City of Secrets: A Mystery (A Miranda Corbie Mystery, 2) - Softcover

Stanley, Kelli

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1250007488 ISBN 13: 9781250007483

Publisher: Minotaur Books, 2012

Synopsis

This powerful sequel to Kelli Stanley's scorching City of Dragons, which introduced unique and unforgettable series heroine Miranda Corbie, begins on May 25th, 1940, opening day for the World's Fair. When a woman is found dead, private investigator Miranda Corbie is soon hot on the trail of a vicious murderer. Set against the backdrop of a Europe defeated by Nazi Germany and an America unsure of where to turn, City of Secrets is a fast-paced mystery featuring a P.I. who will stop at nothing to right the world's wrongs.

About this title

About the Author:

KELI STANLEY is also the author of a critically acclaimed Roman Noir series. The first book in that series, Nox Dormienda, won the Bruce Alexander Award for best historical mystery. Kelli lives in San Francisco, California.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

One
 

Pandora was still pretty. White skin, blond hair. Roots not faded back to black and brown. Stretched across the platform, breasts firm, nipples plump, pubic hair shaved. Head hung over the edge, upside down. Frozen, still, marble. Perfect artist’s model, except for the blood dripping.
Drip-drop. Drip-drop.
Fred was standing in the stage shadows, hat in his hands. Tom skittered around Miranda, keeping up a monologue.
“I—I figure you know wh-what to do, Miss Corbie, bein’ a detective an’ all. You probably seen ... She really is—dead?”
Fred choked, his large brown fedora crumpled with sweat from where he was squeezing it. He took a step toward Miranda.
“Ain’t you better—ain’t you better do somethin’, Miss Corbie? Whoever did this to Pandora...”
She turned to face him. “Somebody threaten her? Try to get too close?”
He shook his head. “I can’t say, Miss Corbie. Tom finds her like this—she ain’t supposed to be here, she was always late, but you know, it don’t take much time to take off your clothes, and she—she never had to wear much makeup....”
He turned his back to her, faced the shadows again. A calliope started playing from the merry-go-round.
Miranda stood up from where she was crouched by the dead woman’s face. “You touch anything?”
“I cain’t—cain’t remember, Miss Corbie. I saw her, might’ve shook her some.” Tom’s eyes came back to the dead girl, West Virginia accent thicker.
Miranda took the pack of Chesterfields out of her purse. Said carefully: “You know how this got here?” She pointed to Pandora’s right breast, the one without a hole in it.
Under the swell, under the small, slow trickle crossing her chest and oozing from the stab wound. A word in blood.
Kike.
Bombs exploded from the Elephant Towers, rattling the wooden platform. Signal for opening time, second Golden Gate International Exposition, step right up, folks, and welcome to Treasure Island.
Miranda took a deep breath and lit a cigarette, staring at the dead girl.
May 25, 1940. Opening Day at the Fair to End All Fairs.
Closing day for Pandora Blake.
*   *   *
9:06 A.M. Miranda folded the newspaper over the B-western fence post outside Sally’s and flicked the Chesterfield in the dirt, waiting for the bulls to make an appearance, waiting for someone official to show up and tell her to go away.
Another explosion shook the Gayway, drowning out the Hawaiian and Spanish music from the turnstiles. Some genius in the PR department figured bombs were news in Europe, why not drop them on San Francisco?
Girls in line at the hot dog stand tittered. Whiff of fresh scones from Threlkeld’s, fog peeling off Ripley’s Odditorium.
Tom stepped out of Artists and Models across the midway strip, his long body jerking itself in different directions. She waited, quick inhale, dropped the Chesterfield, crushing it in the sawdust. His hand shook when he grasped her arm. A little taller than her, about five eight. Patched and stained dungarees, worn, covered in dirt, electrical wire hanging from his pocket. Blue eyes watery, wide, scared.
“They—they takin’ her away, Miss Corbie. Don’t know no family for her, but—God almighty, seems like she needs somebody.”
Trembling all over. Rubbed his face into his blue work shirt, mouth contorted, tears on weathered skin.
Miranda said slowly: “You sure you didn’t see anyone? They’ll ask you. They’ll try to break you. You know something, tell me.”
Head shake, hair sandy and lifeless. “I don’t see nothing. I’m settin’ up the lights for the opening, she’s the first act on the hour—we been practicin’ for the last week. I see her stretched out already, figured she was playin’ around.” He plucked at his rough blue shirt, stained with oil and sweat, looking down, whispered voice. “I walk over, thinkin’ maybe ... maybe she ... I don’t know.”
Miranda nodded, didn’t say anything. He choked back a whimper. Wiped his face with his arm again. Met her eyes.
“So I get Fred, and he says to find you. Alls I did was—was touch her a little. I thought she was playin’. So help me Gawd, Miss Corbie—I thought she was playing.”
