City of Lies Read online

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME TITLES BY VICTORIA THOMPSON

  GASLIGHT MYSTERIES

  MURDER ON ASTOR PLACE

  MURDER ON ST. MARK’S PLACE

  MURDER ON GRAMERCY PARK

  MURDER ON WASHINGTON SQUARE

  MURDER ON MULBERRY BEND

  MURDER ON MARBLE ROW

  MURDER ON LENOX HILL

  MURDER IN LITTLE ITALY

  MURDER IN CHINATOWN

  MURDER ON BANK STREET

  MURDER ON WAVERLY PLACE

  MURDER ON LEXINGTON AVENUE

  MURDER ON SISTERS’ ROW

  MURDER ON FIFTH AVENUE

  MURDER IN CHELSEA

  MURDER IN MURRAY HILL

  MURDER ON AMSTERDAM AVENUE

  MURDER ON ST. NICHOLAS AVENUE

  MURDER IN MORNINGSIDE HEIGHTS

  MURDER IN THE BOWERY

  COUNTERFEIT LADY NOVELS

  CITY OF LIES

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Victoria Thompson

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  The Edgar® name is a registered service mark of the Mystery Writers of America, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Thompson, Victoria (Victoria E.), author.

  Title: City of lies / Victoria Thompson.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2017. | Series:

  A counterfeit lady novel ; 1

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017011324 (print) | LCCN 2017017409 (ebook) | ISBN

  9780399586590 (eBook) | ISBN 9780399586576 (hardcover)

  Subjects: LCSH: Swindlers and swindling—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Historical.

  Classification: LCC PS3570.H6442 (ebook) | LCC PS3570.H6442 C58 2017 (print)|

  DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017011324

  First Edition: November 2017

  Cover art by Chris Cocozza

  Cover logo elements © by yayasya/Shutterstock

  Cover design by Alana Colucci

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  With thanks to my friends at Seton Hill University who helped me get this one off the ground:

  John Dixon, Don Bentley, Dawn Gartlehner, Genevieve Iseult Eldredge and especially my old friend Leslie Davis Guccione, who is the best mentor anyone could have.

  Contents

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Victoria Thompson

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Author’s Note

  Readers Guide

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jake looked much too smug.

  Elizabeth’s hand itched to smack the smirk off his face, but well-bred young ladies didn’t go around smacking people in hotel dining rooms. Since she was pretending to be a well-bred young lady at the moment, she made herself smile pleasantly and threaded her way through the mostly empty tables to where he was sitting.

  He jumped to his feet and pulled out her chair, because he was pretending to be a well-bred young man. “Good morning, dear sister. Did you sleep well?”

  “Did you drop the leather?” she asked.

  “Of course, and he just came into the dining room. Oh, wait. He stopped to talk to someone.”

  Elizabeth glanced over, turning her head only slightly so she wouldn’t be caught watching their mark. Jake had done the same thing.

  “It’s a woman,” Jake murmured.

  “Shhh.” She could see that. She needed to hear what they said. If he had a friend in the city, someone who might advise him . . .

  “Hazel, how nice to see you,” Thornton said, although a trace of strain in his voice indicated it wasn’t really so nice to see her at all.

  “Oscar,” the woman said. Her back was to them but her tone was unmistakable. Elizabeth almost shivered from the frost in it. She’d have to practice that tone. It might come in handy someday.

  “What brings you to Washington City?” Thornton asked with obviously forced enthusiasm. He’d also felt the chill and was trying to pretend he hadn’t.

  The woman rose to her feet, and even though she was much shorter than Oscar Thornton, she seemed to tower over him. How did she do that? “I can’t believe that is any of your concern.” She laid her napkin down on the table and walked away, making Thornton look like a dog. How on earth did she do that? But Elizabeth couldn’t worry about that now. She had to salvage Thornton’s pride.

  “Start talking,” Elizabeth whispered.

  “So I told him I wanted to order a dozen pair,” Jake said a little louder than necessary so Thornton would know they’d been talking to each other and hadn’t noticed that woman cutting him dead so beautifully. Never embarrass a mark. “And he looks down his nose at me, the way those clerks in those fancy stores do, and he says, ‘Sir, you will never have use for a dozen pair.’”

  “He didn’t!” Elizabeth said, outraged on behalf of her brother in this imaginary conversation.

  “He did. So I told him I’d take two dozen instead.”

  She laughed the little tinkling laugh she’d practiced so many times and said, “Father will be furious.”

  “Why do you think I did it?” Then he looked up in apparent surprise to see Thornton approaching their table. “Good morning, Thornton. Won’t you join us?”

