An Unquiet Peace

Book 2: Bishop & Gallagher Mystery

by Shaina Steinberg

Genres: Historical Mysteries; Private Investigators

Synopsis

Mr. and Mrs. Smith meets Code Name Verity in this propulsive, quick-witted mystery set in late-1940s Los Angeles, as former WWII spy Evelyn Bishop and LA noir detective Nick Gallagher team up as an unconventional duo . . .

As an undercover operative for the Office of Strategic Services during World War II, Evelyn Bishop routinely embarked on deadly missions. By contrast, civilian life should be simple. Yet Evelyn, now back in Los Angeles, struggles with the responsibility of being the new president of Bishop Aeronautics, when people see her as nothing more than a beautiful socialite.
 
With Nick Gallagher, at least, Evelyn can be entirely herself. Once a fellow spy, now her fiancé, Nick works as a private investigator. But the mission that first brought them together is not entirely over. Evelyn receives a call from her former commanding officer, who is overseeing the Berlin Airlift. He is concerned that the Soviets are trying to recruit Kurt Vogel, a scientist Evelyn and Nick smuggled out of Nazi Germany. After six long years, there’s word his wife and daughter may have survived the war. Is this a chance for a long-promised reunion, or a Russian ploy to lure Vogel to their side?
 
Past and present collide again when a routine case offers Nick a reunion with a childhood friend who runs a high-class “gentleman’s club.” The clientele includes everyone from Hollywood royalty to mobsters—to a hidden enemy who will draw both Evelyn and Nick into a web as twisted and treacherous as any they have ever faced . . .

Release date: April 29, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Los Angeles, 1948

A simple truth of detective work is that stakeouts are profoundly boring. Nick Gallagher had trailed a man to an imposing mansion in Brentwood. Three hours later, Nick was still outside in his car with the windows rolled down. The ocean was four miles away and he caught a faint hint of salt in the air. Sometimes he wondered if he judged all locations by their distance to the water. There were worse measurements. Nick glanced impatiently at the door again. After spending years as a spy in the OSS, fighting with the French Resistance, and bringing down the Nazis, Nick felt wildly overqualified for the task of catching cheating husbands. He had no doubt his client’s instincts about her husband’s fidelity were correct. Several well-dressed men entered and left while Nick watched the door, which made him believe his quarry was visiting high-end prostitutes. Twisting his watch, Nick glanced down at the time and swore. He was late. Evelyn was going to kill him.

The Biltmore Hotel occupied a prime location in downtown Los Angeles across from Pershing Square. With fifteen hundred rooms, the interior was designed by the same man who worked on the White House and the Vatican. It was meant to impress and succeeded admirably. The last time Nick was here, he was thirteen. His best friend, Hildegard, thought this was the perfect place for Nick to learn how to pick pockets. Hildy was wearing a pale blue dress she liberated from a woman whose house she cleaned. Meanwhile, Nick’s shirt and pants were stolen from an obliging clothesline. They were still damp, but they were also nicer than anything Nick had ever worn. He and Hildy looked like guests, so long as no one saw their shoes. Nick’s were bursting at the seams, which was the impetus for this particular field trip.

The key to stealing in an upscale location, Hildy told him, was acting like they belonged. That meant no looking at security guards. No glancing toward the staff for approval. No fear of inconveniencing anyone. They simply had to move with the confidence of a person who had never been unwelcome. It was a concept Nick struggled to understand at the time but would prove invaluable during the war. Nick played a rebellious youngster and Hildy the frustrated older sister. They ran around the lobby, ricocheting off wealthy guests, each gathering more wallets, watches, and bracelets. The coup de grâce was when Hildy finally chased Nick outside. They each picked up a suitcase from the bellboy’s cart and carried it down the street.

After pawning their ill-gotten gains, they ate well that night, treating themselves to steak before buying Nick a good pair of boots from a secondhand shop. Hildy, ever practical, insisted he purchase them two sizes too large so he would have room to grow. She even bought him a new pair of socks. That memory of a full stomach and comfortable feet stayed with him for years as one of the happiest days of his childhood.

