Rubbed his face into his blue work shirt, mouth contorted, tears on weathered skin. Don't know no family for her, but-God almighty, seems like she needs somebody." Patched and stained dungarees, worn, covered in dirt, electrical wire hanging from his pocket. A little taller than her, about five eight. She waited, quick inhale, dropped the Chesterfield, crushing it in the sawdust. Tom stepped out of Artists and Models across the midway strip, his long body jerking itself in different directions. Whiff of fresh scones from Threlkeld's, fog peeling off Ripley's Odditorium. Girls in line at the hot dog stand tittered. Some genius in the PR department figured bombs were news in Europe, why not drop them on San Francisco? 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.Īnother explosion shook the Gayway, drowning out the Hawaiian and Spanish music from the turnstiles. Opening Day at the Fair to End All Fairs.ĩ:06 A.M. Miranda took a deep breath and lit a cigarette, staring at the dead girl. Signal for opening time, second Golden Gate International Exposition, step right up, folks, and welcome to Treasure Island. A word in blood.īombs exploded from the Elephant Towers, rattling the wooden platform. Under the swell, under the small, slow trickle crossing her chest and oozing from the stab wound. Said carefully: "You know how this got here?" She pointed to Pandora's right breast, the one without a hole in it. Miranda took the pack of Chesterfields out of her purse. I saw her, might've shook her some." Tom's eyes came back to the dead girl, West Virginia accent thicker. Miranda stood up from where she was crouched by the dead woman's face. A calliope started playing from the merry-go-round. He turned his back to her, faced the shadows again. 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.…" "Somebody threaten her? Try to get too close?" "Ain't you better-ain't you better do somethin', Miss Corbie? Whoever did this to Pandora…" You probably seen … She really is-dead?"įred choked, his large brown fedora crumpled with sweat from where he was squeezing it. "I-I figure you know wh-what to do, Miss Corbie, bein' a detective an' all. Tom skittered around Miranda, keeping up a monologue.
Perfect artist's model, except for the blood dripping.įred was standing in the stage shadows, hat in his hands. Stretched across the platform, breasts firm, nipples plump, pubic hair shaved. Will appeal to fans of noir historicals." - Library Journal (starred) "A winner.The noir atmosphere of 1940s San Francisco is brilliantly recreated - terrific.Pandora was still pretty.
CITY OF SECRETS KELLI STANLEY HOW TO
knows how to bring the past to life.A joy to read." -Tom Nolan, San Francisco Chronicle "Think Barbara Stanwick meets Myrna Loy, then toss in a hard-boiled crime story worthy of Raymond Chandler. This shows how historical mystery can not only re-create the sights but also the atmosphere of the time" - Romantic Times Top Pick, "Stanley. Stanley brings 1940s San Francisco to life with her meticulously detailed, hard-boiled novel." - Library Journal, Praise for CITY OF SECRETS: "The historical details shine in this perfectly drawn mystery and Stanley doesn't blink at showing the ugly truths of the time such as race relations, sexism and anti-Semitism. This shows how historical mystery can not only re-create the sights but also the atmosphere of the time." - RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!) "Stanley's brittle prose and period touches effectively capture the feeling of '40s noir." - Kirkus Reviews "In best pulp fiction style, suspects lounge about with slick hair and cheap suits, blondes are chain-smoking broads, and the nightclubs are smoky and languid." - Publishers Weekly "Engrossing. "The historical details shine in this perfectly drawn mystery.
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