I am Uriel. Repent and beware.
CHAPTER ONE
I WAS RUNNING LATE, WHICH WAS NO surprise. I always seemed to be in a rushthere was a meeting with my editors halfway across Manhattan, I had a deposit to make before the end of the business day, my shoes were killing me, and I was so hungry I could have eaten the glass and metal desk Id been allotted at my temp job at the Pitt Foundation.
I could handle most of those thingsI was nothing if not adaptable. People were used to my tendency to show up late; the secretary over at MacSimmons Publishers was wise enough to schedule my appointments and then tell me they were half an hour earlier. It was a little game we playedunfortunately, since I now knew the rules, Id arrive an hour late, ruining her careful arrangements.
Tant pis. They could work around meI was reliable in all other matters. Id never been late with a manuscript, and my work seldom needed more than minimal revision. They were lucky to have me, even if biblical murder mysteries werent a big moneymaker, particularly when written in a smart-ass tone. Solomons Poisoner had done even better than the previous books. Of course, you had to put that in perspective. Agatha Christie I was not. But if they werent making money they wouldnt be buying me, and I wasnt going to worry about it.
I had just enough time to make it to the bank, and I could even manage a small detour to grab a hot dog from a street vendor, but there wasnt a damned thing I could do about my stupid shoes.
Vanity, my uptight mother would have saidnot that she ever left the confines of her born-again Idaho fortress to see me. Hildegarde Watson trusted nothing and no one, and shed retreated to a compound filled with other fundamentalist loonies where even her own sinful daughter wasnt welcome. Thank God. I didnt need my mother to tell me how shallow I was. I embraced it.
The four-inch heels made my legs look fantastic, which I considered worth any amount of pain. On top of that, they raised me to a more imposing height than my measly five foot three, an advantage with obstreperous middle-aged male editors who liked to treat me like a cute little girl.
However, the damned stilettos hurt like crazy, and I hadnt been smart enough to leave a more comfortable pair at my temp job. Id been hobbling around all day without even a Band-Aid to protect my poor wounded feet.
Id feel sorry for myself if I hadnt done it on purpose. Id learned early on that the best way to accomplish anything was to grit your teeth and fight your way through it with the best grace you could muster, and wearing those damned shoes, which had cost me almost a hundred and eighty dollars, discounted, was the only way Id ever get comfortable in them. Besides, it was FridayI had every intention of spending the weekend with my feet up, working on my new book, Ruths Revenge. By Monday the blisters would have healed enough, and if I could just tough it out for two more days, Id be used to them. Beauty was worth the pain, no matter what my mother said.
Maybe sometime Id be able to support myself with my writing and not have
to deal with temp jobs. Snarky mysteries set on debunking the Judeo-Christian Old Testament werent high on the publics interest meter, the occasional blockbuster Vatican thriller aside. For now, I had no choice but to supplement my meager income, making my weekends even more precious.
Shouldnt you be heading out, Allie? Elena, my overworked supervisor, glanced over at me. You wont have time to get to the bank if you dont leave now.
Crap. Two months and already Elena had pegged me as someone chronically late. I wont be back, I called out as I hobbled toward the elevator. Elena waved absently good-bye, and moments later I was alone in the elevator, starting the sixty-three-floor descent.
I could risk taking off my shoes, just for a few moments of blessed relief, but with my luck someone would immediately join me and Id have to shove them back on again. I leaned against the wall, trying to shift my weight from one foot to the other. Great legs, I reminded myself.
Out the sixty-third-floor windows, the sun had been shining brightly. The moment I moved through the lobbys automatic door to the sidewalk, I heard a loud crash of thunder, and I looked up to see dark clouds churning overhead. The storm seemed to have come out of nowhere.
It was a cool October afternoon, with Halloween only a few days off. The sidewalks were busy as usual, and the bank was across the street. I could always walk and eat a hot dog at the same time, I thought, heading over to the luncheon cart. Id done it often enough.
With my luck there had to be a line. I bounced nervously, shifting my weight, and the man in front of me turned around.
Id lived in New York long enough to make it a habit not to look at people on the street. Here in midtown, most of the women were taller, thinner, and better dressed than I was, and I didnt like feeling inadequate. I never made eye contact with anyone, not even with Harvey the hot-dog man, whod served me daily for the last two months.