Kasey Michaels: High Heels and Homicide

If only he could find a way to stifle everyone long enough to listen to him.

«I say, Saint Just, they're an unwieldy group, aren't they?»

«Yes, Sterling, they are. The term 'herding cats' keeps running through my mind. Ah! Excuse me, Sterling,» Saint

Just said, extracting his cell phone from his pocket. «Perhaps this will be good news from some quarter.»

He stepped into the candlelit hallway and closed the doors behind him before opening the phone. «Blakely, here. Speak to me.»

«Where's Maggie?» Steve Wendell demanded, his anxiety obvious even though the man was more than three thousand miles away. «You did what I said and didn't snoop around, right? You waited for me to get back to you? You're waiting for the local cops?»

«Is there any question in your mind, Left –tenant?»

«Damn straight there is. Look, I ran those names myself, all of them. And nothing, not that any of them are Boy Scouts. Peppin, the one you said is the director or something? He got picked up once for indecent exposure, and Evan Pottinger has a couple of DUIs—driving drunk. Troy Barlow was caught with a lid of marijuana a couple of years back; using, not selling. Par for the course out in La-La Land. I think they throw parties if their mug shots make it to the tabloids. But that's it. Except for one of your stiffs.»

«I beg your pardon?» Saint Just asked, opening one of the doors just slightly, to hear that mayhem still pretty much reigned in the main saloon. «One of the victims?»

«Right. Undercuffler. He's got a short sheet. Some juvey stuff that's sealed, so I can't get it—something he did when he was underage, if you don't know what that means. That could mean anything, from shoplifting to hacking up his parents with a butcher knife.»

» 'Juvey' being cop talk for 'juvenile,' I suppose. I'm certain I would have worked it out, but thank you,» Saint Just said, pacing. «Yet there's more, isn't there?»

«Yeah, there's more. He has a B and E—breaking and entering. Nothing big. He rolled over on his partner and did eight months in the local lockup in Los Angeles, then probation. But he's been quiet for about six years, far as we know.»

«Meaning?»

«Meaning either he cleaned up his act or he got better at it.»

Saint Just thought about this long enough for Steve to begin calling his name, asking if he was still there.

«I'm sorry, Wendell. I was just thinking about your last statement. You have a record of Undercuffler's adult misdeeds, but does the rest of the world? In other words, if anyone wanted to keep such a criminal background concealed, is that possible?»

«If he kept his mouth shut, probably. But he has to admit to it when he applies for a job. Many don't do that, but if anyone finds out, the guy's ass is fired, so it's smarter to just list the arrest up front, on the employment application. Why?»

«Oh, nothing. I was only wondering if any of our small party here might be aware of Undercuffler's less-than-pristine past.»

«And threatened him?»

«Possibly. Or invited him to join the party.» Believing he'd revealed enough, Saint Just said, «A thousand thank-yous for all of your help, but if there's nothing else… ?»

«There's a lot else, damn it. I want to talk to Maggie. Now, Blakely.»

«Of course, you do. Unfortunately, she is at the moment indisposed. I'll have her phone you as soon as possible, as I am expecting another call. Again, thank you. You've been a tremendous help.»

«Another call? What, you called out for pizza and a canoe? Damn it, Blakely, don't hang—»

Saint Just closed the cell phone and slipped it in his pocket before returning to the main saloon.

«Sterling told me you got a call. Who was on the phone?» Maggie asked him in an, unfortunately, accusing tone. «Was that Steve? I'll bet that was Steve, and I'll bet he wanted to talk to me and you wouldn't let him.»

«We are rather in the middle of things, my dear. I told him you'd phone him back. Or would you choose to bill and coo rather than solve two murders? If so, may I say I'm crushed, truly crushed?»

«Don't push, Alex. Just don't push,» Maggie told him, then turned and stuck the little fingers of both hands in her mouth and quite literally whistled the room to order. «Works every time. My dad taught me that when I was ten. He couldn't do it before that because I didn't have my second teeth yet. Gosh, a good childhood memory surfacing. I ought to write it down,» she said as everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and came to attention.

Most especially Sterling, who raced up to her, grinning, to ask how she'd done that, and, «Will you teach me?»

«Sorry, Sterling, but Alex says everything goes to the back burner while he takes center stage to play the big macho hero.»

«The back… ? Oh, Saint Just, you've solved the crime? I never believed for a moment that you wouldn't do it. Isn't that above everything wonderful!»

«He's solved what? He's solved the murders? Spanking jolly good for him.» Sir Rudy, still holding the sugar and creamer aloft, grinned broadly. «Well, then, let's all have some coffee, eh?»

«Thank you, Sir Rudy, and may I say, spoken like an innocent man,» Saint Just said, amused, and very aware that everyone in the room was listening to him now. «But I have only just deduced the how of it, and the why , but not the who , which is why I would ask that everyone adjourn upstairs to Mr. Lloyd's bedchamber.»

» My room?» Dennis Lloyd leapt to his feet, sending Tabby quickly sideways on the couch, so that she had to right herself, which she did, straightening her scarf as she, too, got to her feet. «Are you saying I killed Undercuffler and that wretched woman?»

«Oh, Alex, that can't be true,» Tabby said, using both hands now to fluff her hair—a woman who believed appearance counted for much, even in the midst of chaos. Saint Just had always admired her for that trait. «He was with me the whole… that is… that can't be true.»

«I am not proposing that it is, Tabby,» Saint Just said quickly, hoping to spare the woman's blushes. «Now, if you would all be so agreeable as to follow me? Sterling? Perry? Torches and lamps for everyone, if you please.»

«Not for me.»

Saint Just cocked one eyebrow as he looked at Troy Barlow. «I beg your pardon?»

«I said no. I'm not going. Why should we follow you anywhere? Nobody listened to me, so I'm not going to listen to you. Besides, it's cold out there.»

«Oh, good grief,» Maggie muttered, then pasted a very false smile on her face. «Troy? Come with us and I'll give you a cookie.»

«Or stay here and appear guilty,» Saint Just added, believing that while she was certainly amusing, Maggie wasn't being of much help.

Now everyone was looking at the Troy Toy.

«He's always blaming someone else,» Evan pointed out. «Guilty people always do that. I watch Columbo reruns. Be helpful, direct attention away from themselves. Why'd you do it, Troy?»

«I didn't… I didn't do anything .» Troy said, turning in circles, looking pleadingly at everyone. «You've got to believe me. You've got to believe me! I'm innocent! Innocent , I tell you!»

«Now look what you've started,» Saint Just whispered to Maggie. «Happy now?»

«He is overacting,» Maggie said. «Then again, maybe the whole dumb-blond thing is an act. Did you think of that one?»

«Maggie, the man is either the greatest actor ever born or the greatest fool ever breeched. Having spoken with and observed the fellow at some length, I believe the latter rather than the former.»

«Me, too, but it was a thought. They're all suspects, although I notice you've just ruled out Sir Rudy. I agree on that one. Okay, here are Sterling and Perry with the lights. Let's go, before Evan turns this gang into a lynch mob.»