The Groaning Board

surprised.
“That has nothing to do with you and him.”
    “Can we go, Artie?”
    He edged the car forward. “You’re
good together. Don’t let this happen. Life is too short.”
    “He left me, Artie, not the
other way around. Anyway, there’s nothing to do for it.”
    “I’m dealing with two hardheads,”
Metzger muttered. He turned up Amsterdam and circled back to the Eighty-sixth
Street Transverse through Central Park to the East Side. “Can we just change
the subject? I was going to call you.“
    “What about?”
    “Sheila. Have you talked to her
friends?”
    “Some of them. We’ve been going
through her address book. Some have already contacted us.”
    “One of her closest friends was
Micklynn Devora.“
    “Devora? Should I know her?”
    “She’s half of two caterers who own
The Groaning
    Board.”
    “I think I remember her name from the
book. I’ve got two rookies working on it.”
    “I thought Silvestri was the
detective on the case.”
    “If he was, it wasn’t for the
Department. Silvestri’s taken a leave of absence.”
    She stared at Metzger, openmouthed.
“A leave of absence? Never. He wouldn’t if he was dying. Silvestri loves the
Job, loves his work. You know that, Artie.”
    “Believe me, he did.”
    “God, Artie, did he tell you why?”
    “He told me nothing. I found out when
I called him ar the House.”
    “He would never do this, Artie.
Something is terribly wrong.” Was Silvestri having some kind of breakdown? If
he was, she certainly hadn’t been very sympathetic.
    “Whaddayasay we take a ride down to Chelsea?” They were coming out of the Park.
    “I’ll be late,” she said feebly.
    “What’s it gonna hurt?” He zipped
across Fifth, made a left on Madison, and came back through the Park on
Eighty-fifth.
    She didn’t reply. She stared down at
her thighs, wondering if her skirt was too short.
    Metzger drove straight down Columbus. “How did you connect Micklynn Devora to Sheila?”
    “Micklynn told me. It was accidental.
When Micklynn said she had this allergy to gluten and was experimenting with
alternate flours, I remembered seeing all those weird flours in Sheila s
cupboard. I made the connection and Micklynn filled it in. It was warm in the
car; she rolled the window down farther. She said Sheila had been acting
strangely for a while.”
    What did she mean strangely?”
    Paranoid, or something. You’d better
ask her. Sheila even accused Micklynn of making those calls.”
    She did? Artie said thoughtfully. He
didn’t seem surprised. “I’ll talk to her.”
    Artie... about those phone calls...”
    “Yes?”
    “Well, not those. Others.”
    “What others?” He inched through the
dense traffic around Macy’s.
    The ones I m getting, Wetzon said in
a low voice.
    Jesus H. Christ!” Metzger pulled over
in front of a fire hydrant. “You’d better tell me about it.”
    “They started about two weeks ago. He
doesn’t say anything, Artie, he just breathes. He has my office number and my
home number, and he also has my new private number at the office. I feel as if
he’s watching me. It’s creepy. What should I do?”
    “To trace it, hang up, then pick up
and press star fifty-seven. The info will go to the Annoyance Call Bureau. I’ll
let them know I’m working on it. If it’s out of the area, we can’t get the
number, and if he’s using a pay phone, there may not be much we can do. Maybe
it’s a pissed-off stockbroker and he’ll stop when he burns himself out.”
Metzger pulled away from the curb and continued down to Chelsea, a once dumpy
section of the City from about Fifteenth Street, just above the Village, to Twenty-third Street, from Fifth Avenue to the old piers along the Hudson. Now the piers were
being refurbished into tennis clubs and moderately middle-class entertainment. Chelsea was going through a renaissance.
    Silvestri had a rent-controlled
one-bedroom apartment in an old brownstone on Nineteenth Street. Wetzon had
never been there; she’d never been invited. He had always made it seem like his
sacred ground.
    Metzger backed into a parking spot
and slapped his bubble on the roof of the car. “Come on.” He opened the door.
    “You go, Artie. I’ll stay here.” She
searched the front of the building. “Which one is his?”
    “You’ve never been there?”
    She shook her head. Metzger looked as
if he didn’t believe her.
    “He’s in the back, second floor.” He
took her hand. “Come on, Leslie. You belong together.