The Groaning Board

let you go. We’ll probably
call you back again. Let’s get the timeline straight for starters, and the
names.” He nodded to Detective Mulcahy. He seemed to be taking a mental count
of the faces, letting his eyes rest for a moment on each. “Where’s Veeder?”
    “He isn’t on the boat, sugar,” Smith
said, using her most seductive voice.
    Wetzon crossed her eyes at Laura Lee.
    “What a piece of work,” Laura Lee
said, louder than necessary.
    “Mulcahy,” Silvestri said, “go see
where—”
    “There he is.” Smith gave Wetzon a
poke and said sotto voce, “Wasn’t Bill just wonderful when he jumped into that
filthy water to save Micklynn?”
    “Silvestri too.”
    “Well, that’s his job, sweetie pie.”
    Hem Barron decided to get indignant.
“Why were you snooping around, Silvestri, or whatever your name is? It’s
insulting that you’ve been my bartender under false pretenses in my home and on
my boat and all the while you were spying on me. I’m going to see that the
Commissioner hears about this.”
    “Chill out, Hem,” Bill Veeder said.
He vaulted onto the deck. He wore jeans and a white tennis shirt under his
jacket. “Let’s let the PD do their job. We’ll all get out of here faster.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Veeder,” Silvestri
said, overly polite.
    Veeder crossed to where Wetzon sat
and positioned himself beside her, his hand lightly on her shoulder.
    “Can we eat?” Minnie Wu said.
“There’s all that food in the galley.”
    “Has anyone touched it or eaten
anything?” Silvestri demanded.
    “No... Has anyone?” A.T. looked
around. Heads shook and nos were murmured.
    “Only the wine... and the scotch. You
ought to know. You were pretending to bartend.” Hem’s words had a nasty edge.
    “Micklynn drank a lot of wine,” Ellen
said.
    “She always did.” A.T. looked
battered.
    “Look, she was upset and depressed,”
Wetzon said.
    “How do you know so much about it?”
Minnie Wu demanded.
    Silvestri beckoned to Detective
Mulcahy. “Sandy, you take Ms. Barron and I’ll start with Xenia. Everyone else
move to the other end of the boat, please.” Silvestri nodded at Smith while the
boat rocked with the sudden shift of weight. “And, Mulcahy, tell the CSU I want
them to bag all the food here when they’re finished out there. I mean
everything.”
    “All that food?” Minnie sounded
shocked. “You can’t. We have guests.”
    Smith looked at Bill. “Any
instructions before my interrogation, sweetie pie?”
    “Tell the truth, Xenia,” Bill said.
“Don’t embellish.“
    “Embellish? Really, Bill.”
    “You might mention that the Tarot
lied,” Wetzon said. “The Tarot never lies, sugar,” Smith snapped, raising her
eyes heavenward, as if only God could help her deal with the philistines.
    “Doesn’t it? Didn’t it say that
Micklynn was a murderer?“
    “What it said was that Micklynn was
not going to be able to pay us any more money. I merely interpreted it wrong. I
thought she was the murderer. It turned out that she committed suicide. So you
see, the Tarot didn’t lie. She can’t pay us any more, now can she?”
    “Suicide, Smith? You think her death
was suicide?“
    “What else? What do you think it
was?” She looked at Silvestri, who had come up behind them.
    Bill said, “I’d appreciate it,
Silvestri, if you would talk to Leslie, and me, earlier rather than later. I’d
like to get her home.”
    “Hey—” Wetzon began.
    “Oh?” Silvestri shot an amused look
at Veeder. “Are you in trouble here, Les? A little case of murder never seemed
to bother you before.”
    She felt Veeder’s muscles tighten.
Ail eyes suddenly seemed on her and Silvestri. She forced herself to keep her
tone even. “I’d like to go home. I’m sure everyone here would.” What she wanted
to say was: Go fuck yourself, Silvestri.
    “Well, we’ll talk after Xenia. That’s a promise,” he said, with more exaggerated courtesy.
    “Murder? Did he say murder?” A.T. sat
down hard. “Excuse me, sir—” Ellen said faintly, only to be drowned out by
Minnie Wu.
    “How utterly ridiculous! She was
drunk and fell in.” Too eager, Hem agreed. “Of course that’s what happened.
Poor Micklynn. Nothing really went right for her.”
    Wetzon was fascinated by the
avalanche of opinion. She didn’t believe any one of them.
    “She really was a drunk, dear
Silvestri,” Smith said, batting her lashes at Wetzon’s ex, who was letting them
all blather.
    “Silvestri,” Bill