City of Secrets (41 page)

Well, said the friend, the monster-friend, Pandora can't have babies. This sounds strange, and even suspicious.

And it was strange, strange to him that Pandora never told him. Maybe she wouldn't have become a monster, maybe he could have saved her, like Clark Gable or Johnny Weissmuller, if only … if only he'd known.

So he chatted up the friend and saw her that night. She was a girl who understood the importance of the signature, who recognized what the autograph meant. She was a monster, so he signed her, too.

Kike.

*   *   *

They pieced the story out of Ozzie patiently, promising him he'd play himself if they made a movie out of it. He spoke about it distantly, admiringly, except for the end. The hero, he wondered—would he live happily ever after? The cops looked at one another, heavy-lidded. Wouldn't say anything.

Miranda smoked and answered their questions, over and over.

Lucinda knew Pandora couldn't have children, knew her friend wouldn't have lied to Ozzie, not even to hold him. She took the rent down to the Hotel Potter, guarded Pandora's secret, defended her friend's honor. And after Ozzie said she wanted babies—his babies—Lucinda became confused, just like Annie Learner had. Pan wouldn't say that, wouldn't do that to Ozzie.

Ozzie panicked after Miranda called him with a message for Lucinda. And the girl in the sarong, Pandora's fellow artist's model, confronted and questioned the boy they both loved.

He took her prisoner that night.

Miranda told the story, told it until the guilt became more manageable, told it until she ran out of Chesterfields and Life Savers and her fingernails became chipped and cracked from tracing rivers on the wooden desk.

It was her fault. Miranda's fault. Lucinda almost died because of her.

Meyer flew down, insisted she be given some rest, can't they see the poor girl's been through enough, what with bombs and murderers?

No pity, Meyer, not for me. Save it for Lucinda.

Fisher took her aside, asked her how she'd figured it out. Miranda looked across the crowded room at the Hall of Justice, across the scarred wooden desks, some filled with men who despised her, some not.

She said: “My mother helped me.”

The chatter continued, swirling around her, clock ticking in clicks against the pale beige wall.

*   *   *

She slept for almost two days straight, stayed in bed for two more. Rick and Bente, Allen and Meyer. All dropping by to see her, offer congratulations.

Didn't feel like she deserved them. If she'd been quicker, smarter, she could have saved Lucinda. Saved her from what she'd gone through. What she was still facing.

Nielsen came over to disapprove. Gave her ankle a proper wrap, checked on the gunshot wound. Graze was healing, no nerve damage. But the gash on her cheek would leave a small scar. Something to remember Calistoga by.

She told Bente everything, Mickey included, made her promise to stay away from Tonypandy. Gave her a ten-dollar bill to pay Walter down at the Hotel Potter, and Bente came back to tell her the place still smelled like cabbage.

Rick played cards with her, but he was too easy to beat in poker, so they switched to gin on the table, bourbon in the glass. He was with her when they listened to Churchill talk about Dunkirk, about the miracle.

We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender …

She cried. Rick held her close, and she let him.

They didn't have much time.

*   *   *

Meyer phoned on the fifth. Duggan was getting out of Quentin, finally, paperwork finished.

She dressed for the first time, carefully. Studied her face in the mirror, fretted over her cheek. But maybe the Club Modernes weren't her destiny, not for much longer.

She sat with Duggan and Meyer at a little café in Larkspur. He was about fifteen pounds thinner, couldn't meet her eyes.

“So you found out about Annie's operation and you blamed yourself. And visited Pandora that morning to ask her to put in a favorable word.” Meyer shook his head. “Poor lad. You should have told us everything from the beginning. I hope Johnson didn't succeed in soliciting information from you. About the IRA.”

Duggan's voice was thick, heavy, hesitant, as if he hadn't used it in a long time.

“I kept quiet. 'Bout everything. Didn't want anyone t' know.”