Now, standing in the ballroom of the Biltmore as three hundred people swirled around him, drinking champagne, Nick still felt like the boy pretending to belong. The difference was, he currently wore a tuxedo whose cost would have fed his family for months. This was not a place he ever imagined being welcome. Then again, he never imagined finding a woman like Evelyn Bishop. They met during the war, when she walked into his office at the OSS and announced herself to be the newest member of his team. At the time, he believed love was just something written on a greeting card. Now he knew better.

Across the room, Evelyn wore a sleek silver dress that drew the light. Her dark hair reflected the illumination of the chandeliers and her green eyes did not miss a thing. More than her clothes or even her beauty, it was her confidence that made her stand out. Nick always described her as inevitable, as if the world had spent the past thousand years waiting for her arrival. Nick watched her, a smile on his face. It was impossible not to feel joy in her presence, even when she was incandescently angry at him . . . a state that happened more often than he’d like to admit. If he was being fully honest, eighty-seven percent of the time it was his own fault. Like now.

Spotting Nick, Evelyn raised her wrist and tapped the place where a sapphire bracelet replaced her usual watch. Nick would go to the ends of the earth for Evelyn. He would fight Nazis and Communists and even spiders for her, but he was not wading into the morass that was Los Angeles high society. With a wave and a smile, Nick turned away and headed toward the bar, steadfastly avoiding Evelyn’s glare.

“Scotch, please,” he asked the bartender, who set a heavy-bottomed crystal glass in front of him.

“You should know better than to leave a man behind,” said a deep voice from over his shoulder.

Nick turned to see Carl Santos, the third member of their team from the OSS and Nick’s closest friend. Carl was a tall man with broad shoulders, dark hair, and an intimidating presence that served him well in the FBI. He rarely smiled, but when he did, it lit up his face. His innate kindness and intelligence shone through his eyes.

“Evelyn’s tough. She’ll be okay,” Nick replied. “Besides, you’re pretty much the only other person I know here.”

“Isn’t this your engagement party?” Carl asked.

“Yes, but no.”

Nick pointed out a slender woman in her late fifties, dressed in diamonds and Dior. Some people looked slightly ridiculous in designer dresses, as if the opulence of the fabric was meant to be a substitute for their personality. In this case, however, the dress seemed appropriate, almost like a soldier in a uniform.

“Evelyn’s aunt,” Nick said. “Taffy came from Boston specifically to plan the wedding.”

“Taffy?” Carl asked.

“Well, it’s actually Mrs. William Winslow Foster III, nee Tabitha Gardiner, descendent of the Mayflower and a daughter of the American Revolution. She’s staying with us.”

“How’s that going?”

“When she arrived last week, she handed me her luggage, thinking I was the butler.”

“Evelyn has a butler?”

“No, which was her second issue.”

Carl laughed and looked over Nick’s shoulder to see Evelyn’s eyes boring holes into Nick’s back.

“You really can’t feel Evie glaring at you?” Carl asked.

“Oh, I can feel it,” Nick replied. “I’m just choosing to ignore it.”

“You are a brave and stupid man.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Evelyn said under her breath, before turning back to a short man with gray hair who had yet to notice her boredom as he monologued at her.

“And that’s why you should feel so proud!” he said, catching her off guard. “It’s such an accomplishment!”

“Finding someone to marry me or running one of the largest companies in the country?” she asked.

He chuckled but did not answer. There was an awkward silence Evelyn could not be bothered to fill. Her Aunt Taffy swooped in, knowing instinctively where she was needed most. She had what Evelyn thought of as her society smile plastered firmly in place. It was warm but did not invite confidences.

“Arnold,” Taffy crooned sympathetically to the man. “I’m so sorry about your neck. How did you injure it?”

“My neck?” he asked with a frown.

“I assumed that’s why you’re staring straight at my niece’s chest, instead of her face.”

Arnold coughed uncomfortably and made his escape.

“You amaze me.” Evelyn laughed at her aunt. “If I’d said that, you’d have rapped my knuckles for being impertinent.”

“Well, you’re no longer seventeen, dear. Never hesitate to demand the respect you deserve,” Taffy said, wrapping her arm around Evelyn’s waist. “Are you having fun?”

“You know, when you suggested a dinner to celebrate my engagement, I was thinking ten people at home. This is . . .”

“What’s appropriate for the new president of Bishop Aeronautics,” Taffy insisted.

