The Groaning Board

didn’t ask for your
credentials.”
    “I’m telling you. He never even asked
me to verify the insurance company.”
    “Ha! I love these brilliant academics
who always lord their degrees over you.” Smith was silent for a moment, her
eyes half closed. Then she said, “Who insures Colton anyway? See if you can
find out. Maybe I can do a little business development.” Smith went into the
kitchen and brought Wetzon a mug of coffee.
    “Thanks, partner. How would you
suggest I do that? I’m supposed to know the insurance company intimately.
Anyway, the dear doctor was scared shitless about the reputation of his
precious school, not to mention his job. He probably wants to know if
Micklynn’s death is going to connect to Sheila’s, and therefore point to Colton.”
    “Bo-ring. Now, sweetie pie, try to be
sophisticated and not let what happened today come between you and Bill. I love
you both. You’re good for each other. Anyone can see that.”
    “Then why do I feel like a bimbo?”
    “You’ll snap out of it. And by the
way, sugar, you don’t look like a bimbo.”
    “Thank you very much. But then, what
does a bimbo really look like?”
    “Darlene.”
    Wetzon giggled. “But she has no beau
as far as I can see. Only that potbellied pig.”
    “Well, you’re wrong there.”
    “Really? Have you seen him?”
    Smith pursed her lips. “No, but I’ve
heard them talking.“
    “You’ve heard them talking but you
haven’t seen them?“
    “The telephone, sweetie, is an
amazingly versatile instrument. Little recording devices can be attached—”
    “Smith, really. You’re spying on our
employees. You listen to my voice mail. Please don’t tell me any more. You are
so goddam nosy.”
    “Oh, pu-leeze. One of us has to take
the initiative. We’ll be able to stop any potential problem before it arises.
Tell me you don’t love me for it.” She said it with a shockingly ingenuous
smile.
    Despite herself, Wetzon’s eyes
teared. She cleared her throat. “Right now, I love you for being there for me.”
Checking her watch, she added, “And now it’s time to make my daily call to Keith
Pullman.” She punched in his direct number.
    Smith groaned. She pressed the
intercom button. “Max, sweetie, are you there? Say you’re there.”
    “Good morning, Smith. Good morning,
Wetzon.”
    “Max, sugar, Wetzon and I want to
order lunch. Two tunas, one on a toasted bagel, no mayo, one on white toast,
lots of mayo.” She looked over at Wetzon. “Okay?”
    Wetzon nodded, listening as the
number rang in her ear. ! “And rice pudding. A double order.”
    “Keith Pullman.”
    “Hi, Keith, this is Wetzon.”
    “Wetzon, Wetzon, what can I say? I
can’t talk to you now. Call me tomorrow right after the Close.”
    As Wetzon hung up, Smith’s private
line rang. “Xenia Smith here.” She looked over at Wetzon. “She’s all right.
Aren’t you, sugar?”
    Wetzon shook her head.
    “Here, talk to Twoey.” She held the
phone out to Wetzon, who came around her desk to Smith’s.
    “Hi, Twoey. I feel humiliated.”
    “Hold your head up, kiddo. You have a
lot of people who love you.”
    “Thanks, Twoey.” She handed the phone
back to Smith, who made kissy sounds and hung up. “He’s so nice,” Wetzon said.
    “Sometimes too nice—”
    “Smith!”
    “See, now don’t you feel better?”
    “Not really. I feel like shit.”
    “I was putting this off, sugar, but
that woman detective, Mulcahy, called. Dick Tracy would like to talk to us
later today. I said four-thirty would be okay.”
    “Oh, God, Smith, I can’t. Not now.
You do it. Tell him I had a conflict and that I’ll call and schedule another
time. I can’t face him right now”—she waved her hand at the newspapers—“after
this.”
    “It’d be better to get it over with.
You’ve got to get him out of your system so that—” The intercom buzzed. “Max?’
“Mark for you, Smith. Carlos for Wetzon.”
    Grabbing her phone, Smith cooed,
“Babycakes...” God, Wetzon thought, she still treated her nineteen-year-old son
as if he was ten. She blocked out Smith’s voice and picked up the phone. “If I
wasn’t so goddam depressed, I would say, ‘Hi, babycakes.’“
    “Birdie, darling, I know. I know.”
His voice was so kind, so dear, so loving. She began to weep. “Oh, Birdie.“
    “Carlos, I’m in trouble.”
    “Now, you listen. Are you listening?”
    “Yes.” She sniffled into a tissue.
    “Madam will put on her dancing shoes
and