The Groaning Board

parking place near the corner of Amsterdam and turned off the engine. He made no move to get out.
    “Are you coming up?” Wetzon asked.
He’d held on to his Chelsea apartment because it was rent-controlled, or so he
said. But Wetzon figured it to be his escape hatch, so he’d have somewhere to
go if they split up. These days he used it for his poker games.
    “ Why wouldn’t
I?” he said abruptly, giving her an uncompromising stare.
    “ Jesus,
Silvestri, don’t do that. I haven’t committed a Cr*me... yet. I only thought
you’re so upset about Sheila, maybe you want to be alone.”
    It’s not what you think, Les.”
    How do you know what I think? You
make no effort to try to understand. Everything I say seems to bug you—”
    You think,” he said quietly, “that
what was between me aod Sheila was deep.”
    “Wasn’t it?”
    “No, it wasn’t. It was just something
that Judy and Metzger wanted to happen but wasn’t right for either of us. I
haven’t seen or talked to her in years.”
    “Then why are you...” The tortured
look in his eyes prevented her from going on. She’d never seen him so upset.
    “Come on,” he said. He got out of the
car and came around for her, still carrying the manila envelope.
    He’s taken Sheila’s bills, she
thought.
    The night was blustery; swift-moving
clouds scudded black-edged against the moonless sky. It matched the emotions of
the moment.
    In the elevator he put his arm on her
shoulders. “This is how it is,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you and me.
This time you can’t help. It’s something I have to work out for myself.”

Chapter Thirteen

     
     
     
    She’d fallen
asleep sitting up, her book in her lap, and woke when he closed her book and turned out the
light. Izz whined when he set her in her dog bed on the floor.
    For the first time in a long time
Wetzon had been afraid of the dark, not wanting to remember the sound of that
terrible voice on Sheila’s answering machine.
    When he got into bed beside her, she
folded herself against him. They made love, but it was different this time; his
need was so intense, it threatened to crush her.
    Sometime during the night she heard
him get up, heard him moving around; he didn’t come back.
    It was after nine when she woke
again. Izz was nestling in the small of Wetzon’s back. Silvestri was gone. And
so was the Manila envelope.
     
    The farmers’ market was meager.
Wetzon was cold in her trench coat. She pulled her beret over her ears. A
halfhearted drizzle misted over everything. She bought apples and one §reen and
one yellow zucchini squash. The woman behind ^er kept pushing at her. Furious,
she spun around.
    “How about a cup of hot cider,
darlin’?” Laura Lee grinned at her.
    “You owe me. I accept. I mean, what
else can I say to someone with such beautiful breasts?”
    “Ouch,” Laura Lee said. “He is a
dreadful man, isn’t he?”
    “I’ve known worse, but I didn’t go
into business with them.”
    “Darlin’, you have to understand that
it’s the deal that’s important. It’s goin’ to make everyone a ton of mon,
especially Micklynn. And may I remind you that you are in business with one of
the worst... so get down off your high horse.”
    “Forget the hot cider, Laura Lee. I
feel a weak hungry coming on fast. Let’s go to the Columbus Bakery, get a
cappuccino, and gorge.” Laura Lee was right, of course. Smith was probably no
better than Hem Barron. And Wetzon could readily see Smith working behind her
back to sell out their company exactly as Hem and A.T. were doing to Micklynn.
    At the Columbus Bakery, they made
their choices, then took their plates to a small table.
    “Come on, darlin’, it’s time to lift
yourself out of this funk you’re in.” Laura Lee swathed butter on her cranberry
corn muffin.
    “Business is lousy, Laura Lee, and
Smith just keeps spending more money on expansion and saying it’s a business
deduction.”
    “But that’s not it, is it?” Her
friend gave her a knowing look.
    “You’re right. That’s not it. An old
girlfriend of Silvestri’s died under mysterious circumstances.”
    “Ah,” Laura Lee said.
    “He says it was over a long time ago,
but—”
    “Did somebody kill her?”
    “They don’t know yet. He’s all
wrapped up in the easel and not talking very much.”
    “Uh-oh, and he’s not loquacious on
his good days.”
    “I hope the autopsy says it was an
accident; otherwise, he’s going to obsess about finding her