending time with you. And by the way, Wetzon and I feel
certain by accepting the Rivington Ellis offer you’re going to just fly through
the next tier into portfolio management. You’ll have so much support, plus an
advertising budget; it will leave you plenty of opportunity to bring in new
business.”
    “Thank you, Smith. Hope you’ll feel
better, Wetzon. I’ll think it all through on the way home tomorrow. You can be
sure of that.”
    Smith rushed him out the door, closed
it and leaned against it. “That brilliant, beautiful child is a serial killer.“
    “We don’t know that for sure, but...
I’m calling Silvestri.” Wetzon picked up the phone and punched in Silvestri’s
number. “I thought it was A.T. A.T. is in danger.“
    “Oh, my God. We should call her and
warn her.”
    A man answered. “Silvestri’s line.”
    “Is he there? It’s important.”
    “No, but I can take a message.”
    “How about Mulcahy?”
    “Not here.”
    “Okay, page Silvestri, please. Tell
him Leslie Wetzon needs him to call her right away.” She gave the cop Veeder’s
number. She hung up. Damn. She stood stock-still for a moment, then went into
the bedroom, returned with her shoulder bag.
    Smith’s hand was on the phone.
    “What are you doing?” Wetzon said.
    “We have to warn A.T.”
    “We can’t. If we do, we’ll alert Baby
Death. Besides, A.T. won’t believe us. She’ll protect Ellen with her dying
breath.“
    “So what do we do?”
    Wetzon took Smith’s arm. “Let’s go,”
she said.

Chapter Sixty-Five

     
     
     
    Riverside
Drive was still bathed in bright sunlight, but the shadows cast by the apartment houses were
lengthening. The foliage on the trees in Riverside Park was so lush and dense
one could hardly see into the park.
    “Pay the driver.” Smith opened the
door to the cab and stepped out. “All I have is plastic.”
    “So what else is new?” Wetzon gave
the driver eight dollars and joined Smith on the sidewalk in front of A.T.’s
building. Two small boys were sauntering up the street, one had a catcher’s
mask over his face; the other, dragging a bat, was talking on a cell phone.
Wetzon moved out of their way. Her legs were still