Chapter 1

Picture this—

A beautiful woman stumbles out through the backstage door of a theater and into the dark, deserted alley behind the building, a black feather boa around her neck, her hat a little off-kilter on her perfectly sculpted blonde bob, and an unsteady sway in her step. Is she drunk? Is she tired? Or has she been poisoned?

It's late. A fog that has rolled in, shrouds the light from the streetlamps. The woman wraps the boa a little tighter around her neck and shoulders. Her footsteps echo on the cobblestones, it's all she can hear apart from her own breathing as she uses the wall of the theater to steady herself, the sway in her step growing worse. That's when she hears more than just her own footsteps. Behind her is another person.

Startled, she spins about, almost losing her balance completely. She stumbles back against the wall to keep herself upright and looks behind her.

Far down the alley, near the exit through which she had emerged, a man appears. She squints to see him, her vision now becoming a blur… or is it the mist that's making it hard to see? Her heart beats faster at the silhouette of the man who begins to approach before calling, "Are you alright, Miss Duprey?"

She knows him. She knows his voice. It's Stanley Small, the stage manager. She breathes a sigh of relief and calls back. "Yes, I'm fine. A few too many bubbles after rehearsal, that's all."

He stops a short distance away and adds, "Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"No, no. The night air will do me good."

"Just don't stay out too long," Stanley says. "You don't want this chill to ruin your voice a week before opening night."

"I know how to look after myself. You fuss too much, Stanley. You'll never find yourself a girlfriend if you go around smothering women like that."

Stanley nods humbly and turns away, returning to the side door of the theater.

Miss Duprey pushes herself away from the wall and continues along the alley. Unfortunately, she only makes it another three steps before a figure appears directly in front of her, cloaked in a cape and hood. Miss Duprey gasps, her heart pounding faster than ever. She staggers backwards, but the figure reaches for her with both hands, seizes the ends of her boa and stops her retreat before yanking on the boa.

A moment before the boa tightens around her throat, Miss Duprey manages to scream, "Stanley! Help!" before her cries turn to a sickly choking sound. Her eyes widen in terror. She clutches at the boa, tearing away feathers as her feet stagger back and forth on the spot. But the cloaked figure tightens the stranglehold even more. Miss Duprey lets go of the boa and reaches instead for her attacker. Her fingers clutch the hood covering his head and pull it away from his face.

The last thing Miss Duprey ever sees is the gold mask covering her assailant's face. It is a theater mask, two faces joined in the middle. On the left side, the face is laughing, almost mocking her in her dying moments. The right side of the face is a look of doom and tragedy, a glittering tear frozen on that golden cheek.

That's when a door slams far down the alley behind Miss Duprey. The voice of Stanley Small rings through the night. "Hey you! Let her go!"

The masked face looks up to see the stage manager running towards him. As his victim collapses into his arms, the cloaked attacker lets go of the boa, sweeps the body of Miss Duprey into his arms and races into the mist.

When Stanley Small reaches the end of the alley, he looks around to find no sign of the attacker nor Miss Duprey. There is nothing but a handful of black feathers still drifting gently to the cobblestones.

"Wake up, toots! Time to solve a mystery."

Stella Darling unceremoniously yanked the two cushions out from under my head. In a bleary daze, I rolled to one side and fell off the sofa in my office apartment, realizing quickly I was completely naked. Somehow, I managed to the keep the tangled sheet from uncovering my vital parts. I clambered to my feet, holding on to the sheet with one hand and rubbing my sore, bloodshot eyes with the other. At the same time I cursed the fact that I had offered Stella a job as my personal assistant… and given her a key to my office…. and told her that if she wanted to earn her keep she'd better be willing to work into the early hours of the morning. I glanced at the window now and saw it was still dark outside.

"Jesus, Stella! Did you have to do that? I was having a terrific dream!"

It wasn't a lie. I was dreaming about Harry. Again. I'm sure it showed from under the sheet.

Stella simply shrugged. "Don't get your knickerbockers in a knot. You know what they say about dreams."

"What's that?"

