Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) (11 page)

“Well, sod him. He’s out of your life and Michael is in. You deserve a nice guy.”

“Oh, Harley, thank you, dear.” She hugged me back. “I know you haven’t known Michael for long, but your approval of our relationship is important to me.”

Because Max was having such a good time exploring, we headed deeper into the wilder, more natural areas of the park.

“Anyway, never mind me, what about you and Cole?” Cordi nudged me in the ribs.

I shrugged. I wanted to blurt out all of my worries. I wanted to tell her how confused I was, that I didn’t know if Cole wanted to break up with me and that I had feelings for Alex even though I knew he was bad news. I wanted to cry on her shoulder and tell her everything. But I couldn’t harsh her buzz and I definitely couldn’t tell her about Alex.

“Well? When are you seeing him again?”

“As soon as this forgery case he’s working on is finished… I think.” I guess I must have looked like I felt because she put her arm around my shoulder.

“Are you all right, Harley?”

“Well…” I was on the verge of breaking and telling her about my worries over Cole when we rounded a clump of shrubs and saw something really strange.

Standing beside a shaded pond was a guy with a beard and wearing a long, scarlet hooded robe and wielding a staff.
 

For a minute I thought they were making a film, but there weren’t any cameras. Opposite him, on the other side of the pond, was a young woman. She was also wearing a robe, but the oversized, black-framed glasses spoiled the whole wizard look.

“You are undone, Melissa!” the guy in the red robe shouted. His voice was powerful, full of emotion. “Your pathetic master has returned to the mystical realm and can no longer protect you from my wrath!”

“Did he just say what I think he said?” Cordi whispered in my ear.

“Yes, yes, he did.” We crouched behind a bush and tried not to giggle. “He’s got a nice voice.”

“What are they doing?”

“Live role playing, I think. I’ve seen it before, at that nursing home, remember?”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. It’s quite an odd thing for grown-ups to do, if you ask me.”

The girl cleared her throat. “You cannot slay me, Lucien, you are weak and… and… er.” She bit her lip and pushed her glasses up on her nose.
 

The male wizard sighed. “Hurry up, Claire; I’ve got a shift in an hour.”
 

His voice was different now, less theatrical. I was sure I recognized it.

“I am hurrying!” She scowled and pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “You… you cannot defeat me, Lucien, because I have learnt the secret of the seventh power!” With that ‘Melissa’ took a ball out of her pocket and hurled it at the wizard.

It would have been cool to find out what happened next, but Max had other ideas. As soon as he saw the ball, his eyes lit up. He raced around the pond as the ball arced through the air towards Lucien.

All Cordi and I could do was watch as the ball, the wizard, and the dog came together in a spectacular collision. The staff went flying in one direction, the wizard in the other, but Max got the ball.

“Oh no. I’m coming, Greg!” Melissa called. She set off running round the pond, but tripped over her robe and fell. Luckily, she didn’t fall in the pond, just the stinky muddy bit next to it. Cordi and I both winced. Meanwhile the wizard was on his back, tangled in his robe with his beard over his face.

“Should we give him a hand?” Cordi asked.

“Absolutely,” I said and clapped.

“Oh, Harley, really.” Cordi called Max over and put him on his lead. He refused to give her the ball, though.
 

I went over to the wizard because he was closest. Melissa was mewling in the mud on the other side of the pond. “Here, give me your hand, Gandalf, or should I say,
Greg
.”

“Er…” He got up and straightened his beard. “Hi, er, Harley. It’s not what you think.”

“Live action role play, also known as larping?”

“Oh, okay, it is what you think.” He took off his beard. It was indeed Greg the waiter from the Coach and Horse.

“Great, do I get a prize? A magic staff or a cloak of invisibility or something?”

He blushed.
 

“Greg, help!” shouted the other larper.

Greg and I went over and dragged her out of the mud. “That robe is going to be a nightmare to get clean,” I said, trying to make light of the fact that she was caked in mud. She did not see the funny side.

“Is that damn mutt yours?” she said as she peeled off her robe. Underneath she was wearing an absolutely ghastly leopard-print dress.
 