His attorney sighed. “Too quiet, Mr. Duggan. A near miss. Pressure was exerted from above, on Johnson and the D.A., and you were very nearly crushed by it. Would have been, I'm afraid, without Miss Corbie's efforts.”

The ex-cop raised his eyes to Miranda's for the first time, moist, red, rheumy. She handed him the matchbook and postcards from Annie's apartment. He stared at them as though they were artifacts in a museum.

He muttered: “Thanks.”

“Something else, Duggan. Something you should know. Maybe it'll change your life, maybe even give you a life. I don't know—that depends on you.”

She dropped a small silver ring in his callused palm. “Annie was planning to keep the baby.”

His rounded shoulders caved forward, long arms wrapping around himself. His fist closed around the baby ring, sobs rocking him back and forth.

*   *   *

On June 14, the Germans occupied Paris.

Miranda was in Magnin's, purchasing a new line of cosmetics from Elizabeth Arden, three new dresses and a coat, plus a swimsuit and tennis outfit, courtesy of Meyer, who'd also given her a handsome bonus and a brand-new set of luggage.

The clerk turned up the radio. The last “Marseillaise” was being broadcast as jackboots marched through the City of Light, Arc de Triomphe triumphant no longer.

At the Fair they were showing
All Quiet on the Western Front,
and the San Mateo Junior College was holding its sophomore dance.

Offers of work were pouring in. Attorneys other than Meyer, some crooked, some legitimate. Even an insurance company. And always her bread and butter, the women who were looking for an answer, a verdict, a settlement. Clumsy justice, the only kind she could find.

Miranda looked out the window of her office. Gonzales was coming back in a few days, for a few days. She'd like to see him. And then—she didn't know.

She loved her city, sad city, glad city, loved the smell of incense and fried rice in Chinatown, clink of martini glasses on Nob Hill. Italian crab fishermen on the long wharves, small boats, trawling, bridges golden and gray, and in the middle a magic, Treasure Island, colored lights and elephant trains. Fog and sunshine, gold and green.

San Francisco. Phoenix-city and part of her, raising her up, survivor.

Her home.

Herself.

But there was a postcard in her desk.

And a mother to find.

London was calling.

 

Acknowledgments

The only constant in life is change—a fact that makes me all the more grateful to be writing thank-yous for my latest novel.

City of Secrets
was a tough book to write emotionally, and without the unflinching and self-sacrificing support of family, and the cheer and friendship of extended family and colleagues in the crime fiction community, it would have been an even harder task.

My incomparable agent and dear friend Kimberley Cameron—my Rock of Gibraltar—helped keep me (relatively) sane as I chronicled Miranda's journey through 1940 San Francisco and a part of Napa Valley few tourists ever know about.

The brilliant and supportive Marcia Markland—whom I am so lucky to call my editor—helped buoy me through the rocky “second book” syndrome.

I am very proud to be published by Thomas Dunne/Minotaur, and thank all the great people at Macmillan with whom it is such a pleasure to work: Peter Wolverton, Thomas Dunne, Andrew Martin, Sally Richardson, Matthew Shear, Talia Sherer, and Matthew Baldacci, as well as publicists extraordinaire Sarah Melnyk, Hector DeJean, and Bridget Hartzler. Extra special thanks to the invaluable and indefatigable Kat Brzozowski, who is an utter joy.

City of Secrets
is blessed with a great artistic team: Olga Grlic's stunning cover, Kathryn Parise on the sumptuous interior, Elizabeth Curione for peerless editorial production, and Sona Vogel for copy edits both sensitive and thorough.

Deep and heartfelt thanks are due to all the readers, reviewers, bookstores, librarians, Facebook friends, Tweeters, and friends who championed
City of Dragons
—your support has made
City of Secrets
and the Miranda Corbie series possible.

