Good heavens! Not another one.
Last week it was that hideous aspirin man, Hugo Schweitzer, and now his mistress, the soprano Anna Case.
Who knew Carnegie Hall opera house would be so dangerous?
I’d found Mr. Schweitzer slumped in his seat in the opera box of none other than Thomas Edison, famous American inventor—and prime suspect. Unless, of course, you count the smoking gun Fredrick Fredricks was holding over the body.
On orders from the War Office, I’d been trailing Fredricks for months, from London, to Paris, and then Vienna, and now New York. The bounder always managed to get away, taking a piece of my pride with him.
I’d caught the German spy red-handed, so why was I convinced of his innocence? Deuced inconvenient. Why not just let the Americans locked him up and be done with him? No, instead I was determined to find the real killer. All because of some niggling little thing called justice.
At least I could rule out the mistress.
Poor Anna Case. She was smashed by a curtain boom when performing one of Thomas Edison’s sound tests.
She’d taken center stage wearing her flowing red gown and white pearl necklace, as if she intentionally dressed to match the décor of the theater.
Then Mr. Edison had wheeled his famous phonographic machine onto the stage. He’d given his mesmerizing spiel and commanded the theater lights be dimmed.
Miss Case’s pure unwavering voice pierced the darkness. Seamlessly—at least I couldn’t hear it—the performance moved back and forth between live voice and the recording.
Thud. A loud noise had rocked the theater.
The thud had been followed by an uncanny high-pitched scream like the air escaping from a balloon. Even the thud and scream hadn’t interrupted the singing.
The lights went up.
The singing continued. It was most definitely not live.
The audience gasped.
Anna Case lay sprawled out on the stage.
Had it been an accident? Or… another vile murder.
I jumped up and sprang into action. If Anna Case was murdered, then the killer was probably still in this theater.
Patrons were fleeing the building, and I nearly was trampled trying to move against the herd to get backstage.
Grasping the handle of Mata Hari’s gun through the fabric of my bag, I dashed into the orchestra pit—Mata Hari’s gun. . .that’s another story. No time for that now.
I pushed my shoulder against the secret door panel. Right. The foot button. I stomped on it. Presto. The panel popped open.
I was confronted by the whirring of the generator and that metallic smell… along with an undercurrent of something else. Something acrid. Something familiar. Familiar and foul. The smell of cigar. Stale cigar smoke would cling to men’s clothes for all eternity.
I hurried through the machine room, my hand never leaving the gun. I knew Hugo Schweitzer’s killer had escaped through the tunnel. If we had the same killer, then he might be traversing the tunnel at this very moment.
Even with my torch, I stumbled along the uneven surface of the tunnel. My heart was racing faster than my feet.
The sound of footfalls stopped me in my tracks. Someone else was in the tunnel. I held my breath and listened. The sounds were getting louder. Was the killer doubling back? Had he heard me too?
I swallowed hard and withdrew the gun from my bag.
Gun first, I rounded a corner. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”
A bright light shone in my face. The killer was blinding me with a torch beam.
“Aunt Fiona?”
Oh, my word. “Eliza?” I shielded my eyes with my hand. Captain Hall had assigned me to babysit his niece, Eliza, until she got settled at school in New York. The little nuisance disappeared earlier, and I’d been worried sick.
Just call me Fiona Figg, glorified babysitter. Even after three successful missions—okay, not entirely successful missions—Captain Hall didn’t consider me a proper spy.
And why did the girl insist on calling me aunt? I was only six years her senior, not some old maid.
Eliza lowered the torch and trotted to my side. “Great minds think alike.”
Forgetting all about my earlier vexation, I replaced the gun and wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said into my shoulder.
“I’m worried about my job.” I held her at arm’s length and examined her. “Your uncle would have my head—and my job—if I let any harm come to you. And—”
A shuffling sound stopped me mid-sentence.
“Did you hear that?” I perked up my ears. Was someone else in the tunnel?
I stepped back against the wall. Eliza did the same.
The stone wall was cold against my back. I was shivering—whether from the cold or the approaching danger, I didn’t know.
Slowly, I pulled Mata Hari’s gun out of my bag and then waited.
I hoped it wasn’t a rat.
My aim wasn’t good enough for such a small target.
Chaos at Carnegie Hall, A Fiona Figg & Kitty Lane Mystery #1
Genre: Historical
Release: November 2022
Purchase Link
Can Fiona catch a killer and find a decent cup of tea before her mustache wax melts?
1917. New York.
Notorious spy, Fredrick Fredricks, has invited Fiona to Carnegie Hall to hear a famous soprano. It’s an opportunity the War Office can’t turn down. Fiona and Clifford are soon on their way, but not before Fiona is saddled with chaperon duties for Captain Hall’s niece. Is Fiona a spy or a glorified babysitter?
From the minute Fiona meets the soprano aboard the RMS Adriatic it’s treble on the high C’s. Fiona sees something—or someone—thrown overboard, and then she overhears a chemist plotting in German with one of her own countrymen!
And the trouble doesn’t stop when they disembark. Soon Fiona is doing time with a group of suffragettes and investigating America’s most impressive inventor Thomas Edison.
When her number one suspect turns up dead at the opera and Fredrick Fredricks is caught red-handed, it looks like it’s finally curtains for the notorious spy.
But all the evidence points to his innocence. Will Fiona change her tune and clear her nemesis’ name? Or will she do her duty? And just what is she going to do with the pesky Kitty Lane? Not to mention swoon-worthy Archie Somersby . . .
If Fiona’s going to come out on top, she’s going to have to make the most difficult decision of her life: the choice between her head and her heart.
Meet the author
Kelly Oliver is the award-winning and bestselling author of three mystery series: the seven-book suspense series, The Jessica James Mysteries; the three-book middle grade series, Pet Detective Mysteries; and the four-book historical cozy series, The Fiona Figg Mysteries.
Chaos at Carnegie Hall is the latest Fiona Figg mystery, and the first to feature side-kick, Kitty Lane.
When she’s not writing novels, Kelly is a Distinguished Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University. To learn more about Kelly and her books, go to kellyoliverbooks.com.
All comments are welcomed.