“Yes, he is, and he’s not a mutt, he’s a wolfhound. Wow, your costume is really over the top, is your character a wizardly hooker?”

Her tiny eyes boggled. She looked a little bit like the wide-mouthed frog from the kids’ book. “How dare you. This dress is not a costume. This is my favourite dress.”

“Oh, well. Each to their own.” I smiled.

“I rather like it, very eighties glam,” Cordi said.

Claire huffed. “How dare you. I’m going to report you and that damn dog; it’s dangerous, it should be put down.”

“No, it’s fine, Claire, leave it.” Greg came over and fussed Max. “It’s fine, no harm done.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Greg.” Claire put her hands on her hips. “You may be the NPC, but I’m reporting that dog to the police. It attacked you; it’s dangerous.”

“It really isn’t,” Greg said. “He was just after the ball, weren’t you, boy?”

“It’s a savage brute!”
 

I looked at Max, who was drooling over the ball in his mouth, his long tail wagging happily. He looked more Scooby Doo than the Hound of the Baskervilles.

Cordi patted Max protectively and glared at the woman. “He! Max is a he and
he
is a lovely, old boy. Now give me the ball, Max, so we can let these two get on with their game of ‘grown-up let’s pretend’.”

Cordi tried to pull the ball out of his mouth, but he didn’t want to give up his prize. “Max, let go!” Cordi demanded in her stern voice. He let go, surprising Cordi, who overbalanced and stumbled into Claire. The irate larper windmilled her arms as she began to fall backwards, towards the pond. I reached out to try to grab her, as did Greg, but it was too late.
 

I have to say, she made quite the splash.

After helping the live role player out of the pond, we scarpered with Max. Greg might have been a bit of a prat, but he promised he’d calm his friend down and that he’d talk her out of reporting Max. Cordi and I laughed all the way home and Max got to keep the ball.

Michael was in the kitchen with Maggie when we got back. He was munching happily on a piece of chocolate brownie, and she was reading
Hello
magazine. There was a box full of the delicious chocolaty goodness on the table.

Maggie smiled. “Ah, there you are. Have you girls had a nice walk?”
 

“We have.” I snagged a slice of brownie from the box. “You could say it was quite magical.”

“How lovely. Well, I’ve cleared my diary for today so you can stay out investigating as long as you want.”

“Thank you, Aunty.” Cordi was talking to Maggie, but her gaze was fixed on Michael. “Are you sure you don’t mind house-sitting the pets, only Cleo and Monty really aren’t getting on.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I had to shoot a polar bear once when I was up in Alaska; I think I can handle a couple of irate cats.”

Cordi patted a few errant curls back into position. “If you say so. Michael, could you help me? I have some boxes of old books that I’m taking to the charity shop. Could you give me a lift out to the car with them?”

As excuses to sneak off together went, it wasn’t the worst I’d ever heard.

“Certainly, Cordelia,” Michael said and finished scoffing his brownie.

When they’d gone, Maggie patted the chair next to her. “Come, sit down, dear.”

I was more than happy to oblige, it brought me closer to the cake.
 

“Now, how is your case going?”

“I’m not sure there is a case—yet. I mean, he could have been murdered, or it really might have been suicide, despite what his brother James thinks. We’re going to go see Lady Jana Kessingworth this afternoon. I think speaking to her might shed more light on the matter, or at least rule her out of the equation.”

Maggie nodded thoughtfully. “I see. More cake, dear?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, what do you want, Maggie?”

She looked shocked. “What do you mean, dear? I just wanted to offer you these lovely brownies that I made.”

“I know your MO, Maggie. You want something.”

She gave a sly little smile. “You’re one smart cookie, Harley. But in this case you’re wrong. I don’t want anything from you; I want to give you something.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Now I really was suspicious.

“I’ve been doing a little digging about your parents. I’ve found some interesting things out about them. I wanted you to know.”

“Okay. You can stop there. I’ve lost my appetite.” I got up and made to leave.
 

“Wait, Harley, please.”

“No, Maggie. Cordi and I have to go.”

“Let me tell you what I found out!” she called after me. By now I was halfway to the front door, where Michael and Cordi were kissing. I didn’t go back. I didn’t want to know what Maggie had found out about my parents.

