Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) (10 page)

We all gathered round the photograph. It featured Henry Renholm and a cute brunette sitting at a table in what looked like an old-fashioned-style nightclub. There were several bottles of champagne on the table. Renholm was dressed in a tuxedo, with his hair slicked back, and his friend was wearing a flapper outfit. On the stage behind them, someone was performing a puppet show.
 

Cordi peered closely at the photograph. “I do believe that is Lady Jana Kessingworth. They did a piece on her recently in
Horse and Hound
.”

“Was it about how she liked dressing up as a flapper, going to nightclubs, and getting blitzed on champagne?” I asked.

“No, not quite.” Cordi chuckled. “Not the kind of thing you’d want the press to find out about if you were about to marry a prince.”

“I’ll bet my bottom dollar her sister, the woman who works in PR, knew Henry was dead and came to reclaim anything that might link her sister to him.”

Cordi nodded. “That sounds eminently plausible. She didn’t look at all surprised when you told her Henry was dead.”

“You noticed that too, huh?”

Cordi nodded. “Oh, yes. Don’t forget, I was married to Alex Cobb. I know a liar when I see one.”

“After we’ve finished here, I think we need to check out the disc that came with the suicide note, see if we can find an address for Lady Jana Kessingworth and perhaps have a word.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Cordi said.

Chapter Eleven

We spent the rest of the afternoon going through Renholm’s place.
At one point Cordi thought she’d found some marijuana in the kitchen, but it turned out to be oregano.

There were dozens of recipe books and on the worktop was a printed sheet with the recipe for tapioca cake written on it. Other than that, we didn’t find anything else pertinent to the case. We did find out that puss was called Cleo. Her name was written on one of the pictures of her being cuddled by Renholm.

Michael and Cordi took a real shine to Cleo, so during a quick phone call to Chloe and James to bring them up to speed on how the case was going, I asked if we could take her home, just until they decided what to do with the business.

Happily they agreed. We had a new lodger!

It seemed like a great idea… until we got her back to our place. Max was his usual easy-going self and, after giving Cleo a quick sniff, wandered off to the living room for an afternoon nap by the fire. Monty, however, wasn’t quite so pleased to have another cat in
his
house.

“Oh my goodness!” Cordi cried as the cats took one look at each other and proceeded to go to war. After a bout of hissing and sideways leaping, they did the wall of death round the hallway and shot off upstairs. “Should we try to separate them?” she asked, as if I should know.

“Er… you can if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” Something smashed upstairs, followed by what sounded like a herd of elephants thundering across the landing. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we go to the pub and leave these guys to get acquainted?”
 

Something grey streaked down the stairs and into the living room, followed by something ginger. A minute later, Max ran out of the living room, howling, followed by a ginger streak being chased by something grey and angry. Cordi and I flattened ourselves against the wall in the hallway.

Cordi looked at me. “That sounds like a great idea.”
 

I grabbed the disc that Alex had sent and my new shiny laptop that Cordi had bought on expenses, and then we headed out.

Cordi drove Michael and me in her old Mercedes, which was a little like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. I’d escaped being taken out by warring cats only to be scared to death by Cordi’s suicidal driving in her old banger. On the way to the Coach and Horse, I gave Cole a call.
 

“Hey, babe, what’s up?” he said.

I was so pleased to hear his voice. “Hey yourself. Where are you?”

“Working, where else. Why, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wondered if you were around. We’ve got a few leads on the Renholm case, and you know, you still haven’t told me what you wanted to talk to me about.”

He laughed, but it sounded strained. “No, I guess I haven’t. My timing is terrible.”

“So…?”

“What?”

“When will I see you?”

“Soon, babe. I promise.”

“Soon, but not tonight, huh?”

“I wish I could, hun, I really do, but the case is—”

“Okay. I get it. I’ll see you… I don’t know, whenever I see you, I suppose.” I hung up.

I know it was a little bratty, but I was hurt and angry. Just what game was he playing? If he wanted to break up with me, couldn’t he just spit it out? I was starting to think that going out with a friend, a friend who was an undercover cop, was a bad idea.

Before I realized it, I found I was dialling Alex. I let it ring once then hung up. What the heck was I thinking, ringing Mr. unreliable ex-husband of my best friend and partner? Men: they mess you up.

