Die on Your Feet Read online

  Die on Your Feet

  By S.G. Wong

  Crescent City, 1934

  In Crescent City, the dead are always close.

  At the point of death, people can choose to become Ghosts, tethered to the living. They can remain with their loved ones as invisible companions—or in the case of Crescent City’s ghostly mayor, remain in office forever.

  Being a P.I. in Crescent City isn’t easy or glamorous. Luckily Lola Starke has an edge: her Ghost, Aubrey, who can gather valuable clues from other Ghosts in the Ether. When they accept a simple missing-persons case, they’re drawn into a complicated web of lies and double-crosses that involves the most powerful people in the City—including Lola’s own mother, Grace McCall, a famous film star and the mayor’s former lover.

  As Lola races to untangle the deceit ensnaring her, she discovers an old enemy at its center carefully orchestrating the perfect moment to betray Lola and destroy Aubrey forever...unless Lola and Aubrey can stop them first.

  80,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  The month of May always brings, for me, the promise of new beginnings. I realize that it’s actually nearly the end of spring, but for some reason, I love the idea of May and that it means summer is coming and the fun is really about to begin!

  This month, very fitting for my excitement about new beginnings, we have three debut authors with stories releasing. Brighton Walsh joins Carina Press with her charming contemporary romance Plus One, where lifelong friends find deep-seated feelings growing into something more than friendship. Meanwhile, debut author Shawna Reppert has crafted a unique and captivating fantasy romance world in her male/male romance The Stolen Luck. Joining these two authors with a debut is S.G. Wong with the first Lola Starke novel, Die on Your Feet. Not only is this an unusual mix of mystery, paranormal and noir, but this book also has a striking cover that captured my imagination from the first look.

  Although not a debut author, Tamara Morgan joins Carina Press with the first in a new contemporary romance series. In The Rebound Girl, an outgoing plastic surgeon gets more than she bargained for when she offers to be the rebound girl for a sexy kindergarten teacher getting over his recent breakup.

  Along with new beginnings also come bittersweet goodbyes, and this month we wrap up Jax Garren’s fantastic science-fiction trilogy Tales of the Underlight. This series has kept us all on the edges of our seats with both the sexual tension between Hauk and Jolie and the fight to take out the Order of Ananke. Don’t miss the final installment, How Beauty Loved the Beast. Also wrapping up a trilogy this month, though on the opposite end of the romance spectrum, is contemporary romance author Kate Davies, offering the final installment of her high-school reunion trilogy, Girls Most Likely to..., with Life of the Party.

  As well, we have exciting offerings from a variety of veteran Carina Press authors this month. Jeffe Kennedy’s Ruby takes us to a contemporary world of BDSM and a sexy Cajun chef during the sensuality of New Orleans’s Mardis Gras. And last month saw the release of Volume 1 of our Love Letters anthologies. This month, discover four hot stories with a military twist in Love Letters Volume 2: Duty to Please.

  Sandy James, Shawna Thomas, Cathy Pegau and Stacy Gail all return to previously established worlds in their respective books. In Sandy James’s The Brazen Amazon, the Air Amazon is sent to protect computer wizard Zach from a rogue goddess who wants to use him to destroy the world. Journey of Dominion, book two of The Triune Stones series from Shawna Thomas, continues the story of Sara, trained from birth for one purpose: to reunite three ancient stones to restore balance to the lands.

  Female/female romance Deep Deception by Cathy Pegau follows the harrowing story of a beautiful agent and the woman she has no choice but to trust...until the secrets they’re each keeping threaten to get them both killed. And the plan for a demonic apocalypse is at last uncovered by a maimed member of the Nephilim and a scarred young woman who’s been to hell and back in Stacy Gail’s Wounded Angel, book three of The Earth Angels.

  Last but certainly not least, Dee J. Adams brings us the next installment in her high-octane Adrenaline Highs series with romantic suspense Living Dangerously. If you’re new to Dee’s books, you can easily start here, or go back to the beginning with Dangerous Race.

  This month, start a new series, revisit a favorite world or discover a new-to-you author with our May releases. And don’t forget to check out our catalog for backlist from these and other authors in all your preferred genres.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  For my father

  Wong Liu (1935–2000)

  Acknowledgements

  Firstly, thank you, dear reader, for being here.

  Thanks so much to Krystal Gabert, my editor, for finding my book in the slush, for being committed to this book, and for asking the hard questions. Thanks, also, to Angela James, for that first phone call, and to all the other great people at Carina Press for their work on this book.

  Thank you to the group I call the “Lady Mixers” for being an amazing gathering of women. I am especially grateful to Caitlin Crawshaw and Danielle Metcalfe-Chenail for their creativity, generosity, humour and support.

  Thanks to the Cult of Pain, and especially to Nicole Luiken Humphrey and Barb Galler-Smith, for their support and encouragement.

  Ditto to my ZarConians, Chip and Derek especially, for their words of support and their enthusiasm over the years.

  Thanks to my mum, Susan, and my brother, Gary.

