City of Ghosts (A Miranda Corbie Mystery) (46 page)

The agent’s face was grave. “He liked you, Miranda. Luckily.”

She looked away, sunlight making rays through the window. “Yeah. Funny thing is, I kind of liked him. He had charm.”

“A lot of them do.”

Silence again. MacLeod stood up, holding his fedora. She met his eyes.

“So let me know when he spills it.”

“He may never tell us.”

“Their families need to know. Make him talk.”

The government man ran his fingers through his hair. “Easier said than done, Miranda.”

“So was catching your fucking killer with no information.”

His lips twitched. “Touché.” He raised the briefcase to her desk and opened both latches at once.

“You want this now?”

“Yes.”

He counted out the money, laying it out neatly in piles on Miranda’s desk.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“What about the art? And the people who bought it—like Sterling Clark? You can’t arrest Wiedemann, I know, but there’s Lestang and Miguel and—”

“Miranda, leave it be. The government has more important things to worry about right now.”

She leaned forward. “So you won’t do anything about it. Christ, what was I thinking? You won’t help save the Jews, why the hell would you save their art? That’s where this is coming from, you know—countries like Poland, ground under Hitler’s boot. And the Jews are being dispossessed of everything. But yeah, James … I guess the government’s got too many other things to worry about.”

Miranda made a gesture with her hand. “Leave the money and go. You can send the
Cameronia
ticket in the mail.”

MacLeod’s eyes looked stung for a moment. He straightened a pile of money on the desk and slowly shut the briefcase.

He spoke softly, deliberately. “Most of what was purchased was a fake. The buyers will find out eventually. The ring is eliminated, with the exception of Lestang, who has fled to Europe. There’s nothing more we can do.”

He held out his hand. Miranda stared at him for three beats before giving him hers.

“Good-bye, James.”

*   *   *

Edmund’s service was small and tasteful. His sister from Bakersfield showed up, grimly satisfied that God had wrought his vengeance and sin had not gone unpunished. She pinched her mouth and ignored his friends, mostly single men and a handful of society women, a few clients and Miranda.

Better dead than queer.

Miranda watched as the coffin was lowered, flowers and clumps of dirt hitting the wood with a dull clod.

She left a white rose by the side of the Colma hill.

James was true to his word. He kept her updated on progress with Petrie, who delighted in leading them in circles, insinuating that Cheney had been tossed off Point Lobos and Fingers was buried on Twin Peaks. They found nothing to corroborate his stories, which changed weekly.

Miranda slept for three days, ate steak at John’s Grill and Tadich with Meyer and Bente and oysters at the Cliff House with Allen, went to see
The Mortal Storm
at the Fox Theatre, Margaret Sullavan and James Stewart about good Germans vs. bad Nazis. At least Hollywood had the balls to fight back.

Cases came in, mostly divorce, bread and butter to a shamus. She could see Burnett and his gold tooth glinting, mouth open, loud laughter.

She bought two new dresses at Magnin and stopped by to visit Joe at the Moderne.

Miranda looked around at the careful lighting, the faux marble and the potted plants, the old men with potbellies giving the cigarette girls the eye, faint sound of Vicente and the roulette wheel spinning behind closed doors while the redhead at the microphone warbled “It Had to Be You.”

Funny how it all felt empty. She missed Rick.

He called her and it was good to hear the bullshit brogue for once, and he said he’d be getting leave and asked her if he could come up and see her and she said yes. He asked about her mother, since Germany bombed Britain on July 10. Had there been any word, any word at all?

Miranda stared out the window of her Monadnock office, watching the White Fronts rumble by to the Ferry Building.

No word from her mother, not since the mysterious postcard from Westminster Abbey. Was Catherine Corbie alive? Was she real? What was real and what was phony, after all, Johnny’s girl, Johnny’s Miranda, and her heart still jumped a little when she heard Rick’s voice, and her pulse still quickened when the phone rang and it might be Gonzales …

She closed her eyes and saw them in the bright pink neon and felt them in the fog, heard the laughter and soft murmurs, the promised whispers and the unlooked-for, tender sighs.

Ghosts.