“I can’t believe you pulled this together in just a few weeks,” Evelyn said in awe.

“I used to do it all the time for William’s business,” Taffy replied, referencing her late husband. “Think what fun we’ll have planning the actual wedding.”

Evelyn bit her lip as Taffy drifted off to find the photographer. She had never been a girl who dreamed of that one magical day. In fact, marriage was not a state to which she aspired, having always had enough money to render it unnecessary. Instead, the thought of being legally attached to someone frightened her in ways she could not acknowledge. Only her love and faith in Nick made her consider this particular institution. In the distance, Carl made his way through the crowd with a glass of Scotch.

“You’re my hero,” Evelyn said, taking a long pull of the drink.

“How are you surviving?” Carl asked.

“There are folks asking who really runs Bishop Aeronautics, because, of course, a woman can’t do it. There was the lady who insisted I did have time to join the board of her charity. Then there are those who ask me for favors because they think we’re friends.”

“And you’re not?”

“I have seven friends.”

“Am I one of them?” Carl asked.

“Obviously,” Evelyn replied.

“Is Nick?”

“Not currently,” Evelyn said, glaring at Nick, who turned around with a jaunty wave. Then she softened, slightly. “This really isn’t his kind of thing.”

“Not yours either, so far as I can tell.”

“Yeah, well, I was raised with it. I’ve perfected the art of saying absolutely nothing and being found a brilliant conversationalist. It’s a useful skill.”

“Don’t forget the fake smile.”

“It is not fake. I am profoundly interested in your take on cattle futures or your favorite place to summer.”

“I didn’t know ‘summer’ was a verb.”

“Oh yes. As is ‘winter.’ ”

“How did I go my entire life without this knowledge?”

“Peasant,” Evelyn teased.

She slid her arm through Carl’s and led him across the room to Nick, who stood alone at the bar.

“I know, I know. I was late,” Nick started. “Which is awful. And I’m sorry, but in my defense . . . I have no defense. I just didn’t want to come.”

“You only think you’re roguishly charming,” Evelyn replied tartly.

A flashbulb went off nearby, and Evelyn turned to see a photographer for the Los Angeles Times being shepherded over by Taffy.

“I missed the happy couple earlier,” he said. “Can I get a photo for the paper?”

“Is it really necessary?” Evelyn asked.

“It is,” Taffy insisted. “Your engagement isn’t official until it’s been announced.”

The photographer gathered Evelyn and Nick together.

“Might as well look like we like each other,” Nick said, putting his arm around Evelyn.

She turned toward him. The wry smile she had worn all night faded and a real grin took its place. There was a flash and their image was forever burned onto silver nitrate.

In the kitchen the next morning, with a fresh cup of coffee, Evelyn unfolded the Los Angeles Times to see news of her engagement on the front page, just below an update on the Berlin airlift. It was four months since the Soviets blockaded the land routes into Berlin and the US was struggling to fly enough food into the city on a daily basis. There was a certain irony in using US bombers to keep their former enemies alive.

Nick entered through the French doors that led to the pool house and gave Evelyn a kiss. Ever since Taffy’s arrival, Nick pretended to live there to keep up appearances. Evelyn knew it was silly. She was a grown woman. However, Taffy was like a second mother and she had a very strong sense of propriety. Evelyn did not want to disappoint her. Nick poured himself a cup of coffee. Evelyn held up the picture on the front page.

“So much for anonymity,” she said.

“You gave that up the moment you took over Bishop Aeronautics,” Nick replied. “If I remember correctly, there was quite a large picture in the paper then, too.”

“Yeah, but now you’re here with me,” Evelyn said, knowing that Nick often needed to blend into a crowd to follow his subjects.

“I’m a man in a suit. People will forget my face before their paper hits the trash bin.”

“Well, I think you’re pretty unforgettable,” Evelyn said. “Assuming you show up . . .”

“Sorry about that,” Nick replied. “I lost track of time during the stakeout. Though why I’m still on this case is anyone’s guess.”

“Don’t think you’ll get results?”

“Pretty sure the husband is patronizing high-end prostitutes. It’s unlikely they’ll be canoodling in public anytime soon and the wife wants photographic proof,” Nick said. “Though, from what I’ve heard, this place also bills itself as a gentleman’s club. He could be in there sipping tea and playing backgammon. I keep trying to end the case, but my client insists on a few more days. Then a few more.”