  I’m grateful to my oldest friends, Patricia, Pamela and Camille, for being my sisters of the heart. Thanks for your love and support.

  Thanks to Heather, another sister of my heart, for sharing her love of food with me.

  Thanks to Jane Marshall for holding the space of love and hope for the Tsum Valley in the Himalayas. I can’t wait to read your story, my friend.

  Thanks to Dawna-Lynne for being one of the best souls ever born into the universe and for being imperfect with me. Thank god you’re a hugger!

  A huge thank-you to all the friends through the years who have always remembered to ask about my writing. You’re all in my heart.

  Of course, my writing doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens in the middle of a million other things, mostly revolving around my loving, crazy, happy, funny, LEGO-buildin’, book-readin’, story-makin’, comic book-drawing family. Thanks for your support and for the hugs, E and Wubby. I love you.

  Thank you, Kevin, for building a reality with me that far outstretches the dream. What can I say? You’re the one. Forever and always.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cha
pter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  “It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.”

  Euripides, Orestia

  Lola glanced at the clock on her desk, calculating whether she could stop in at home before driving to the Aunties’ place. She thought about it a minute too long.

  The office buzzer sounded. Lola picked herself up from her chair and walked out to the waiting area.

  The man just crossing the threshold was tall, thin, dressed in light grey wool. He held a grey trilby in his slender fingers. His light green eyes contrasted enticingly with his coffee-colored skin. He shook Lola’s hand firmly and introduced himself:

  “Bodewell Arbogast.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “My mother believed in portents.” His smile was confident and easy.

  Lola motioned for him to enter her office and take a seat. He unbuttoned his suit jacket to do so, reaching inside to pull out a slim silver case. He offered a dark cigarette.

  “We have the same taste for exotics. Mr. Arbogast.” Lola fetched her own Egyptian cigarette from the inlaid box atop her desk and let him light her up.

  “A good omen?” he asked with another smile. They were soon nestled in a vivid blue haze.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Arbogast?”

  “I was given your name by Mrs. Bing. She said you were discreet and efficient.” Lola nodded. He sat forward intently. “My best friend is missing. Joseph Josephson. Everyone calls him Sunny Joe.” Arbogast reached a slender hand into a breast pocket and extracted a photograph.

  Lola added to the smoky air as she leaned forward to accept it. She studied the smiling face, the light hair, the gaunt cheeks. She noted the snappy line of his collar. “Is there a particular reason you’re not telling the police your story?”

  Arbogast didn’t hide his displeasure. “They’re not interested in a former felon. They don’t care where he is. They’d just as soon wait for him to show up, dead or otherwise. That’s how they’d help me.” He blew out an angry plume of smoke.

  “What sort of crime are we talking here?”

  “Petty theft. He was a heroin addict. But that was years ago. He’s been straight three years.” He seemed pretty proud of himself. “Look, Miss Starke, I know Sunny’s no angel, but he’s not back on the needle. I know it. He’s my best friend.” Arbogast’s conviction willed his statement to be truth.

  “Mr. Arbogast, I’m not in the business of giving false hope. I’m going to ask you some questions and then I’ll tell you if I’ll help.”

  It seemed straightforward. The two men were roommates, in a house down by the old Southern citrus groves. Josephson had been missing four days now. Arbogast had done a little telephone sleuthing, but had come up empty. No one had seen Sunny Joe recently. At the very least, no one was telling.

  Lola nodded gravely here and there, then and now, as Arbogast told his tale. Her expression gave away no judgments. That wasn’t the case with her constant companion.

  “That’s it?” Aubrey’s tone was outraged.

  Lola gave no outward sign of change. She wasn’t in the habit of conversing with her Ghost in front of strangers. It wasn’t polite, as only she could hear him, of course. As a rule, Lola tried her damnedest to pretend Aubrey didn’t haunt her every waking moment.

  So, instead of saying something rude to Aubrey, she repeated her question to Arbogast: “And you tried his employer? He hasn’t been sent out on the road?”

  Arbogast shook his head impatiently: “Sunny isn’t a traveling salesman, Miss Starke.” He crushed out his cigarette in an ebony bowl on the desk, mashing until the ember was completely extinguished. He lit another with quick, jerky motions. “Listen, I know how it sounds. You think he’s gone back to his old habit.” He shook his head. “You don’t know us. We’re close. He wouldn’t keep anything from me.”

  “Exactly why he’d disappear if he had,” said Aubrey.

  “Let me be honest with you, Mr. Arbogast,” Lola said. “This isn’t my sort of case. File a missing persons report with the police and see what they can do for you. It’s their job.”

  “No, absolutely not. They won’t help me. If I hire you, I can guarantee you’ll work on it. Lillian, Mrs. Bing, was completely forthcoming about your fees. I can match what you made with her.”

  Aubrey whistled incredulously: “You charged Bing through the roof. He’s gotta be hiding something from you.”

