City of Ghosts (A Miranda Corbie Mystery) by Kelli Stanley Read Free Book Online Page A

down at the mustard stain.
    “I did not take you for a fan of modern art, Mr. Sanders.”
    Rick’s blue eyes bored into Gonzales’s brown ones. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
    Jorge and the new waiter arrived with a highball glass and steak and spinach for Rick. The reporter tucked his napkin in his collar and draped it over his tie. Picked up the knife and fork, and said, aiming at Gonzales: “You mind my digging in? Missed lunch today, and I’m as hungry as a mama wolf with a litter of pups.”
    Miranda plucked a Chesterfield out of the cigarette case.
    “I’d like another Blue Fog. We have time, Rick?”
    The reporter nodded, mouth full. Gonzales stretched across the table with his gold lighter, flame flickering. She lightly held his hand and took a deep drag on the cigarette.
    Gonzales looked around the room and raised a hand. The waiter Miranda didn’t know threaded his way past tables and palms and a middle-aged woman drowning in mink and black crepe.
    “The lady would like another cocktail. Or would you like to try my wine, Miranda?”
    She looked from Rick, bent over his plate and furiously eating, to Gonzales and his unfocused eyes. Gulped the cigarette until she could feel her lungs warm up with smoke.
    She told the waiter: “Go ahead and bring another wineglass.”
    The inspector smiled, leaned back, arm draped behind his chair. Rick looked up and swallowed.
    “You look swell, Randy. Sorry I didn’t mention it before.”
    She winced at the old nickname. “Thanks, Rick.”
    The waiter brought another wineglass, and Gonzales poured, pushing it toward her with a smile.
    “Drink, Miranda. You will like it. It is not as good as what the Mark Hopkins serves, of course.”
    Rick raised his fork. “Not as expensive, either, Inspector. Personally, I think Joe runs a pretty classy joint.”
    Miranda held the wineglass in her hand and raised it to her lips. Gonzales turned to Rick, a slight sneer stretching his perfectly proportioned face.
    “I do not think you would recognize a well-cooked steak, let alone the right wine, Mr. Sanders.”
    The Burgundy hit Gonzales and dripped from his chin, mouth hung open, eyes shocked and stinging, red tears on his cheek. Gasps at nearby tables, several middle-aged women trying to peer through thick glasses for a more focused view.
    Rick set the fork and knife down, looking back and forth between Miranda and the Inspector. Gonzales fumbled for a napkin, started to wipe his eyes and mouth. Red drops clung to the white of his ruffled tuxedo and dripped down the black satin lapel.
    “You’re drunk or I’d have thrown the glass. Don’t kid yourself, Gonzales. You don’t want to get to know me. You want to change me. You don’t like my license, don’t like that I eat at the Club Moderne, don’t like my friends. You think you can control and own me, change me to what you want me to be. Not want me for who I am.”
    She stood up, face white. Clark and Jorge hurried from the back of the room.
    “Put everything on my tab, Jorge. I’ll settle up tomorrow.”
    The waiter looked around the table, eyes big, and disappeared quietly.
    Rick was out of his chair, body tense, posture unsure. Gonzales calmly wiped wine from his tuxedo.
    Her voice was low and cutting. “I was hoping we could be friends. But you’re just another client, Gonzales. Just another fucking client.”
    Miranda shoved her chair in hard, the empty wineglass on the table shaking. She strode across the dance floor and climbed the short stairway between the false marble columns, not once looking back.

 
    Five

    Rick found her on the corner of Sutter and Mason, braced against the brick wall of an apartment building, looking up the hill toward her apartment. Her left arm hugged her stomach. She was finishing off the Chesterfield Gonzales had lit for her.
    The crowd waiting at the Moderne pushed against the red velvet ropes, still gawking at the woman in green who’d run through the chromium