  Elizabeth looked up, too, and gave him a delighted smile that told him how pleased she was to see him, because she was pleased, if not for the reason he thought. His face was still scarlet from the woman’s snub, but she gave no indication she noticed. “Yes, do join us and save me from having to listen to any more of my brother’s silly stories.”

  Jake pretended to be affronted, but they soon had Thornton seated and responding to Elizabeth’s subtle flirting. He probably hadn’t forgotten that woman, but he was thinking about Elizabeth now, which was all that mattered.

  “Oh dear, are those women still marching at the White House?” she asked, seeing the headline in the newspaper Thornton had carried with
him.

  “Yes, even though they’re getting arrested almost daily now,” Thornton said. He’d cleared the last of the humiliation out of his voice, she noticed with relief.

  “I don’t know why women would want to vote anyway. Would you, Betty?” Jake asked, using the name they’d chosen for this job.

  “I can’t imagine why,” Elizabeth said. “Politics is so boring.” She didn’t have to lie about her opinion of politics, at least.

  “And not something a lady should concern herself with,” Thornton said with a condescending smile that set her teeth on edge.

  Thornton told them the details of the suffragettes’ latest brush with the law while the waiter in his spotless white gloves served them eggs and potatoes and bacon and refilled their coffee cups. When they were nearly finished, Elizabeth said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton.”

  “For what, my dear?” he asked. He thought he was charming, and she let him think so.

  “I stepped on your foot.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he assured her.

  Elizabeth frowned in confusion. “It must have been you then, Jake.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” he said.

  “Well, I stepped on something,” she said, pushing her chair back a bit and looking down at the floor. “What could it be?”

  She couldn’t see because of the tablecloth, so Thornton obligingly bent down to help look. Then he reached under the table and came up with a man’s wallet.

  “You’ve dropped your pocketbook, Perkins,” he told Jake.

  Jake patted his jacket. “No, I haven’t. Mine’s right here. It must be yours.”

  Thornton patted his own jacket and shook his head. “It’s not mine, either.”

  “Someone’s going to be very upset,” Elizabeth said. “Look how much money is in it.”

  Thornton had opened the wallet and discovered a large amount of cash inside.

  “How much is it, do you think?” Jake asked.

  “Several hundred at least,” Thornton said.

  “We need to find the owner and return it,” Jake said. “Is there anything in there with a name on it?”

  Thornton started emptying the wallet, which was stuffed with not only money but other papers as well. He laid the items out on the table, and Elizabeth and Jake moved the dishes aside to make room.

  Jake picked up the stack of money and counted it while Thornton laid out several telegrams, a paper with rows of letters and numbers written on it and a newspaper clipping.

  “There’s over six hundred dollars here,” Jake said. Two years’ salary for an average working man.

  “What does the newspaper clipping say?” Elizabeth asked.

  Thornton read it to himself. “It’s about some fellow named Coleman making a killing in the stock market.”

  “These telegrams are to someone named Coleman, too,” Jake noticed.

  “Is that his photograph?” she asked, peering at the clipping in Thornton’s fat fingers.

  “For all the good it does.” He turned it so she could see. The photograph was of a man holding his hat to cover his face.

  “We don’t need his photograph if we have his name,” Jake pointed out. “He’s probably staying at the hotel. Let’s take it to him. I want to see his face when he gets it back.”

  Thornton glanced over at her. “How do you feel about going to a strange man’s hotel room, Miss Perkins?”

  She gave him a mischievous smile. “It’s scandalous, I know, but I’ll be thoroughly chaperoned.”

  “Indeed you will,” Jake said with a grin.

  While Jake stuffed everything back into the wallet, Thornton rose and pulled out her chair for her. She thanked him with a coy little smile that promised things she would never in this world deliver. Jake went on ahead to the front desk to see if Mr. Coleman was registered at the hotel. Which he was, of course, and he also happened to be in his suite at that very moment, the clerk reported after telephoning to find out.

  Elizabeth should have been pleased. Everything was going perfectly. Jake was doing his part and she was doing hers. So why did she have that hollow feeling in her stomach every time she pictured how it would end?

  The two men allowed her to go before them to the elevator, and Elizabeth felt Thornton’s gaze on her like a slimy hand. She and Jake were pretending to be members of an “old money” family, but she was sure Thornton knew they weren’t. She’d gathered that his late wife had come from one of the old New York families, so he’d know the difference. That didn’t matter, though. Actually, it was better if he thought they weren’t rich. He only needed to believe she was interested in him, and a young woman of limited means would certainly be interested in a single man of apparently unlimited means, no matter if he wasn’t particularly handsome or very young.

