Read Online Deadly in New York by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online Page A

Instead, he strung it tight between two posts at ankle level.
    He didn’t want any surprises waiting for him when he returned home.
    Hawker stepped over the wire and trotted the rest of the way down the stairs. Unexpectedly, the door of the bottom apartment opened. A wedge of light spilled out onto the tiny grass yard, and a figure peered out.
    â€œHello?” said a woman’s voice. “Mr. Hawker? Is that you?”
    Hawker stopped and walked toward the figure. It was hard to make out her features because she was back-lighted. He could only see that she was tall and lithe with fine, straight blond hair cut Dutch-boy fashion. She stood half in the entranceway, holding the door.
    â€œThat’s right, I’m Hawker,” he said, stopping on the sidewalk. “Do we know each other?”
    The woman seemed uneasy and just a little embarrassed. “No. My name is Brigitte Mildemar.” When Hawker did not immediately respond to that, she added, “I’m the owner of this house.”
    Hawker nodded and smiled. “Oh … right . Yeah, I wondered why your name sounded so familiar.”
    It was a lie. Hawker had leased the flat through a realtor. He had paid no attention to who owned it.
    She moved backward into the house a bit—but not enough so that Hawker misread it as an invitation to come in. Even so, he could see her better now. And Brigitte Mildemar was a treat to see. Her hair was white-blond, like spun glass, and it framed one of those sensuous Germanic faces with its high cheekbones, pale-blue eyes that seemed to peer out from caves, and soft chin that curved gently upward toward sunken cheeks.
    She was tall—almost as tall as Hawker, who was an inch over six feet. She wore expensive white slacks, pleated and pressed, and a white satin blouse that was primly buttoned at the neck. Even so, it revealed the sharp thrust of small, firm breasts and the narrow veeing of her waist.
    She seemed to feel Hawker’s eyes on her, and she fidgeted uncomfortably.
    â€œWell,” she said quickly, “I heard you coming down the stairs, and I thought I should introduce myself.”
    â€œI’m very glad you did … Mrs. Mildemar?”
    Hawker expected her to blush. She didn’t. Instead, her manner became frosty. “It’s Ms . Mildemar, Mr. Hawker. And now that we have met, I would like to ask you something that I should have perhaps directed my real estate agent to ask—”
    â€œYou don’t even have to,” Hawker interrupted, smiling. “I haven’t leased many apartments in my time, but I think I know all the questions. Let’s see … I don’t smoke. I don’t drink to excess, and I won’t be having any loud parties because I don’t like loud parties. Oh, yeah—I don’t play any instruments, so you don’t have to worry about that. I wish I did, but I don’t—unless you count a very bad baritone in the shower. I’m a little bit weak in the pet department, too. No chimps, lion cubs, poodles, or any of the other animals New Yorkers think are so cute and so chic to lead around on a leash.” Hawker tapped his finger against his cheek, thinking. “Let’s see, anything else? Yes—my hours are irregular.” Hawker held up the canvas backpack. “I’m a photographer, you see. I do a lot of night work. Available light stuff, so I’ll be coming in late sometimes, but that won’t bother you because I am extremely quiet.” Hawker gave her a pointed look. “And, of course, any visitors I may invite to my apartment are none of your business.”
    Some of the coldness left Brigitte Mildemar’s eyes as Hawker spoke, replaced by a flicker of amusement. The look of amusement didn’t last long.
    â€œThat’s all very interesting, Mr. Hawker,” she countered. “But none of it has anything to do with what I wanted to ask.”
    â€œI left something