“Is she looking to have her fears confirmed or denied? Figure out what result she wants, then try to give it to her.”

“Is she angry or scared?” Taffy asked as she entered the room and kissed Evelyn on the head. It was such a maternal gesture that it made Nick smile. He had always known Evelyn as a complete adult. He sometimes forgot she was once a child.

“I don’t know,” Nick replied.

“Ask about her divorce settlement,” Taffy said bluntly. “Her feelings might depend on how much she’ll get if the marriage ends.”

“What kind of woman stays with a man just for the money?” Evelyn asked.

“It’s easy to judge when you’ve never been poor,” Taffy chided.

Considering Taffy was born into wealth that had only increased with her marriage, Nick was impressed with her matter-of-fact assessment of the situation. Changing the topic, Evelyn showed Taffy the LA Times.

“Made the front page.”

“Well, the marriage of the heir to Bishop Aeronautics is big news.”

“Not heir. President,” Evelyn corrected.

“President,” Taffy amended.

“Speaking of which, I’m late for my first meeting,” Evelyn said, gathering up her things. She gave Nick a quick kiss and headed out the door.

There was an awkward moment when neither Nick nor Taffy knew what to say. The only thing they had in common was a love of Evelyn. Taffy poured herself a cup of coffee, which she sipped silently. Usually, Nick appreciated someone who did not feel a need to fill the void, but right now he felt uncomfortable. Though he would never admit it, he was a bit intimidated by Taffy.

“That was a great party, last night,” Nick said. “Thank you for putting it together.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Taffy said. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, um. It’s, uh. I’m just . . .” Nick stammered.

Taffy raised her eyebrow, not offering to end his flailing. The corner of her mouth twitched in a way that was so reminiscent of Evelyn that he stopped speaking and shrugged.

“I’ve never been to something that formal before,” Nick finally confessed.

“The tux was a bit much?” Taffy asked.

“No, it was . . .” Nick started. “Rented. The tux was rented.”

Taffy laughed.

“Two points for honesty. We’ll have to get you one of your own. Or are you going to wear white tie and tails to the wedding?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“You and Evelyn have been engaged for six months. Surely you’ve done some planning.”

“Evelyn’s been so busy with work,” Nick said, feeling the need to defend their lack of action. “With everything going on in Berlin, there’s a huge demand for more planes. Plus, she’s working on getting the permits for the factory expansion. She has a lot on her plate.”

“A woman’s wedding is the most important day in her life,” Taffy insisted.

“Well, sure,” Nick said. He was not convinced Evelyn would agree with that statement, but he dare not argue with Taffy.

“We’ll start by touring venues,” Taffy said.

“What if we did something small at home with close friends?” Nick asked.

Taffy considered that for a moment. She looked around the kitchen, then went to the French doors and threw them open. She walked onto the patio and surveyed the backyard.

“In California, you don’t have to worry as much about weather. We should be all right with tents on the lawn. We’ll have to improve the landscaping, but if we do a spring wedding, there’s plenty of time. The only issue is that we’ll have to cap the guest list at two hundred people.”

“Sorry, did you say two hundred?” Nick asked.

“Yes. Then again, having this be exclusive adds to the allure.”

“We were thinking around twenty.”

“Then you weren’t thinking about Bishop Aeronautics. Evelyn’s business contacts may not be close personal friends, but they’re not people she should snub. Why do you think there were so many people last night?”

“I . . . I never considered it.”

“I spent years managing our social calendar to help my husband’s status and grow his company. It was a good partnership,” Taffy said. “No one expects you to take on that role, but you do need to accept that this is part of marrying into the Bishop family. Now, show me around the house, so I can see what we’re working with.”

Nick trailed behind as Taffy marched between the rooms. She stopped at the library, which Evelyn’s father Logan had used as his home office. There were bookshelves lining the wall, filled with everything from Herodotus to the latest Agatha Christie.

“You should consider this for your study,” Taffy said.

“Oh no,” Nick protested. “It’s Logan’s.”

“Logan is gone,” Taffy said crisply. Her tone left no doubt as to her feelings about her former brother-in-law.