  And Jake had determined that Thornton had the means while they chatted in the smoking car on the train down from New York. If he was green in other areas, Jake was a master at getting marks to talk.

  The elevator operator deposited them on the top floor.

  “The rooms up here are pretty nice,” Jake remarked as they walked down the hall. “I wanted to get a suite, but Betty wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “It’s a waste of money,” she said, reinforcing Thornton’s suspicions that they weren’t actually rich.

  “This is it,” Thornton said when he found the room.

  “Betty, you stand out of sight,” Jake said, “in case this fellow doesn’t take the news in a friendly way or something.”

  Elizabeth gave him a surprised look, but Thornton said, “Stand behind me and slip away if things get ugly.”

  “All right,” she said, stepping back to allow Thornton to protect her. He was probably hoping they would have to slip away. Left to his own devices, he most likely would have just pocketed Coleman’s cash and left the wallet for the hotel staff to find, so they’d get blamed for stealing the money.

  Jake knocked.

  After a few moments, the door opened a little and a suspicious man peered out at them. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Coleman?” Jake said.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Jake Perkins and this is Oscar Thornton. We—”

  “Stop bothering me. I already told you, I’m not giving any more interviews.”

  He started to close the door but Jake threw up a hand to stop him. “We found your wallet downstairs in the dining room, and we’re returning it.”

  The man frowned at the wallet Jake held up. “I haven’t lost my wallet.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He patted his jacket impatiently, just the way Thornton had downstairs, but he didn’t find the telltale bulge he was expecting. He patted some more and felt around in all his pockets. “You’re right, I do seem to have lost my wallet. I’m sorry to be so rude, but I thought you were newspaper reporters. They hound me all the time, which is one reason I came to Washington City. I thought I could get away from them here. Please, come in, gentlemen.” He held the door open. “Oh, and young lady,” he added when Thornton stepped aside to allow Elizabeth to precede him.

  “My sister, Miss Perkins,” Jake said.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Coleman said with a nod. “Come in, all of you.”

  The suite was even nicer than Elizabeth had expected, with a view of the White House grounds across the way.

  “I guess you can identify this,” Jake said, holding up the wallet again.

  “Of course. Let’s see, I had a few hundred dollars, five or six, I think. Some telegrams, and a list of ciphers. Oh, and a newspaper clipping. Is that close enough?”

  “Yes, it is,” Jake assured him. He handed over the wallet with a little flourish he probably thought was cute. Elizabeth managed not to roll her eyes.

  She watched Thornton’s surprise when Coleman didn’t count the mon
ey to make sure it was all there the way Thornton probably would have. Instead, Coleman pulled out the piece of paper with the rows of letters and numbers and tossed the wallet with its wad of cash carelessly onto the table. “I can’t thank you enough for returning this. I wouldn’t have missed the money at all, but without this paper, I’d be out of business.”

  “We were wondering what that was,” Thornton said. “What did you call it? A cipher?”

  “That’s right. Say, can I offer you fellows a drink? And some sherry for you, miss? I know it’s early, but I feel like celebrating. Please, sit down and join me.”

  Jake gave Thornton a questioning look, and Thornton shrugged. She was sure he never turned down a free drink.

  Coleman poured a generous amount of whiskey into three glasses and a small amount of sherry into a stemmed glass for her and handed them around.

  “You have good taste in whiskey, Coleman,” Thornton said after a taste.

  “What kind of business are you in that you need a cipher?” Jake asked. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Oh, it’s all very hush-hush, but I think you folks have proved you’re trustworthy. I work for a combine of Wall Street brokers who are trying to break up the branch stock exchanges and the bucket shops. They control the rise and fall of large blocks of stock, and they send me around the country and tip me off when to buy and sell. You probably saw those telegrams in my wallet. They’re written in code, telling me what stocks to buy and sell. Without this cipher, I wouldn’t know what they were saying, and I’d probably lose my job.”

  “And they pay you to do that?” Jake asked in amazement.

  “No, they don’t,” Coleman said with a wink. “But they do let me keep the money I make when I sell the stocks. Say, I feel like I should give you some kind of reward for returning my wallet since you saved my bacon. I know you don’t need the money, but how about if I give each of you fellows a hundred to cover your expenses while you’re in town at least?”

  “That’s awfully sporting of you, Coleman—” Thornton started to say, probably thinking a hundred sounded good, but someone knocked on the door and called, “Telegram!”