Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) (15 page)

“Would you like to keep your toes? I assure you, I’m no Fred Astaire.”
 

He grinned. “I think you mean Ginger Rogers.” He stood up and offered me his arm.
 

“Yeah, him too.”

Still laughing, we hit the dance floor. The band struck up and played some ragtime tunes from the 1920s. It was all quite energetic stuff, and by the time we’d done the Charleston, the Peabody and the Turkey Trot, the warm fuzzy alcohol mist had lifted.
 

It felt so good to be out with Cole, to snuggle close, to feel the warmth of his lean but muscular body against mine.

“Has the forgery case finished?” I asked him, dreading the answer.

“Yeah, all done barring the paperwork.”

“So does that mean you’re home to stay now?”

I felt him tense up for a second. My heart sank. This was it. The last, sweet goodbye. I almost started crying right then.

“I… yeah, I hope so. I’ve got some things I need to straighten out with work. Anyway, let’s not talk about that now. Let’s just enjoy the night.”

I put my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. No matter what happened, this was a special night and a beautiful moment, well worth all the pain that I felt was heading towards me like an out-of-control freight train.

We sat back down and I put my relationship anxieties aside, replacing them with my sleuthing hat.
 

“While you guys are enjoying the entertainment,” I said, “I’m just going to have a look around.”

“You want some company?” Cordi said.
 

“Nah, it’s all right. You stay here and keep an eye on things, see if there’s anything that rings a bell or seems off. I won’t be long.”

Cole kissed me on the cheek as I slid out from the table and headed off to take in the club in all its glory.

As well as patrons and waiting staff, a bunch of stagehands were moving scenery in preparation for the first act. A guy wearing a three-piece suit and spats was standing near the stage, directing the workers.
 

He was a little on the plump side and had a pencil-thin moustache, which really didn’t suit his round face. He was quick to shout at the staff who either weren’t doing things fast enough or exactly the way he wanted.

After berating the stagehands, he went over to the movie star’s table and ordered a bottle of the best champagne to be brought over to their table, on the house. It didn’t take a genius to work out that the guy must be the owner, Rex Farquar.
 

I watched him suck up to the movie star and his entourage but then give the poor nervous waiter a withering look when he struggled to open the bottle quickly enough.
 

It was clear to me that Farquar had a short fuse, but I had yet to discover if he was the kind of guy who could get angry enough to commit murder.

When he’d grovelled enough, Farquar went and sat down in a small booth near the stage. The house lights dimmed, and the first act of the night came on. I took the opportunity to rejoin Cole, Cordi, and Michael.
 

“Find anything useful?” Cole said.

“Nothing yet,” I said. “Just Farquar throwing his weight around and grovelling to some movie guy.”

Michael picked up the program that had been left on the table. “According to this, the first act is Miss Scarlet and her Amazing Puppets. It’s a novelty act, apparently.”
 

Cordi nodded. “They were very popular in the twenties and thirties.”

“In the days before TV, huh?” I said. I wasn’t sure this was going to be my idea of entertainment. I was never really a fan of puppets. They creeped me out. But then a stunning redhead came out, wearing a flame-coloured gown and carrying a handful of beautifully made puppets.

“This looks interesting,” Michael said, earning himself a hard stare from Cordi.
 

Miss Scarlet took her place centre stage. The lighting enhanced the strange, otherworldly atmosphere. She began to work the puppets, accompanied by a haunting tune being played by a lone violinist, who was standing in the shadows at the edge of the stage.

I have to admit, I was impressed. The play she performed seemed to be some kind of Shakespearean tragedy—the classic tale of a woman spurned. As with all tragic Shakespearian plays, it ended in murder. The jilted heroine—a poor servant girl—poisoned her well-to-do lover after he’d cheated on her.
 

The curtain fell and the audience, myself included, gave Miss Scarlet a rapturous round of applause. She came out for a curtain call along with her murderous puppet servant girl, who also gave a little bow.
 

“Wasn’t she wonderful?” Cordi said.
 

“Yeah, she was good, but don’t you think it was a little creepy?” I asked, careful to keep my voice down while they reset the stage.

Cordi shrugged. “Harley dear, we chase murderers, I’m somewhat inured to ‘creepy’ these days.”

Cole poured another round of champagne. “I’m with Harley on this one,” he said. “Those puppets were pretty darn creepy. Too real, but not real enough.”

“Quite right, old chap,” said Michael. “I suppose in the olden days they’d say it was a top-hole performance, but those dolls were dashed strange.”

We all groaned.

“What?” Michael said. “That’s how people used to talk, isn’t it?”

Cordi gave him a peck on the cheek. “Not really, dear, but it was a valiant effort.”
 

I had to laugh. “She’s right, bro. Don’t give up the day job.”

“Here’s to day jobs!” Cole raised his glass in toast.
 

Cordi frowned. “Hmm. I’m not going to toast your day job. The police force will take anyone these days.”
 