"If ever you wake up, just close your eyes and an even better one will come along. But not right now! We got work to do!"

"Now? What time is it?"

The three-foot-nothing Stella had tossed the cushions onto the chair at my desk and was scaling her way to the top, plonking her confident little frame at the peak of her climb before tossing a newspaper on the desk.

"It's four a.m." she said, reaching for my pipe and matches which sat in the silver dragon ashtray on my desk. "Skip the news-kid is already out workin', why ain't you, toots? Check out the front page."

I ignored that instruction as she lit up. "Hey, don't smoke my pipe."

"Get me one of my own and I won't."

"I'm serious. That's the last of my pot. That's expensive stuff."

Stella inhaled and coughed. "You ain't kiddin'! That's good shit. Now read the damn newspaper before I start treatin' you like a four-year-old and read it to you."

I sat on the edge of my desk with the sheet wrapped around my waist while Stella made herself comfortable and put her feet up. I picked up the paper and took the pipe off her. On the front page was the headline "WOMAN SNATCHED BY MASKED MAN." I took a puff and let the pot swirl through my lungs for a moment before letting it escape in a plume of smoky sweetness. I shrugged. "So what's the big deal? Some dame disappeared outside a theater. People vanish all the time in this town."

"It wasn't just any dame, you jughead. It was Dominique Duprey, star of the new opera opening next week at the Maharaja Majestic."

I shrugged again.

Stella rolled her eyes and snapped, "Gimme back that pipe."

"No."

"Do you want me to help you solve this case or not?"

"Isn't this a matter for the cops?"

"No, it ain't!" She waved angrily for me to hand back the pipe. I gave it to her as she announced, "I've already spoken to Raja Khan, the owner of the theater. He's worried about all the bad press this is gonna bring him. He thinks having the cops involved will shut down the show. He's told them that Miss Duprey has a habit of blowing town when she gets a case of stage fright and she's probably flown the coop. At least that's what he's tellin' them. The fact of the matter is the stage manager Stanley Small says he saw the whole—"

"Wait, wait, wait! How do you know all this?"

"I told you, I've already spoken to Raja."

"What, you just knocked on his front door for a chat and some tea?"

"He used to be a client of mine, I use the servant's entrance. And no, it wasn't tea. He has a mighty fine selection of gin from Bombay. You'd like him."

Just the mention of it made me want one now. I let Stella keep the pipe and grabbed the bottle of gin and glass from last night off my desk. I poured a healthy dose.

"That for me too, toots?" Stella asked.

"Don't push it. Now tell me more about your old client. And get your feet off my desk, would ya?"

Stella chose to ignore that last request. "Whaddaya wanna know about him? Came over on a steamer from India with a dozen trunks full of money and built a damn opera house here in Wilde City. He's loaded and loves a show tune! I'm surprised he don't swing the same way you do, the man's just crazy about those Pirates of Penzance! But don't get your hopes up. Lemme tell ya, Raja Khan is a real ladykiller. If there's one thing he loves more than his music, it's a dame in his bed. In fact, word has it he's got six wives back home. Dirty devil!" Stella giggled mischievously… and somewhat approvingly.

I was intrigued, I had to admit. I decided it was time for trousers. I got off the desk and found yesterday's pants and suspenders on the floor by the sofa. "Close your eyes," I told Stella.

"Why?"

"Because I wanna put my pants on."

She shrugged. "Like I said… Why?"

"Just do it."

She covered her eyes with her hand. I turned away from the desk and dropped the sheet. "I said shut your eyes."

"They're shut," she insisted.

"No they're not. I can see your reflection in the window."

Caught ogling my ass, Stella quickly covered her eyes again. I pulled on my trousers and snapped the suspenders over my shoulders. When I turned around, Stella's elbows were propped on my desk, her chin in both hands. "You know one day you're gonna give in to my charms and drop those pants for me."

"You know one day you're gonna give in to the fact that I like men. And not just any men. Him." I was talking about Holden Hart—my Harry—of course, and Stella knew it.

She sighed as though she was bored. "Such a waste."

