Why would a respected schoolteacher rob the local bank? Will she succeed? Or will the police arrive just in time to arrest her and cart her off to jail?

—

Miss Veronica Laron, schoolmarm, scratched her fake mustache and fingered the icy steel of the palm pistol in her pocket. She shoved a note at the teller. “Shh. Not a sound. I have a gun.”

The man’s eyes bulged. “Y-yes, s-sir.” Within seconds, he had stuffed the proffered pouch with bills.

Veronica whispered, “No suspicious moves — or one of my partners will shoot you and everyone else in the bank.”

“Yes, sir.” He trembled.

She scowled. “And you stay put for five minutes.”

The teller scrutinized his pocket watch. “Yes, sir.”

Miss Laron spun about and sauntered through the front door. That was easier than I thought. In six months, the orphanage will be pleased to receive a sizeable donation.

Her frown vanished, to be replaced by a wry smirk. Manager Geizkragen, it is more blessed to give than to receive, and you just gave a sizeable donation. Next time the orphanage asks you for a contribution, you should be more open-handed.

She hastened around the corner and entered an alley. Soon her mustache and men’s clothing disappeared into a coalbin. Money and palm pistol nestled in a pouch under her petticoats.

~*~

Principal Barnett caught her sneaking into class. “Anything wrong, Miss Laron?”

She scratched her upper lip. “No. Just the usual. Admonishing folks to be quiet. Giving them counsel. Collecting donations for charity.” She smiled and shrugged. “A normal, boring day.”