The Groaning Board

demeanor of an airline pilot... or an FBI
agent.
    They all know who I am, Wetzon
thought, feeling her cheeks burn. “Would you ring Mr. Veeder, please, and tell
him I’m here.”
    “Certainly.” He looked at Carlos.
“And you are—”
    “I’m not here to see Mr. Veeder,”
Carlos replied. “I’m Ms. Wetzon’s bodyguard.”
    “Carlos!”
    The concierge didn’t crack a smile.
He picked up the phone and pressed a button. Everyone waited, including the
elevator man, who was standing at the bank of elevators.
    “Maybe he’s not home,” Wetzon said.
    “Oh, Mr. Veeder,” the concierge said.
“Ms. Wetzon is here. Yes, sir.” He looked at Carlos. “No, sir.” He hung up the
phone. “He said you’re to come right up.”
    “Please tell him I’m with a friend
and ask him if he would come down.”
    “I’ll wait outside, Birdie,” Carlos
said.
    “You can leave me now,” she said,
going outside with him. “I’ll get a cab home.”
    “I don’t think so.” Carlos leaned
against a car and folded his arms. “My, my,” he said, eyes focused beyond her.
    She saw Bill coming through the
lobby, looking for her. The concierge pointed outside. Veeder wore cut-down,
washed-out khakis, a white V-necked tee and loafers without socks.
    “I hate men who go sockless in
loafers,” Wetzon said through her teeth.
    “He’s gorgeous,” Carlos said.
    “Yeah. Be still my heart.” But it was
all bravado. Her heart wasn’t still; it bounced around like an adolescent’s.
    His skin was taut over his
cheekbones, his beard a surprisingly, ruddy stubble. When he caught sight of
her, the tautness disappeared.
    She looked at Carlos.
    “He loves you,” Carlos said in her
ear. She gave him an elbow in the ribs. “Oof. What’s that for?”
    “Acting surprised.”
    “Leslie.” Bill looked at Carlos and
stopped.
    “Bill, this is my friend Carlos.” The
two men shook hands.
    “Will you come up for a drink?” Bill
asked.
    “Not tonight. I’ve interrupted your
work and there’s a kittle dog I’ m responsible for. I just needed to see you to
clear my head.” She could feel Carlos grinning like a fool beside her. “Carlos,
darling, Bill and I are going to walk to the corner and back.”
    “I’ll be right here, kiddies.”
    They walked toward Fifth Avenue. “Leslie,” he began, “I’m sorry. I was cavalier. I’m not handling this well.”
    “And I was naive. I didn’t see the
possible consequences. Don’t you think forty is too old to be naive?” She was
suddenly self-conscious in her leotard and short skirt, as if he hadn’t seen
her in less.
    “No.” The blue eyes blurred.
    He’s vulnerable, she thought. “Carlos
took me line dancing tonight.” She curtsied in front of St. Thomas Episcopal
and he caught her shoulders.
    “Stay with me,” he said. “I’ll take
you home early in the morning.”
    She shook her head. “Not tonight.”
    “Tomorrow, then. I’m doing my
summation in the morning, the case will go to the jury by noon. The Camerons
are coming to the office at five tomorrow.”
    “I want to be there.”
    “Come at four-thirty.” They turned
and began walking back to Carlos. “Are we going to be okay?”
    “I don’t know.” But when she looked
at him, she knew. “I almost ran into you this afternoon,” she said.
    “This afternoon?”
    “You were with Ellen.”
    “Ellen Moore?”
    “I think that’s the only Ellen we
know in common.“
    “Leslie, I was in court all day. I
haven’t seen Ellen since that night Micklynn died.”
     
    The front door of Wetzon’s building
was unmanned and unlocked. She made a mental note to call the president of the
co-op board and got on the elevator.
    When she unlocked her door, there was
no shriek, no bark, no sound of paw nails clicking on the floor. Odd. She
turned on the light. “Izz?” No response. She went from room to room, turning on
the lights, calling Izz. Oh, God, she thought. How can this be?
    The buzz from the lobby intercom
hardly pierced her panic. All she knew was that Izz was gone.

Chapter Fifty-Three

     
     
     
    The
persistent buzz from the lobby intercom finally got through to her. Heart thudding in her ears,
Wetzon automatically pressed the respond button, screaming into the voice box,
“Yes? Yes?”
    Static greeted her, then what began
to sound like a string of Spanish words: “Saytellhavmissdog.”
    “What? Rafael, please speak English.”
    “I speak English,” he said, offended.
    God, she thought, Izz is