  Lola brushed at an ear impatiently. Her face betrayed annoyance for a split second before subsiding into casual lines. “I’m not in the business of deluding people, Mr. Arbogast. I agree with the police on this one.” She raised a hand to stop his objections. “It’s common sense. Your friend has a history with heroin. He’s vanished, you say. He’s got no tomato to run away with, no family to run to. If this disappearance is something more sinister, that’s also a police job.”

  “Yes, yes, I know how it sounds. But I’m telling you. I would know. This is something else entirely, but it doesn’t feel good. I’m willing to pay you to satisfy my intuition. Why turn down honest money?”

  Lola sized up the tall man in silence. Aubrey buzzed in her ear, insistent she refuse. The slightest of twitches raised her lips at the ends.

  “All right, Mr. Arbogast, I’ll take you on.” His smile was immediate and filled with relief. “But you should still file that report with the police. That will ensure Mr. Josephson will be tagged if he resurfaces.” She held up a hand again. “‘If’, Mr. Arbogast. As I said, I don’t dole out false hope. Now, about my fees.”

  They settled on a retainer, with per diem and expenses. Lola didn’t come cheap. Arbogast didn’t bat an eye at the amounts. She scanned his card as he passed it over, but it was blank except for his name and a phone number, Oleander 5972. That had to be the house.

  “What about an alternate, say, your work telephone?” Lola asked.

  Arbogast shook his head. “It’s not convenient at work. They discourage personal calls.” He paused to fix her with a sharp look. “I’d prefer regular updates, Miss Starke.”

  “My kind of work doesn’t lend itself to being by the phone regularly, Mr. Arbogast. Let me call you when I have something to update. I’ve done this before. I won’t leave you hanging.” Arbogast looked dubious. Lola pressed for more details: Josephson’s place of employment, his favorite places, his friends, his last reliable whereabouts. She finished with the tough stuff.

  “What about Ghosts? Is Mr. Josephson haunted?”

  Arbogast waved his hand dismissively: “Lucille, his sister. But I wouldn’t put much store in her. She was never the strong one, just the follower.”

  “She was obviously strong enough to become a Ghost,” Aubrey said.

  Lola continued. “His heroin suppliers? Do you know them?”

  Arbogast looked her coolly in the eye: “That’s not relevant, Miss Starke.”

  “That’s up to me, Mr. Arbogast. I’m the gumshoe. You can tell me now or I can waste time finding it out on my own.”

  He shook his head, clenched his jaw. “I don’t know.”

  Lola stood and reached for his newly signed cheque. “I make the rules, Mr. Arbogast. If you don’t like them, you can take your game somewhere else.” She pushed the piece of paper toward him.

  Arbogast stared at the cheque in silence. He chewed absently at his lower lip, fingered a suit button. Something in that sleek noggin of his clicked. He straightened his shoulders and reached for his
hat. He stood, aimed an imperious gaze downward.

  “Keep it. You’ll earn it.” He tipped his hat and strode out. Lola remained as she was, listened to the click of the outer door closing. Arbogast kept up his long stride to the elevator. The clang of the bell and a bright greeting from Billy, the lift boy. Then, silence as the box descended and another wayward client left in a swirl of dark thoughts.

  Aubrey got straight to the point: “His story stinks worse than a drunk on Saturday night. You’re taking on trouble with this one, Lola.”

  That slight twitch of her lips. “He’ll either be loaded or dead or both, probably in an alley behind one of these joints. Or he might be in jail already. One could hope, for Arbogast’s sake, if for no other reason.” Lola pushed away from the desk and stood in one smooth movement. “Time to go. Traffic to East Town’ll be murder.”

  * * *

  Buses and train cars were filled with people, everyone wearing that same tired expression, no one looking anyone else in the eyes. The cars thinned out along Fisher. Lola snagged a spot just shy of the corner of Seventh. The Aunties lived on top of a two-storey walk-up, just east of Eighth. The pedestrians were mainly Chinese here, but there were plenty of other gwai out and about on a warm spring evening. East Town was a big tourist stop. The city’s Gaming Commission made sure of that. Exotic foods, cheap souvenirs, mah-jongg parlors. The loudest, flashiest shops were two blocks south, on Kwan. There was a garish gate at Sixth and Kwan: two bright red columns joined at the top with a faux bamboo roof covering the requisite dragon-and-phoenix show. The nightclubs started west of the Gate, along Sixth. The better quality ones, like Silver Swan or Jade, had the prettier girls and stiffer drinks. The floor shows were usually Chinese musicians playing some classical pieces, including zither and erhu, during dinner and then more modern dance numbers afterwards. Those bands were often mixed. Most tourists didn’t want to know what the low-end clubs served.

  Fisher was noticeably more low-key. The shops were slightly darker; the sidewalks had a little more grime. The people were quieter. There were no nightclubs or mah-jongg places on Fisher. Just average shops full of foodstuffs or newspapers or straw hats. But there was also a Healer, and she drew a different kind of crowd. Not a lot of tourists looking for luck wanted to see the sick and dying. But the Ha family had lived here long before the Gaming Commission came along. Betta was the third Conjurer in the family to run her business out of this shopfront. The Aunties lived above; something about a healer living below being the kind of luck they appreciated.