Read Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery) for Free Online Page A

slipping back to her. She would be sitting with her coffee in Grand Central Station, and pow, her memory would be back and she could just go home.
    By the time she got to the bus stop on Eighty-six and Lexington, the Keds were sodden and her feet were icicles in her sopping socks. An elderly woman, her head covered by a hood, had flattened herself against the window of the Hot and Crusty to take advantage of the narrow eave. She held two shopping bags high, trying to keep them from getting wet, but she wasn’t succeeding.
    “Have you been waiting long?”
    The woman shrugged, her eyes glued uptown, desperate for a glimpse of a bus. A small sigh, then the hazy headlights of a bus came out of the mist moving slowly toward them.
    Lucy’s MetroCard got Temporary Jane on the bus without a problem, and there was enough left on it for two full rides. But when she took it from the machine, the blue ID hospital bracelet slid into view. She pulled the sleeve of the ski jacket over her wrist and as she moved into the bus, she tried to tear the ID off. She took a seat, tried to chew it off. No luck. She needed scissors or a sharp knife. She tucked it out of sight.
    In the front of the bus the old woman settled herself behind the driver, bunching her wet shopping bags on the seat next to her. In the sudden warmth, the bags relaxed and began to drip.
    A couple of Hispanic kids were murmuring and necking in the back of the bus. Otherwise, it was empty. As it made its way down Lexington, more people got on, but as is often the case in inclement weather, each person becomes too involved in his own comfort to even notice another.
    She left the bus at the Grand Central stop and made her way into the terminal. Shops and coffee bars were scattered around the entire area, though not in the magnificent main terminal. Some of the shops, the produce stands and places that sold meat and fish, were closed. But the terminal was a Mecca for night people, some going to work, some homeward bound, some going nowhere, like her. And no one took any notice of her as she walked around looking for a place where she could sit over a cup of coffee.
    Main Street Coffee was only a sliver, four stools in front of a black granite counter, two tiny tables with chairs only small bottomed people would find comfortable. Here’s your brew and what’s your hurry.
    A slight young woman stood behind the counter, scrubbing the surface with a wet cloth. Her hair was a deep walnut, a mass of shimmering sausage curls banded, for the health department, on top of her head, but irrepressible nevertheless. She had gold studs in her nose and lobes, and thin wires lining the outer edge of both ears.
    She looked up and stared. “Hey, dude, don’t I know you?” she said.

10
    “Y OU KNOW me?” She tried to keep her voice low, the question casual.
    “You sort of look familiar. What’ll you have, dude?” The pierced one’s eyes were wide set, charcoal in color, and highlighted dramatically with black liner. Her nose was barely a button. She had another stud in her tongue. On her hands, thin surgical gloves.
    Temporary Jane sat on the stool. “Coffee, black. How late are you open?”
    “All night. I’m the night shift.” A cup was produced, filled, and placed on the countertop.
    “Isn’t it lonely?”
    “I don’t mind. It’s a job. I have a real career. It’s just starting to build. So whatever pays the rent.”
    The steam was rich with aroma. It filled Jane’s nostrils, left a gentle film of moisture on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. A calm settled over her. She took off the knit cap and her hair tumbled around her face.
    “Hey, dude,” the young woman said. “I would have thought you were a blonde.” She grinned. “I’m thinking of going that next.”
    “Your hair suits you. I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you make me smile when I look at you.”
    She jumped straight up in the air, grinning, her arms undulating wings and came down almost in slow