Suddenly there came a knock at the door. "Jesus, who's that? Do they know what time it is?"

"Oh that'll be Raja," Stella said. "I told him you don't sleep and to drop by any time."

"But I do sleep! I was sleeping quite happily till you arrived."

"And lucky I did, huh? Otherwise it woulda been Raja you were dropping your pants in front of." Stella had already jumped off the chair and was heading for the door.

As she reached for the handle I whispered, "Jesus, Stella. Can you give me one more second?"

She paused.

I drained the gin in my glass. "Okay, I'm ready now."

Stella opened the door and smiled. "Well hey, you cutie little thing! Come on in handsome!"

"Little" was not a word I would have used to describe Raja Khan. The man stood almost seven feet tall, eight if you added the jewel-encrusted turban on his head. At less than half his height, Stella gave him her hand and led him into the office, adding at the last second, "Duck that big old head, honey. Some doors ain't as tall as you."

I walked over to Raja Khan and shook his hand as Stella introduced us. "Raja, meet Buck Baxter, the best gumshoe in town. Buck, meet Raja Khan, the best… Oh, I guess that's privileged information."

Raja blushed. "That's why I have six wives."

"Want another one?" Stella asked a little too enthusiastically.

I intercepted the forced marriage proposal by changing the subject. "Mr. Khan, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice," he said, speaking in a crisp British accent, the influences of the colony showing. He had a beard and a thick moustache, which he twirled nervously as we spoke. "I'm sure Stella has mentioned why I'm here."

I picked up the newspaper. "Seems you have a disappearance on your hands."

Raja Khan nodded gravely. "We have a new opera opening in six days. The Snake Charmer's Slave. It's a classic, I'm sure you're familiar with it."

I shook my head. "I gotta admit I've charmed a few snakes in my time, but this one don't ring a bell. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. But the sad fact is many are expecting a show to open next week. Miss Dominique Duprey was our leading lady, the star of the show, the title character upon whom the entire opera rests. Yes, she could be somewhat of a diva at times, but she had the voice of an angel. Mr. Baxter, I have six days to replace my prima donna. The last thing I need is the police or the press snooping around my theater. If there is a phantom at my opera, I need someone with a little discretion to find the culprit."

I smiled, pulled my suspenders out in a gesture of self-assurance and let them snap back against my chest. Unfortunately, it gave my ass a start and a fart escaped me. I tried to cover it up with some confidence, even as Stella giggled behind her hand. "Mr. Khan, you've come to the right man."

"Thank you, Mr. Baxter. If you can solve this case, you will surely save my show… and my beloved theater, the Maharaja Majestic."

"Do you have any suspicions, any inkling at all as to who might be responsible for the disappearance of Miss Duprey?"

"Oh Mr. Baxter, I have an entire cast—quite literally—of suspects. Perhaps you might be able to make yourself available at our eleven a.m. rehearsal to meet them?"

Truth be known, I was plannin' on meeting Harry for breakfast, then a trip to see Madame Chang now that Stella had polished off my pot. But I needed the money… and the case. "Eleven a.m. it is," I said.

Raja Khan smiled and bowed. "Thank you, Mr. Baxter. I look forward to seeing you… both… then."

He winked at Stella.

I saw her wink back.

As Raja Khan left, I turned to Stella. "The game is afoot."

"The game is a-what?" Stella asked.

"Nothin'. Just something I picked up somewhere. The important thing is, we got a mystery to solve and that man is hiding more than he's letting on."

"How do you know?"

"Past experience. Never trust the person who gives you a case to solve."

"I agree," Stella said with a teacher-like shake of her finger. "And if he's as crooked as his wiener, we're in trouble. Of course, if this mystery is as long as his wiener, it could take a while to solve."

"We've only got six days."

"Then we better jump to it."

"And you better gimme back my pipe."

"And you better buy me one of my own."

"Is this relationship really gonna work?"

Stella smiled sweetly and hugged my leg. "Of course it will, toots. Do whatever I tell ya and everything will work out just fine."

I took a deep breath. Luckily, there was enough pot smoke still lingering in the air for me to believe her.