The thin electrician held his face in his hands, shoulders convulsing with sobs.
*   *   *
9:27 A.M. Lost men in soiled pants sidling through early, looking for the sure bet, the certain thing, a grift at better odds than Tanforan. Couples, hand in hand, mouths open, blushing at buying a ticket for Sally Rand’s, chubby brunette oohing over a cheap gold bracelet, boyfriend in glasses spending a buck for the engraving. “Nina,” he says proudly, and she blushes.
Kids kick up the sawdust, dressed in faded pinafores and big brother’s old knickers, clutching dimes for the roller coaster and the Roll-O-Plane and the lions in Captain Terrell Jacobs’s African Jungle, buying cotton candy and popcorn, dropping peanuts down the Gayway.
Miranda waited and blew a smoke ring, missing Shorty and the rest of the Singer Midgets from last year.
Not the same Fair. Not the same world. Phony war over, a world war now, except we weren’t a part of the world anymore.
We were Americans. Who needed the fucking world.
She shielded her eyes against the sun, checking attendance day numbers on the giant cash register. A shadow blocked her view. Grogan, smirk on his face.
“Time to talk, Corbie.”
*   *   *
Herman sat and sweated, sad brown eyes following Grogan’s cigar, crumpled derby on his lap. Looked back and forth between Grogan and Miranda.
He whined for the third or fourth time. “Lieutenant, it’s Opening Day. Mr. Schwartz got a lot invested.”
Grogan looked at the end of his cigar critically, stamped it out in the Firestone ashtray. “You think I like this any more than you do, Lukowski? We got fifty more men than usual today, whole goddamn city’s been throwin’ one hootenanny after another for the whole goddamn week. Fiesta Days, my ass. It’s money, money for Schwartz, money for you. But there’s a blond dame upstairs that got stabbed at your concession. And until the M.E. gets done with the crime scene, you can’t get your girly peep show open again. So shut the fuck up.”
Grogan glanced over at Miranda. “I’d apologize for my language if there was any ladies present.”
Miranda blew the stream of smoke in his face. “How’d you manage to get promoted, Grogan? I figured you’d be headlining the Odditorium by now.”
Grogan leaned back in his chair until it squeaked. “You’re the freak, Corbie. First a whore, now a private dick. Get your picture in the fucking paper, and think you’re Carole fucking Lombard.”
She stabbed out the Chesterfield on his desk, rolling around the stub until the paper splintered and tobacco spilled out. “How long do I have to stay here? I can’t wait long enough for you to find an idea. World doesn’t have that much time left.”
His lips stretched, eyes tight under the heavy bags. “Long enough to deal with Captain O’Meara.”
Noise in the outer room. Sally’s voice. O’Meara stuck his head in and scanned the room, not looking at anyone in particular.
Said: “My office, please.” Grogan shoved his chair aside, gestured sarcastically for Miranda to go ahead of him. Herman sighed and shrank farther into the office wall.
Sally was already inside, draped in a brown fox stole and an air of irritation. Surrounded by men, and not the kind she liked. Too old, too fat, too lawyer.
Major Charles Kendrick, one of Dill’s vice presidents, old man with a droopy white mustache and too much room in the seat of his pants. Francis Sandusky, director of concessions, Threlkeld’s crumbs still clinging to his potbelly. Randell Larson, stiff in his young attorney starched Arrow shirt and unobjectionable navy tie.
The fucking Firing Squad.
Sally smiled at Miranda, grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
O’Meara struck a newspaper pose behind his desk, gray black hair shiny with Wildroot Cream-Oil, star on his chest as polished as the black leather shoes. He cleared his throat, spoke to the Certificate of Merit on the wall.
“I’m sorry to bring you here under these circumstances. As you know, there’s been a death on Opening Day. A young woman—”
“Was murdered, Captain. Or don’t we use that word during Fiesta Days?”
Larsen shook his head, soft white hands folded in his lap. O’Meara’s blue eyes narrowed, crawling over her.
She wouldn’t make it easy on the bastards.
“Miss Corbie, you’ve rendered service to the Exposition company on several occasions.”
“She’s the best protection my girls got on the Gayway. I’m not here much—you know me, I’ve got a finger in a lot of pies—but everyone at Sally Rand Enterprises can tell you Miranda Corbie is a valuable em-ploy-ee.” She enunciated carefully before blowing smoke out the corner of her mouth. “And a damn good broad. So what’s the beef? I’ve got a show to set up and a plane to catch.”
“Just a few questions, Miss Rand. Miss Corbie doesn’t work solely for you, does she?”
“Ask me the goddamn questions, O’Meara. I know who I work for.” Miranda leaned over his desk. “I work for myself. Worked for Leland Cutler, too, before he was cut loose. You might remember him. He was president of this circus...

About this edition

• Publisher: Minotaur Books
• Publication date: 2012
• ISBN 10: 1250007488
• ISBN 13: 9781250007483
• Binding: Paperback
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 304