The Groaning Board

doubt that very much.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Help me, Leslie. Say you’ll look
into it. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars as a retainer.” Micklynn took a
crumpled piece of paper from some hidden pocket and tried to smooth it out,
gave it up, and pushed it toward Wetzon. “Here’s the check. My own personal
check, not the company’s. Say you’ll do it. You’re involved too. You said you
know her brother-in-
    law.”
    “Artie’d kill me if he knew I was
investigating Sheila’s death.”
    “He doesn’t have to know.”
    Wetzon thought, it might clear the
air between Silvestri and... No. There was no air to clear. They were finished.
Now if only she could let it go.
    “He’ll find out.” She leaned back
against the counter, thinking. “I am not licensed to do investigations of
homicides, Micklynn.”
    “Consider this management consulting.
I’m hiring you to help me with how I manage the death of a friend.”
    “Then you should be hiring a
therapist.”
    “I already have a therapist, Leslie.
I want to know who killed my friend. I have to know.”
    “Okay, Micklynn, but I have a partner
and we have an agreement. We don’t work alone.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t want to
work with your partner. I want to work with you. I’m in trouble. I need help
from someone I can trust. Just see what you can find out. People trust you,
Leslie. They’ll talk to you.”
    Wetzon groaned.
    “You’ll do it?”
    “Make the check payable to Smith and
Wetzon and I’ll see what I can come up with.”
    Micklynn jumped off the stool and
crushed Wetzon in a bear hug. “I’ll love you forever, and you’ll always have a
caterer for any party you throw... gratis.” She crossed out Leslie on
her check and wrote in Smith and, then drained what little remained of
her vodka and orange juice. “You’ll call me?”
    She left Wetzon just enough time to
get dressed and put on her makeup. Good thing Barney Greengrass was just around
the corner on Amsterdam.
     
    ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    “I don’t mean to interfere.” Rita
Silvestri gestured with her half bagel and the nova slid oif the cream cheese
onto the plate. She replaced it with her fingers.
    “Then don’t,” Wetzon said cheerfully,
smearing whitefish salad over her toasted bagel.
    Rita Silvestri was wearing a snappy black
suit, a long green print scarf that set off her red hair, and a black straw
hat. She looked smart and a good deal younger than her sixty-five years.
“You’re the only one he ever brought to meet me,” Rita said, “so I knew it was
serious. What happened? Why is he back in that dump in Chelsea?”
    “Ask him.”
    “I did. He’s just like his father.
The wall goes up and that’s all, folks.”
    “What did he say?”
    “He said, ‘Butt out, I’m working on a
case.’“
    “Sheila Gelber’s murder.”
    Rita frowned as if trying to place a
vaguely familiar name. “Should I know who Sheila Gelber is?”
    “She was Artie Metzger’s
sister-in-law. I gather she and Silvestri were an item at one point.” Wetzon
bit into the bagel and the salty fish was sweet on her tongue.
    “Well, I never met her. So much for
the item business.“
    “Look, Rita, I really don’t know
what’s going on. He was very upset. I wanted to help, but he called me a nag
and said he was moving out.”
    “Just like that?”
    “Just like that. And oh yes, he said
he’d be back. I told him not to bother.”
    “You didn’t mean it.”
    “Oh, I meant it. I’m tired of the
monosyllables, the moods. He closes up for no reason at all. I’ve had it,
Rita.“
    “His father—”
    “I don’t care if he’s just like his
father. I didn’t have a relationship with his father. I had one with him, or so
I thought. You wouldn’t understand. He’s your son.”
    “I understand all too well, Les.”
Rita sighed. “I thought it would be different for him.”
    “How did you handle his father?”
    “He died.”
    “Rita, listen. I’m truly sorry. I
would have liked you for a mother-in-law. You’d be my friend. But don’t try to
fix this.“
    “I’ll still be your friend, Les, if
you’ll let me.”
    “Okay, you’re on.” Wetzon held out
her hand and Rita took it. “Now I’ve got to get to the office.” She looked down
at her bagel. She’d only taken one bite. “Can you wrap this up?” she asked the
waiter.
    “Mine too,” Rita said. She gave the
waiter a twenty-dollar bill.
    “If you’re going to your office,”
Wetzon said, “I can