The Secret Life of Anna Blanc (43 page)

Anna blinked at the tattered dress. “Mr. Melvin ripped it? You did a sting? You…”

She glanced up at Joe and held her breath. Joe looked away, as aloof as the real Arrow Collar Man. “Big Cindy said the doggy wig was Lulu's so Melvin left it on the bed.”

Anna's mind whirred. What had she seen that night in the Mystery Man's shadowy room? A lock of blonde hair. The outline of a body in a dress. A tiny rouged mouth…

Anna let out an anguished cry. Joe Singer hadn't been with a prostitute. He'd been undercover, helping her solve the case. That ugly girl had been baby-mouthed Mr. Melvin. Anna grabbed the porch rail to steady herself, reeling under the weight of her mistake. Hadn't she known it in her heart? Joe wasn't a Beelzebub. No. He was an angel. She could have loved him all along. But now he looked like a wrathful angel—the kind that carried swords and didn't accept apologies.

Anna's brows drew together in an anguished appeal. “I'm sorry! I couldn't have known.”

He smiled a crooked, vinegar smile and heaved himself to his feet. “Don't be, Sherlock. You would've run off anyway, the first time Edgar Wright whistled. This way it was a little easier on my ego.” He swept up the bag and took the porch steps two at a time.

“Oh, please. Don't go yet.”

Joe turned and waited, his lids lowered. There was something flickering beneath the hostility, some tiny light, and though Anna couldn't name it, it made her hope. She smiled with all her sugar sweetness, desperate to hold his attention but fearing she could not and that she never really had. “We should…It would be swell if we could…debrief about the case.”

A shadow passed over Joe's face, and the tiny light extinguished. He let loose a joyless guffaw. “The case.” He pivoted and sauntered down the drive.

Anna's voice broke. “I'll see you at the station, then?”

He called back over his shoulder. “Nope. I'll be patrolling the streets of San Diego.”

This news shook Anna like an earthquake, and a panicky feeling rose in her chest. All she wanted in the world was to be in those indignant arms, kissing those lovely, smirking lips, and other things. And to fight crime. But Joe Singer was leaving her.

She had to stop him. Anna scrambled after Joe and grabbed his sleeve. “What do you mean you're leaving Central Station? I need you! You're the only man I've ever loved.”

He removed her hand from his coat. “You said that before, Anna. Right before you eloped with somebody else. Where were you going? Buenos Aires?”

“But you were sleeping with Mr. Melvin! And you didn't want me!”

Joe threw up his hands. “Of course I wanted you! Every man in LA wants you. So don't worry, Sherlock. Just wait a minute and something better will come along.”

Anna's cheeks burned like they'd been slapped. “If you loved me,
you had a funny way of showing it. You could have told me you were going to the brothel!”

“Tell you I was in the brothel? Hah! You said you could never marry a man who went to a brothel for
any
reason.”

“Yes, I definitely wouldn't! Sometimes! But other times…”

“Like when he's Edgar Wright? Well Anna, I have a confession. Every day for four months Lulu's pianist gave me lessons on her Steinway. And I don't regret it! How do you like that? Well, my father didn't. But I never slept with any of the girls.” Joe continued walking, leaving Anna stunned in the drive.

“I don't care!”

Joe didn't stop. Her eyes welled with tears. “Fine! Just…just go. I hope you get eaten by a great white shark. And don't you ever try to tell me what to do!” Anna lifted her skirt and defiantly showed off her shins. “Officer Singer! Look!” Joe didn't look. She lifted her skirt above her knees. “Officer Singer!” He kept on walking.

Anna was both desperate to hold him and determined not to be ignored. If he got away now, she might lose him forever. She must act decisively and confess later. Anna struggled with the buttons on her swimsuit and stripped out of it. She chased after Joe and threw it at his head. It landed with a
splat
, like a wet nightcap.

Joe spun sharply. He saw her standing in the yard in wet underwear, and his eyes widened. His head snapped to the house next door and back to Anna. “No!”

“You can't boss me!” She sprinted for the cliff, peeling her corset cover over her head, her wet petticoats sticking to her legs. Joe bolted after her, scooping up her sandy, dripping clothes and tucking them under his arm. “Damn it, Anna! You have neighbors!”

“Yes! A whole family of spinsters. They'll drop dead from shock, and I don't care!” Anna shed a soggy petticoat. She pattered down the steps that led from the grassy bluff to the beach below in her remaining petticoat, the color of her skin visible through the wet white fabric. She raced to the bottom, across the shifting sand and toward the water, spooking a baby elephant seal. It loped off barking.

Joe caught up to Anna at the water and yanked her by the corset strings. “Put your clothes on!” He grabbed her arm and wrestled it through the sleeve of her corset cover, while Anna used her other hand to pull her last petticoat down to her knees.

He reached down to pull up her petticoat, while Anna unhooked the front of her corset. When he went to fix her corset, Anna untied her drawers. Joe tackled her and she landed on her bottom. He pushed her flat on the wet sand and straddled her, pinning her wrists. He breathed peppermint breath onto her face and shouted. “What do you want from me, Sherlock? How do I get you to stop torturing me?”

Anna let loose a string of teary hiccups. “Write me a nicer song! One where I'm not a homicidal vamp. Say I spooned you for love. Not for a collar.”

He shook his head. “Then give me some material, Sherlock. You gotta stop breaking my sorry heart!”

“Don't go to San Diego! I'll spoon you for love. I'll make love and kiss you and…and give you material.”

Joe's eyes dropped to her unhooked corset and the wet cotton clinging haphazardly to her hips. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Oh, Lord.” He searched Anna's face. “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not!” She bit her lip. “Well, I lied about the spinsters. There's nobody for miles, except fish and…”

Joe kissed her.

I would like to thank my husband, Jonathan, for his unfailing support.

Many thanks to Neil Blair and Zoe King at the Blair Partnership (TBP) for being extraordinary agents and fighting my fight. I'd especially like to thank Liz Bonsor of TBP for discovering my work and tracking me down on LinkedIn. Your confidence in my novel, your suggestions, and your support made all the difference.

I'd also like to thank everyone at Seventh Street Books (SSB) for being so good at what they do—Dan Mayer for his gentle, insightful edits, Jill Maxick for patiently enduring my wacky efforts to promote the book, Nicole Sommer-Lecht for her amazing cover design, Sheila Stewart for diligently checking the facts, Cheryl Quimba for publicizing the book, and my fellow SSB authors for their advice.

Without my writer's group, the Denver Writer's Workshop, there would be no novel. A special thanks to members Ethan Elliot, Gary Patterson, Mary Villalba, Dave Durkee, Karen Smith, Jamie Gordon, Jenny Peterson, Heather Bell, and Brock Wood. They taught me how to write. Thanks also to everyone who reviewed the manuscript and encouraged me—David Weiss, Stephanie Manuzak, Christa Jorgensen Shorey, Joe Weber, Cassi Clark, Livia Harper, and especially Susan Ludes and LA historian AnneMarie Kooistra. Thanks to authors Quincy Allen and M. H. Boroson for your advice and support.

Thanks to my sisters, Erin, Lisa, and Kristi, and my mother, Sandy, for cheering me on.

Lastly, I'd like to thank my readers for taking a chance on a new author. If you liked this book, please spread the word. Tell a friend. Post on Facebook. Write a review. It's the number one way readers find new authors.

Jennifer Kincheloe is a research scientist turned writer of historical mysteries, formerly on the research faculty at UCLA. She grew up running wild on the beaches of Southern California. She now lives in Denver, Colorado, with her husband and two children.
The Secret Life of Anna Blanc
is her first novel.