The Groaning Board

lost her
way. What was he saying to her? “Let me get this straight,” she said, hating
her small voice. “By here, you mean with me.” She felt herself
shattering. This was worse than she’d expected.
    “I knew you would take it personally.
It’s not personal, goddammit. I have to work this out myself.”
    Don’t be so selfish, she told
herself. It’s about him, not you. “But I can help you, Silvestri. Aren’t we
supposed to be friends? Talk to me.”
    His eyes were granite. “See what
you’re doing? You stand over me, nag at me. I don’t need that now. I can’t
think clearly and you don’t leave me any space.”
    Nag? That was the only word that penetrated.
It went deep. “I don’t nag. I want us to communicate. We should be sharing the
pain if we’re going to—” She stopped, swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’re
leaving.”
    He was looking everywhere but at her.
“I’m just clearing out until I get my head straight.”
    “Straight,” she repeated bitterly.
“You haven’t been straight with me since Sheila Gelber was... murdered. I told
you I understood—”
    “See?” He was shouting at her.
“That’s what I mean. You won’t leave it alone.” He stamped off down the hall.
Tears stung her eyes. She refused to let them out. From the bed-room, then the
bathroom, came the sound of slamming doors, drawers. He was packing.
    Izz, who had wandered along after
him, her tail droopingi returned and nestled against her ankles; she knew they
were in trouble.
    Silvestri had called her a nag.
Hardly a term of affection.
    “Les,” he said, his voice cracking.
He was standing across the room from her. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I need
time to sort this out and I’ve got to do that alone.”
    “I seem to remember a time when you
were there for me. Let me be there for you.”
    “This is different. I have to put
what we have aside for a while. There’s no reason for you to know anything or
be involved.”
    “There’s every reason. We either go
on or we don’t. What do we really have, Silvestri? We pass each other: good
morning, good night, see ya later. You won’t give, you won’t take. So tell me,
what do we have?”
    He turned away from her. “I don’t
have time for this.” Her fury was cold and deadly. “Silvestri, if you leave
now, like this, don’t come back.”
    The ring of the phone sliced through
the anger and hurt. She answered it.
    “Leslie,” Metzger said. “Is Silvestri
there?”
    “Hold on.” Wordlessly, she handed
Silvestri the phone. “Yeah?” He laid his garment bag over the back of a chair.
A beat later, he said, “Christalmighty.” He looked at Wetzon, looked away.
“When will they know?” Eyes on Wetzon again. Not here. I’m going back to Chelsea for a while.” He hung up the phone quickly, but not quick enough for Wetzon to miss
Metzger’s exclamation.
    She folded her arms. “For a while?
Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”
    “What is the truth, Les?” He bent and
kissed her on the lips. “This is the truth.”
    But she refused to let her lips
respond. “Whatever that means.”
    He fastened his shoulder holster, put
on his jacket, and picked up the garment bag. When he opened the door, Izz
scurried out into the hallway.
    “Come back here,” Wetzon cried,
grabbing the squirming furry creature. “Not you, Silvestri. You’re history.”
    “I’ll be back.”
    “Don’t count on it. I’m not about to
sit around and wait for you.”
    “Do what you have to do.” He laughed
suddenly, as if this were all a joke. “I love you when you’re angry.”
    “Fuck you, Silvestri. Get the hell
out of here. This is not a romance novel.”
    He pressed the elevator button.
“You’re also one smart babe.”
    “Smart babe!” Outraged, she slammed
the door, shutting him out. What the hell was he trying to do? Make up? Too
late. It was over. Over. She paused. What did he really mean when he said she
was one smart babe? She opened the door. Izz tried to wriggle out of her arms
to get to Silvestri, who was on the elevator but holding the door, waiting for
her.
    He knew her too well. He’d known she
would act on her curiosity.
    He let go of the door, and as it slid
shut, he called, “The poison was in the corn muffins.”

Chapter Nineteen

     
     
     
    A WILD
uncomprehending anger gripped her well into the night. She was hot,
cold, hot again. She got up, lay down, got up, walked through the apartment.
Izz, who’d followed her every move,