Chapter 1

The Handsome Client

ON SOME DAYS, New York is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. This was one of the other days. The sky was the colour of an old church roof, and the rain was giving stair rods a bad reputation.

Some days you just know things are going to get dangerous and out of hand, and this was without a doubt one of those. About time too.

I was the only person in the office. That wasn’t exactly unusual as I was the only employee of the Angel Detective Agency. As the owner too, I can tell you that I didn’t think I was doing a good job of keeping the work rolling in. But then the sorts of cases I was interested in were rather specialised. Not your run-of-the-mill cheating spouse and missing cat. Or even missing spouse and cheating cat. No, I was more interested in arcane, eclectic, and other words you probably wouldn’t expect a New York private detective to use all that much.

Leaning back in my chair, with my high heels resting on the unpaid bills that cluttered the desk, I listened to the rain beating against the window. Another sound was beating a regular rhythm – feet on the wooden stairs.

Might be the cleaner, I thought. I checked the calendar – 1938. I hadn’t planned on cleaning the place until at least 1946. The footsteps paused on the landing outside my office. Maybe they were heading on up to the pet food supplier on the fifth floor. They’d be disappointed if they were, as the company went bust in the Crash. There were starving pets flinging themselves out of windows, or so it was said. I glanced out of the window now, and saw that in a sense it was still raining cats and dogs.

Whoever was loitering outside still hadn’t moved on. ‘If you’re looking for the Angel Detective Agency,’ I called out, ‘it’s through the door marked “Angel Detective Agency”.’

If they couldn’t work that out, then they’d come to the right place for help.

I caught a reflection of myself in the glass of the door as it opened. Just a flash, as I swung my legs off the desk. Just a quick glimpse to assure myself that everything was buttoned and unbuttoned in the best places and pointing in the right direction.

The dark figure of a man stood in the doorway, barely more than a silhouette. But his voice was promising – deep and dark as his shadow.

‘Melody Malone?’

I smiled and pushed my fedora up with my index finger so he could see the full extent of my brow. ‘In the flesh.’ I lingered on the noun.

‘Can I come in?’

I smiled invitingly. ‘When we haven’t even been introduced?’ But I gestured to a spare chair. There was only one, so he couldn’t get lost.

As he sat, his face moved from the shadows into the light cast by my rather inadequate desk lamp. It didn’t help that I’d angled the lamp to show off my own assets rather than his. But I quickly remedied that as I caught sight of the square jaw, the carefully slicked hair, the deep blue eyes, and the Clark Gable moustache. Though Gable wouldn’t be properly famous for another year, and at that time his moustache was, often as not, a false one…

So it was no big surprise that it wasn’t actually Clark Gable sitting in my office. But it was the next best thing. Possibly better.

He reached across the desk to shake hands. His grip was firm and assertive, but then so was mine.

‘Miss Malone,’ he breathed.

‘Rock Railton,’ I replied. ‘Unless you’re his stunt double?’ I raised an alluring eyebrow. Alluringly.

‘In the flesh,’ he replied, lingering on the preposition. He needed to work on that. ‘I guess it saves time that you know who I am.’

‘I guess it does. But believe me, I have plenty of time. It’s the business I’m in.’

Talking of time, about ninety-five per cent of you people reading this can save some right now by skipping on. But for those few who have never heard of Rock Railton, here’s a bit of background that had raced through my brain when I recognised the most handsome movie icon working on the East Coast.

That’s right – the East Coast. I know what you’re thinking. This is 1938, so all the studios have upped and moved to Hollywood long ago. All, that is, except Starlight. Or to give the company it’s full name: The Starlight Motion Picture Company of America (New York, NY) Inc. Which is probably why it’s usually just called Starlight Studios.

Starlight’s success was built on its stars rather than the movies it made. Obviously people went to the movies – that was how they made their money. But they didn’t go to see the film. They didn’t go for the story, or the sets or the costumes. Such as they were. They went to see the stars.

There had been reports in the press recently about some of the studio’s minor stars defecting to the West Coast studios. No doubt they’d been lured away with lucrative contracts, offers of fame, and the glamour-appeal of Hollywood. It was unlikely they’d get much of any of them, though. Most likely the major studios just wanted them not to be working for Starlight. After all, to become a Starlight Star you didn’t actually need to be able to act.

So I guess it wasn’t really a surprise that – if newspapers are to be believed, which of course they are not – so many of the actors (with a small ‘a’) and actresses (with a large double ‘D’) didn’t seem to have got as far as Hollywood but disappeared somewhere en route. ‘En route’, in case you don’t know, is French for ‘got distracted along the way’.

But whatever their thespian talent, Starlight Stars were quite simply the most glamorous, the most cinematic, the most beautiful and handsome in the industry. And just as the most beautiful of the Starlight Starlets was Giddy Semestre, so the most handsome of the Starlight Stars was Rock Railton.