Ghosts of yesterday. They had helped her find the murderer, whispering the might-have-beens of Lois and the senator, the memories of Edmund laughing and drinking gin at Dianne’s, the could-have-beens of Grant Tompkins, father to a boy and a girl.

But now it was time to put the ghosts away, lock them back in the Memory Box.

All the ghosts.

A spasm of pain crossed her face and she almost felt a caress on the side of her cheek, the nape of her neck, one of the secret places he loved to kiss her, strong arms holding her against the world, protecting her.

Watching over her.

She blew a stream of smoke out the window and watched it dance in the wind of Market Street.

Somewhere in Britain—somewhere—was the woman who first sang to her about ghosts, some Irish lullabye, the woman who tried to protect her but couldn’t protect herself. And there was a man in San Diego who loved her, and whom she cared for, and people here—in her City, the City who fathered and mothered her, the City who gave her life—who cared about her.

The ghosts would fade, ghosts of yesterday, always a part of her.

Always watching over her.

She smiled, watching a flower vendor hand a carnation to a young man in a brown derby.

It was time for tomorrow.

Author’s Note

City of Ghosts
is set in 1940, before America entered World War Two. Even at this relatively early period, much of the cultural patrimony of conquered nations like Poland was being looted by the Germans and Soviets.

Many, many paintings—including several described in this book—are still missing—looted and subsequently destroyed, sold, hoarded, or lost. My hope is that
City of Ghosts
will generate greater awareness for the need to continue the search and call attention to the fact that the highest expressions of a culture are often the first casualties of war.

For those searching for more background information, I recommend the following texts:

The Rape of Europa: The Fate of Europe’s Treasures in the Third Reich and the Second World War
by Lynn H. Nicholas.

The Lost Masters: World War II and the Looting of Europe’s Treasurehouses
by Peter Hartclerode and Brendan Pittaway

The Lost Museum: The Nazi Conspiracy to Steal the World’s Greatest Works of Art
by Hector Feliciano.

The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History
by Robert M. Edsel.

The Forger’s Spell: A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century
by Edward Dolnick proved invaluable.

Also of great help was the Polish Ministry of Culture Web site on wartime losses:
http://kolekcje.mkidn.gov.pl/
.

As with all the Miranda Corbie novels, much of what you read in terms of detail—from the mysterious Count Lestang to the Picasso exhibit to the character of Elmer in Reno and the mention of crime in Portland—is actual history, eddies and back alleys not found in large tomes on twentieth-century conflicts, but the flotsam and jetsam of real life that help make Miranda’s world as alive and immediate as possible.

For a more in-depth look at some of my sources and inspirations, including photos, video, audio, and ephemera, please visit my Web site at http://kellistanley.com. I hope you enjoy
City of Ghosts
 … and from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading. I look forward to hearing from you.

Also by Kelli Stanley

MIRANDA CORBIE SERIES

City of Secrets

City of Dragons

OTHER TITLES

The Curse-Maker

Nox Dormienda

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

KELLI STANLEY is the author of two previous Miranda Corbie mysteries, most recently the award-winning
City of Secrets
. The first in her highly acclaimed series,
City of Dragons
, won the Macavity and Bruce Alexander Awards for best historical mystery and was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and a Shamus Award nominee. Stanley lives in San Francisco, California.

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.

CITY OF GHOSTS.
Copyright © 2014 by Kelli Stanley. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Cover design by Lisa Marie Pompilio

Cover photographs: top © Mary Evans Picture Library; bottom © Underwood Photo Archives/Superstock

eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Stanley, Kelli.

     City of Ghosts / Kelli Stanley.

           pages cm. — (A Miranda Corbie Mystery; 3)

     ISBN 978-1-250-00674-5 (hardcover)

     ISBN 978-1-250-01805-2 (e-book)

   1.  Women private investigators—California—Fiction.   2.  Nineteen forties—Fiction.   3.  San Francisco (Calif.)—History—20th century—Fiction.   4.  Mystery fiction.   5.  Historical fiction.   I.  Title.

     PS3619.T3657C584 2014

     813'.6—dc23

2014010641

e-ISBN 9781250018052

First Edition: August 2014