Going to the Coach and Horse was a welcome distraction from my man troubles. The pub was cosy and warm and not too busy at this time of evening. The lovely smell of food wafting out of the kitchen made my tummy rumble.

We settled ourselves in a booth by the window. People passing the pub on their way home were transformed into mysterious shadows by the deeply bevelled, multicoloured glass. I could have sat there all evening, just watching the world go by while Cordi and Michael discussed their favourite bands and looked deeply into each other’s eyes, but we had work to do.
 

I slipped the disc into the separate drive I’d attached to my laptop. After a couple of seconds it booted up. I was anxious to find out what the heck was on it. It turned out to be files from Renholm’s computer. Alex must have copied them for me before forensics whisked the machine away as evidence.

I sifted through the really boring stuff until I found his photograph album. After a while I discovered what I was looking for. “Gotcha!”

“What?” Cordi said. “Sorry, Harley, I wasn’t paying attention. Have you found something?” She had one of those dreamy, ‘just woke up’ looks on her face, probably due to staring into Michael’s eyes for the past half-hour.

“I think I might have. Scoot over.” Both Cordi and Michael closed in until the three of us could see the screen. “Okay, here’s a copy of the photograph of Jana. Now, look at the date.”

Cordi took note of the date. “And what’s the significance of that, Harley dear?”

“All will become clear. Look at this pic.” I showed her another photograph I’d found of Henry with a gorgeous woman with flame-red hair who was wearing an old-fashioned, scarlet sequined dress. She was lying seductively across Henry’s lap. “This was taken the day before the picture of Henry and Jana.”

“Do you think this was when Henry broke up with Jana? That he was on the rebound?”

“You might think that, until you see this.” I clicked through to another picture. This one was of the gorgeous redhead again. The date was the day after the one with Jana, only this time she and Henry were kissing. Judging by the plush, purple wallpaper and purple leather banquette where they were sitting, they were all taken in the same nightclub.
 

“The dirty devil!” Cordi said, quite clearly shocked.

“He’s quite the player, isn’t he?” Michael put his arm around Cordi’s shoulders. “Some people have no moral fibre.”

“I think you mean
was
quite a player, But yeah, our dear Henry was playing around with at least two women at the same time.” I sat back, clasping my hands behind my head. I refrained from putting my feet on the table or sparking up a cigar, but I did feel rather pleased with myself. Henry’s photograph album was most enlightening. Which meant that I owed Alex Cobb and would have to say thanks, and that would be awkward. I much preferred him when he was being a douche. This ‘nice guy’ Alex made me uncomfortable.

“I wonder if Jana found out about Henry’s infidelity?” Cordi asked.

“Good question. We certainly need to ask her. See her in person; check out if she’s the kind of woman who might kill someone for cheating on her.”

Cordi shook her head. “Oh, I’m sure she isn’t. The Kessingworths are related to the Queen.”

“May I remind you that historically the kings and queens of England have done more than their fair share of murderising?”

“Oh, Harley, really.”

Just then, Greg the waiter came over. He’d tamed his dark curls by the liberal application of some kind of pomade. It suited him in a slicked-back, slightly greasy kind of way.

“Good evening, Miss Hill,” he said, and flashed me a dazzling smile.
 

Cordi coughed, reminding the waiter that there were other people at the table. “And, ladies and gentleman. What can I get for you today?”

“How do you know my name?” I asked.
 

“You were on TV and in the local paper. You’re famous, although, I have to say, in your case the camera lies.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“It doesn’t do you anywhere near justice.” He purred. “You’re much prettier in real life.”

“I’m also immune to flattery, but nice try. I’ll have the fish and chips, please.”

He blushed, looked crestfallen, then got out his notepad. “Right, then. Fish and chips it is,” he said sniffily. “We also do jellied eels if you’re into… rustic food; they might be your kind of thing.”

What a snob, and all because I didn’t swoon over his rubbish chat-up line. “No thanks, I don’t like slimy things,” I said pointedly. Cordi and Michael tried not to snigger as they ordered their food.