*

And here he was, sitting opposite me in the dusty offices of the Angel Detective Agency. In the flesh. My own flesh was getting goose bumps just at the thought. Which was slightly embarrassing as so much of it was on display just now.

I leaned back in my chair and adopted an even more nonchalant pose.

‘So, how can I help you, Mr Railton?’

‘Someone’s planning to kill me.’ He raised his eyebrows and opened his hands apologetically, as if to say: ‘Such a bore, but what can you do?’

‘You been to the cops?’ I asked. It seemed like a good question.

‘No.’

‘Are you going to tell me why not?’

He considered this, though I didn’t think it was a difficult question. I was saving that up for next. This question had a very limited possible set of answers. ‘Boolean’ is another word NY PIs don’t often use.

‘It’s complicated,’ he decided at last. So not as Boolean as I’d thought, apparently.

‘Mr Railton,’ I said smokily, ‘“Complicated” is my middle name.’ Actually, it’s not my middle name – any more than Malone is my last name. Whether Melody is really my first name is, well, complicated.

‘Sorry.’

I smiled to show I wasn’t at all put out. ‘So why come to me?’

‘Your name,’ he said. ‘Sounds strange, but it just felt, you know – apt.’

‘My name? You mean Melody Malone? I only use the “Complicated” on formal occasions,’ I clarified.

‘The firm’s name.’

‘The Angel Detective Agency. Why is that apt?’

‘Because of the kiss of the angel.’ He gave a short laugh at my frown. ‘Sorry, I guess that doesn’t make a lot of sense.’

‘And I guess it’s complicated.’ But he had me intrigued. Angels, after all, are my business.

‘Actually, it’s pretty simple,’ Railton went on. ‘I was at the studio, and I overheard someone planning my death.’

‘I take it they weren’t talking about a movie.’

He shook his head and the shadows did good things for his profile if not my blood pressure. ‘They said I would be dead in a couple of weeks. Then they said something about “the kiss of the angel” and how they already have my replacement lined up.’ His movie-star face cracked into despondency. ‘It’s so unfair – I feel like I only just got started.’

To my knowledge, Rock Railton had been the top Starlight name for at least two years now, but I didn’t quibble. In a career where most people’s success was measured in weeks, he’d done pretty well for himself.

I stuck to the more obvious. ‘So,’ I asked, ‘who was it you overheard planning to kill you?’

He looked at me with what might have been sympathy, or possibly disappointment. I’m not sure which as I don’t go looking for sympathy and I rarely disappoint.

‘If I knew that,’ Railton said, ‘I wouldn’t need to hire you.’

‘Really?’ Time to retrieve the situation. ‘It may surprise you to learn that lots of people hire me to tell them things they already know, Mr Railton.’ I smiled winningly. ‘Things like “Your husband is cheating on you.” Or “Your employer is a crook.” Then there’s “Your cat is almost certainly dead,” and “You really shouldn’t wear that blouse with those shoes.” You’re very handsome.’

He blinked. I made a note to warn him about that. ‘People hire you to tell them they’re handsome?’

‘Sorry, no. That was just me getting a bit carried away. Do you ever get carried away, Mr Railton?’

He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘You’ve got some front, you know.’

I made sure the best bits of it were pointing right at him. ‘I know.’

‘You flirt with all your clients?’ he wondered.

‘Usually they flirt with me. But I’m pleased to hear you’re a client.’ I leaned across the desk. ‘You are my client, aren’t you, Mr Railton?’

He swallowed as if the full implications of his visit had only just become apparent to him. Or so I hoped. ‘I can pay you a hundred dollars a day.’

I didn’t like to say that I’d happily have paid him double that for the case. So I didn’t. Instead I said, ‘Plus expenses.’

‘Will that be much?’

‘I’m an expensive lady. But for you, I’ll try to hold back a little.’

He smiled. ‘Not too much I hope.’

‘Not too much,’ I agreed.

We talked a little business. Boring stuff that included phrases like ‘cash only’, and ‘meet potential suspects’ and, most important of all ‘Please, call me Rock.’ Then Rock, as I now called him, said that he had to be going, which wasn’t something that had featured high on my own agenda, but he would see me at the launch party for his new film tomorrow.

‘Lady, don’t shoot,’ he said.

‘As if I could conceal a gun in this,’ I told him, standing up so he could get the full benefit of my heels, stockings, skirt, blouse, and everything. Especially the everything.

‘Probably true,’ he noted. Maybe he could be a detective after all. ‘But that’s the name of the movie.’

‘I’ll be there,’ I assured him.

‘Good title, eh?’ His moustache twitched rather fetchingly as he smiled. ‘Lady Don’t Shoot.’

I smiled back even more fetchingly. ‘I’m making no rash promises.’