Nine months before, while investigating a murder, Evelyn discovered her father had committed treason in an effort to keep his son Matthew safe in a German POW camp. Matthew’s capture was Evelyn’s reason for joining the OSS. Unfortunately, he died in her arms during a rescue attempt. Having seen the war firsthand, Evelyn was conflicted about her father’s actions. She loathed what he had done, but she also understood it. Logan loved his children fiercely and they returned the sentiment. During the war, his name had never been far from Evelyn’s lips. Now Nick couldn’t remember the last time she spoke it.

“Mostly, Evie uses it,” Nick said.

“Then we’ll have to find somewhere else for you,” Taffy insisted. “Everyone needs their own space, and in a house this size there’s no reason not to take over a room or two.”

“Oh, I . . . I couldn’t.”

Taffy turned to face Nick.

“Do you really want to feel like a guest for the rest of your life? You need to figure out how to make this place your own.”

Nick had never had a home. Not really. He just had places where he slept and kept his things. Until this moment, he had not realized he considered the Bishop mansion the same way. Yes, it was nicer than anywhere he had been before, but it was not his.

Taffy marched up the central staircase and threw open the door to Evelyn’s parents’ room. Nick had never been in here. The air was musty from having been trapped so long. Yet everything looked as though its inhabitants only left that morning. A man’s hairbrush sat on the dresser, slightly askew, as if its owner would pick it up momentarily. A woman’s makeup and perfume rested on a vanity table. In the bathroom a used toothbrush sat in the rack and a tube of toothpaste was dented in the middle. Taffy opened the door to the walk-in closet. The hangers were filled with women’s dresses, twenty years out of style. Below them stood shoes, the leather cracked with age. Taffy turned to Nick.

“Why hasn’t Evelyn moved into the master bedroom?”

“I doubt she ever thought about it.”

Taffy turned on her heel and marched out of the room, down the hallway, to another room. On the wall was a poster for the movie Wings, with Clara Bow and Buddy Rogers. A well-worn baseball glove sat near a desk that still held term papers with the grades slowly fading from the top. A stretched-out sweater hung over the chair with a dog-eared copy of The Sun Also Rises on the nightstand. The bedsheets were yellow with age and the quilt had a fine layer of dust. It was a teenage boy’s room, perfectly preserved for a man who would never return home.

“Oh, Evelyn,” she said to herself.

Taffy met Nick’s eyes and then she quietly closed the door.

As Evelyn walked up to the front door of Bishop Aeronautics, she saw Ruth, her secretary, waiting. Ruth had worked with Logan almost twenty years and now she was helping Evelyn adjust to her new responsibilities. To describe her as a battle-ax would be both accurate and considered a compliment. Though she was short, with trim gray hair, she was formidable. A single glance could reduce a person to silence. She kept track of everything happening at the factory and managed all the details, allowing Evelyn to focus on the bigger picture.

“Morning, Ruth,” Evelyn said with a smile. It was still hard not to refer to her as Mrs. Sacks, as she had throughout her entire childhood.

Without preamble, Ruth launched into a recap of the previous day’s production totals. They opened the door to the main factory floor. The hangar was large enough for six airplanes to be built at once. Between this space and the others on the Bishop campus, they were turning out new planes at a rate of five per month. Evelyn hoped to double that with an expansion of the current facilities. Aside from the fact that air travel was becoming more regular and affordable, the airlift in Berlin was at a critical stage. The US Army needed new planes faster than Evelyn could manufacture them.

“Any word from Lewis about a timeline for county approvals?” Evelyn asked.

Lewis Bryson was the vice president in charge of operations. He had been with Logan since 1928 and Evelyn had known him most of her life. To go from remembering her in pigtails to seeing her as his boss was a hard adjustment. Part of her wondered if he had expected to get the top job. If so, then he had never understood the value Logan placed on family.

“Lewis is Lewis,” Ruth said with exasperation.

“How much was his expense account this month?” Evelyn asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Ruth replied. “He says all wining and dining of the officials is necessary.”

“I suppose he’s right,” Evelyn agreed, visualizing Taffy’s scolding visage urging her to go out more.

“Maybe, but he’s also getting fat,” Ruth replied.

Evelyn smothered a laugh as she met Ruth’s eyes.

“Even if we got the approvals . . .