Blonde Bait for the Murder Master

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“It’s like in a bank,” Brock Sentosa said, smiling at me. “You count this stuff long enough and maybe you could be counting beans, or old movie stubs.”

Maybe Brock had given himself time enough to get casual about the greasy wads of currency that covered the two card tables in what had been a “Play room” in the cellar of the rented house at 1012 Cramer. But I couldn’t be casual about it; I was too new at it.

Anna Garron sat at another card table off to one side, checking the winning ticket returns against the amounts turned in by the retailers. She was blonde and lovely, and if you didn’t think about it, she looked like any pretty and competent secretary working in any office. But then you’d notice that her clothes weren’t quite the sort that would be acceptable in an office; and her makeup was just a shade theatrical, and tiny lines that edged the corners of her mouth gave her a hard look.

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