The fish and chips were lovely and I followed them up with sticky toffee pudding and custard, which was equally delish. Mr. Stuck up ‘call me Greg’ spent the rest of the time we were in the pub very obviously flirting with every woman under the age of ninety. I don’t know if he was trying to make me jealous, but if he was, he was wasting his time, because my mind was on other things… like murder.

Chapter Twelve

That night, or should I say morning because at about 2:30 a.m., I was woken by horrible yowls and the thunder of furry little feet tearing around the house like it was a roller-derby rink. I dragged myself out of bed and found the miscreants brawling in the living room.

“Okay, Monty. If you can’t be a nice host to your guest, you can—” he looked at me with his mean little eyes “—stay in my room with me.” Much to his annoyance I grabbed him, tucked him securely under my arm, and took him to bed, leaving Cleo in the living room to hopefully go to sleep.

For the rest of the night I slept on a sliver of bed while Monty, or should I say ‘Captain Farty’, sprawled lengthways across my pillow, but hey, at least they weren’t fighting.

The next morning I got up early because a cat was pawing my face. After I’d let him out for his morning prowl around the neighbourhood, I made two cups of tea and took them upstairs.

I knocked on Michael’s door first. There was no answer. I opened it quietly and peeked inside. As I suspected, the bed was empty. I was about to deliver both cups to Cordi’s room when she appeared in the hallway, looking somewhat
rumpled
.
 

“Oh, tea,” she said sleepily. “Just what I needed.”

“I’ll bet.” I gave her the cups. “The other one is for Michael.”

“Oh, best let him sleep, the poor dear, he’s very tired.” She grinned in a most unladylike manner.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock, which was super early for me, but Cordi and I had breakfast and giggles, and decided that because it was such a lovely morning, we’d take Max for a long walk in Hyde Park before I went to see Jana.

Cordi insisted on driving us there, which was even more fraught than usual. Normally it was just Cordi’s kamikaze driving and the fear that the car might break down at any moment that I had to worry about. Today I had that and a huge dog trying to climb over the backseat and onto my shoulders that I had to worry about.

I’d forgotten how excited he got in cars since we brought him down from Scotland. I quickly remembered, as I had to fend him off and not get too much doggy drool in my hair.

When we pulled over, I opened the door and got trampled by a very excited hound as he leapt from the car, woofing happily. It was a clear crisp morning, the sky was silvery blue, and the grass sparkled with frost-kissed dew.

We found a coffee and doughnut vendor by the park gate and stocked up for our ramble. While we scoffed the custard-filled goodies, we had a good snigger at the early-morning joggers who all looked like they could do with a doughnut or two.
 

Hyde Park is a royal park and one of the largest in London. It has been open to the public for hundreds of years. If you really want a laugh, you can head over to Speaker’s Corner, where open-air public speaking is allowed.

All kinds of people air their thoughts on the corner, from the sensible to the downright insane. The one thing you can be sure of is that it’s never boring. Today, however, we were here to give Max a good run, let him stretch those long legs of his.

There are certain places where you can’t let dogs off the lead, but in the wilder areas off the beaten track, it’s okay, so long as you make sure to scoop the poop.
 

“So, Ms. Silvers, I take it you and my brother are now an item?”

“An item?” she said as though I were speaking another language.

“Yes, you know, an item: going steady, walking out, loved-up.”

She blushed. “Well, I wouldn’t put it
quite
like that. But, yes, we’re… very good friends.”

I chuckled. “With benefits, huh?”

“Really, Harley, don’t be vulgar.” She tried to sound serious, but she couldn’t help smiling. “He’s lovely,” she cooed and absentmindedly twirled her big bouncy curls. “He’s so kind and gentle. Everything that Alex never was.”

“Oh, was Alex really that bad?” I asked casually. “I mean, you married him; he couldn’t have been that bad, surely?”

She stopped walking. Max bounded out of the undergrowth and came over for a reassuring stroke before bounding off again. “Yes, actually, he was. He was vain, selfish, a terrible flirt. I thought I liked ‘bad boys’. I thought I could change him. I was wrong.” She looked really sad and gave Max an extra fussing. I felt like a heel. I didn’t want to make my partner feel sad; I wanted to make myself feel better for liking Alex. I gave her a hug.