“Come on, Cordi,” I said a little snappily. “We need to get to the museum before it closes.”

“We do?” she said when she stopped kissing Michael and came up for air. “But it’s not even lunchtime yet.”

“Traffic can be a killer at this time of day, c’mon.” And with that I bustled her out the door, leaving Michael on the doorstep, looking slightly confused.

Chapter Thirteen

We headed across town to Bloomsbury, where the British Museum was located. It is always packed with tourists, as it’s one of the finest museums in the world, with one of the biggest collections of antiquities.
 

Cordi navigated the busy traffic in her usual devil-may-care style while her car backfired at irregular intervals. I put on my sunglasses and shrank down in the passenger seat. Cordi was oblivious. She was happily swerving past groups of tourists, singing along to her
Best of Dean Martin
CD.
 

After we parked up, we made for the Great Court.
 

“What’s wrong, Harley? You’ve been very quiet. Did Maggie say something to upset you?” Cordi said, swerving through camera-wielding men and women.

I shrugged. “No. Well, not really. I’m fine.” I smiled although I didn’t really feel like it. “Come on, partner, we’ve got work to do.”

Even for me, a jaded Londoner, the Great Courtyard in the museum never failed to impress. The huge circular area was bright and airy, and at its centre was the grand reading room of the British Library, but that wasn’t where we were headed.

We approached the enquiry desk, and the young lady working behind it was already smiling before we could ask for help.
 

“Hi,” I said. “Can you help us locate Lady Jana Kessingworth? I believe she’s holding a talk today.”

The young blonde nodded once and took a pamphlet from the desk, holding it out to us. “You’ll find her in the Sir Isaac Barnes Lecture Theatre,” she said in a cultured, almost upper-class accent.
 

“And where would that be, my dear?” Cordi asked.
 

The receptionist pointed it out to us across the main atrium. “Lady Kessingworth is due to hold her lecture on Boudicca in about fifteen minutes. I’d be quick, though, as it’s a very popular talk.”

I took the pamphlet, said my thanks, and headed off with Cordi. I vaguely remembered something about Boudicca from when I briefly studied history at school—she was one of the first British Queens. The pamphlet confirmed it, adding that she was the queen of the Iceni people.
 

We entered the lecture hall, stopping at the doors in order to figure out where to go next.
 

“I’ll just go grab us some coffees and cake while you bag us some seats,” Cordi said. She headed off to the refreshments bar, leaving me to secure our places. I found two places and sat down, using my bag to keep one seat free for Cordi.
 

The auditorium was already pretty busy; the buzz of excited voices created a hushed but expectant atmosphere. I felt like I was back at school, waiting for the head mistress to address the morning’s assembly.

Lady Jana was already on the stage, standing behind a lectern and organizing her notes. She looked very different today compared to the photograph I had in my pocket, where she was cuddling up to Henry Renholm.
 

Today, instead of a flapper dress, she was wearing a sober, grey two-piece and a smart high-necked, white blouse. Her hair was neatly rolled into a tight bun and she was wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. Behind her, a huge projector screen lowered from the ceiling.

A picture of the statue of Boudicca appeared on the screen. I knew it well; the statue was on Westminster Bridge although the legend went that the warrior queen was actually buried under what is now platform ten of King’s Cross Station.
 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lady Jana began and beamed a confident smile at her fellow academics gathered in the theatre. “I’m very pleased to see so many of you here. My talk today will be on Boudicca: The warrior, the woman.”

Polite applause followed her introduction. I noticed a few paparazzi types loitering at the back of the auditorium, taking a few snaps. Lady Jana wasn’t exactly front-page news, but she was famous enough to garner the attention of the tabloids on a quiet day, especially with her wedding to a prince looming.

“In AD 60 Boudicca was Queen of the Iceni. We’ll go right back to the very origins and work our way through her fascinating life…” Lady Jana began, hinting that we were in for a highly detailed and probably very long lecture.
 

Like the
Titanic
, my heart sank pretty quickly. I wasn’t much for history lessons, although I had ‘collected’ a few antiquities in my time. I folded my arms and settled in for the long haul.