High Heels and Homicide Read Online Free PDF Page A

Except this smile was more of a rictus and eminently unflattering. “A very fine day, yes, it is.”
    The hairs on the back of Saint Just’s neck began to prickle as he felt someone looking hard at his back. He reached into his pocket, slowly extracted his money clip. “I was hoping you could exchange this for smaller bills,” he said, pulling out a one-hundred-dollar bill and slipping it across the countertop.
    With fumblings fingers, Mrs. Halliday opened the drawer and pulled out five twenties, quickly counting them out. Not at all usual; Mrs. Halliday always gave him three twenties, three tens, and two fives, just as he preferred. “Have a nice day, sir,” she said, folding her hands on the counter without picking up the larger bill.
    â€œI’ll make a point of it, madam. Good day,” Saint Just said, then turned, seemingly oblivious of the man at the desk, the second man at the first teller’s cage.
    His cane in his hand, no longer tucked under his arm, he replaced his hat, setting it at a slight tilt, and strolled leisurely toward the door, then out into the street.
    Where he stopped, stepped in front of the thick wall beside the glass doors, flipped open his cell phone, and pushed two buttons. Lieutenant Wendell’s number was one Saint Just had in the phone’s memory.
    Three rings, and the Lieutenant answered.
    â€œWendell, my good man, Alex Blakely here. Would it be at all possible for you to stop by my bank?” He gave him the address. “You are nearby, correct? Or is Maggie meeting you somewhere?”
    â€œMaggie? I haven’t talked to Maggie in a week. She doesn’t return my calls. I know she’s got a deadline and everything, but I was beginning to—why should I meet you at your bank? What’s up?”
    â€œPossibly nothing, possibly quite a bit. You haven’t answered me. Are you close by?” As for the other—how very interesting. But he’d have to consider Maggie’s fib another time; Mrs. Halliday had very clearly put her dependence upon him.
    â€œNo, I’m way the hell up in—Blakely, what in hell did you do now? Are you playing hero again? No, don’t tell me. Oh, cripes—tell me.”
    â€œSo indecisive, my friend. Is it any wonder Maggie can’t find it in herself to perceive you as a serious beau?” Saint Just stepped forward, held up his hand to a woman approaching the door to the bank, shook his head. “As you’re unavailable, perhaps you’d allow for a substitute? Any of your number will do. Lights and sirens are always so welcome. But I really must go now.”
    He folded the phone, slipping it back into his pocket as he smiled at the woman. “I’m dreadfully sorry to inconvenience you, madam, but it would appear the bank is being robbed at the moment. Perhaps you could visit our branch on Broadway? It’s also a full-service facility. Thank you, and please call again,” he said, bowing, giving a slight tip of his hat as the woman all but ran down the street.
    Saint Just then smiled at passersby, tipping his hat another time or two, before taking a final, quick peek through the gold-toned window, and moving to just beside the door, to stand at the ready.
    The door opened, his cane came out and up at knee level, and the first man through the door found himself sprawled facedown on the sidewalk, what breath was left in him effectively expelled when his partner tripped and landed on top of him.
    It was all rather lovely…quite a bit like slow-motion dominoes.
    â€œOh, how clumsy of me,” Saint Just said as a loud alarm began to ring inside the bank, and people on the sidewalk variously stopped, stared, shrieked, or moved along with an intensity of purpose that all but shouted, “Not my table, not my problem.”
    With the tip of his cane pressed against one jugular, the heel of his classically stylish shoe firmly planted in one back, Saint