Thanks, too, to the Mystery Guild, the Book-of-the-Month Club, and Quality Paperback Book Club, Tantor Audio, Audible, and Thorndike Press for making
City of Dragons
available in multiple formats and through multiple venues. I'm enormously grateful, as always, to the bookstores that hosted me on tour, as well as Barnes and Noble, for their outstanding support of
City of Dragons.

Extra-special thanks to my home away from home, M is for Mystery, and my San Mateo family: Ed Kaufman, Pam Stirling, Jen Owen, Charlotte, Ann, and the rest of the stellar staff. Thanks to dear friends Fran Fuller and J.B. at the Seattle Mystery Bookstore, Whodunnit Books, Murder by the Book, Powell's, Barbara and Rob Peters and The Poisoned Pen Bookstore, Diane at the San Francisco Mystery Bookstore, Book Passage, Patrick at Mysterious Galaxy, Book 'Em, and the late, great Mystery Bookstore in Los Angeles—Bobby and Linda are family, and I, along with every other author in the crime fiction community, miss them and the store that brightened L.A.

More thanks are due to wonderful friends John and Ruth Jordan of
Crimespree Magazine,
the fabulous Kate Stine and Brian Skupin of
Mystery Scene,
the great George Easter of
Deadly Pleasures,
and the bloggers and groups and book club members who do so much to keep crime fiction news in the news.

A big thank-you to the real Bente Gallagher (fabulous author Jennie Bentley), who lent her name to Miranda's best friend, and mystery maven Lucinde Serber, who encouraged me to use hers.

Organizations are a big part of a writer's life—at least, this writer's life—and I'd like to add thanks to the Mystery Writers of America, the International Thriller Writers, and Sisters in Crime—and particularly to Margery Flax, who helps make every MWA member's life a little easier!

Extra-special thank-yous to all the readers who took time out of their busy lives to e-mail me. I truly appreciate hearing from you, and I'm grateful for your comments, memories, and corrections! Writing is a solitary act, and I never consider a book completed until it has been read. Thank you for reading!

Finally, some thanks to my high school English teacher Shirley Foster, for her personal support and for helping instill me with confidence at an age when we need it the most. This book would not have been written without her long-ago help.

I love writing and I love being an author, but my family is the most important thing in my life. Whenever I'm ready to give up and throw in the towel, they stand by me, keeping me going. Tana—thanks for keeping me on the right track, even through Miranda's darkest days. Mom and Dad—thanks for always believing in me.

I love you all more than I can say.

Also by Kelli Stanley

MIRANDA CORBIE SERIES

City of Dragons

OTHER TITLES

The Curse-Maker

Nox Dormienda

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.

An imprint of St. Martin's Publishing Group.

CITY OF SECRETS
. Copyright © 2011 by Kelli Stanley. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.minotaurbooks.com

“Our Love”

Words and Music by Buddy Bernier, Larry Clinton and Robert D. Emmerich. Copyright © 1939 (Renewed) Chappell & Co., Bernier Publishing and Dulcet Music. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

“Glad to Be Unhappy” (From
On Your Toes
)

Words by Lorenz Hart, Music by Richard Rodgers. Copyright © 1936 (Renewed) Chappell & Co. Rights for extended renewal term in U.S. controlled by W.B. Music Corp. o/b/o The Estate of Lorenz Hart and The Family Trust u/w Richard Rodgers and The Family Trust u/w Dorothy F. Rodgers (administered by Williamson Music). All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Stanley, Kelli.

  City of secrets / Kelli Stanley. — 1st ed.

         p. cm.

  “A Thomas Dunne Book.”

  ISBN 978-0-312-60361-8

1.  Women private investigators—California—Fiction.   2.  Serial murder—Investigation—California—Fiction.   3.  Jewish women—Violence against—California.   4.  Nineteen forties—Fiction.   5.  San Francisco (Calif.)—History—20th century—Fiction.   I.  Title.

  PS3619.T3657C587 2011

  813'.6—dc22

2011018777

First Edition: September 2011

eISBN 978-1-4299-8387-7