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Cole said.

She folded her arms. “Isn’t it? They took Alex!”

“Oh, okay.” Cole nodded. “I’ll give you that, sometimes the force makes mistakes.”

Michael drained his glass. “I don’t know how a creep like Cobb got through the vetting procedure.”

I didn’t join in with the bitching session. Alex and Cordi might have had an acrimonious divorce, but he’d helped us on this case and others. He was a bit wild, but he was a good cop. I couldn’t sit there and listen to it, so I got up and made to leave for another walkabout.

“Where are you going, love?” Cole asked.

“Just to powder my nose, I won’t be long.”

“Well, don’t be long, the next act is about to come on.”

I kissed him. “I won’t.”

***

Initially I headed in the direction of the ladies’ room. I was pretty angry with my friends and needed to get away and calm down. I didn’t want to spoil the night, but I wasn’t going to sit there and listen to them bad-mouth Alex like that.
 

It just wasn’t fair.

On the way to the bathroom, my inquisitive nature got the better of me. As the audience applauded the curtain going up for the second act, I tried a door that was marked as ‘Staff Only’. It was open, so after having a quick look to make sure nobody was watching, I slipped inside. The corridor on the other side of the door couldn’t have been more different to the glitz and glamour of the club.

It was dingy and piled high with boxes, bits of broken furniture, and crates of booze. There were three further doors: two were on the right-hand side of the passage, and the other at the end. The door at the end was ajar. I could hear raised voices and decided to investigate.

I crept along the passage, and as I got closer, I could hear snatches of conversation.

“That’s preposterous!”

“You need me, you’ll damn well pay!”

“You utter…”

One of the people was definitely a woman; the other sounded like Farquar. I would have had a quick peek, but just then I heard someone in the hallway. I tried the nearest door handle as the hall door started to swing open. Luckily for me, the door I tried wasn’t locked.

I dived into a broom cupboard and pulled the door almost closed before stepping back into the shadows as whoever it was came in. I saw a guy dump a big bag of what looked like tablecloths. Just then, a woman with long red hair, wearing a dressing gown, swept past.

“Get out of my way!” she bellowed at the poor guy, who just managed to dodge aside as she angrily flung open the door and stormed out.

“Cow!” Farquar shouted from his office.

The waiter hung around in the corridor for a couple of minutes before following her out. When I was sure the coast was clear, I crept into the passageway and was just about to head out after them when Farquar’s voice boomed behind me.

“Who the—stop right there.”
 

I turned around to see a flustered-looking Farquar stood in the doorway of his office… and he had a knife in his hand.

Chapter Seventeen

“Who the hell are you?” Farquar snarled. I saw then that what I’d thought was a knife was actually a letter opener. I relaxed, I can handle being shouted at; being stabbed is another thing entirely.

“My name is Harley Hill. I’ve come to talk to you about Henry Renholm.”

As soon as I mentioned Renholm’s name, his whole attitude changed. He went from looking angry to worried in an instant.
 

“Who sent you, Miss Hill?”

“I’m a partner in the Silvers and Hill Finders Agency. I’m investigating this case on behalf of Henry Renholm’s family.”

Farquar folded his arms. “Let me save you time and your client some money. Renholm committed suicide. There you go, case closed.”

“If only it were that simple, Mr. Farquar, but I’m afraid there’s a strong possibility that Henry Renholm was murdered, that’s why I need to talk to you.”

He thought about it for a moment before sighing heavily. “You better come into my office.”

Unlike the tatty corridor, the office was decorated in the same lavish style as the club. The desk was made of beautiful dark mahogany with a green leather blotter set into it that was edged in gold. A Tiffany lamp sat on the desk and there was a silver inkwell and stand. Unfortunately the look was somewhat spoiled by an ugly Windows laptop.

On the wall behind Farquar’s desk was a huge painting of the man himself. On the other walls were posters of cabaret acts and, I noticed, an old school photograph. There was also a cabinet with glass doors, inside of which was a collection of awards.

On my right was a door, which had been left ajar. It led through to another, smaller office. Unlike Farquar’s office, this one was plainly decorated and, like the corridor, piled with boxes. Hanging on the grey wall was a large crucifix.

“Take a seat, Miss Hill.” He gestured impatiently to the chair on the other side of the desk. “I can only spare you…” He put down the letter opener and took out a gold pocket watch. “Five minutes. As you must have seen, Derek Hansel is in tonight.”

I sat down. “Sorry, who?” I knew exactly who Derek Hansel was, I’d have to have lived under a rock not to recognize one of the hottest movie stars of the moment, but I wanted to wipe the smug look off Farquar’s face. And what do you know—it worked.

The smug grin vanished. “He’s a very famous A-list film star,” Farquar said grumpily.

I shrugged. “Oh, that’s nice, but I’m here to talk about a dead man, not a movie star. Now, about Henry Renholm, you knew him, right?”

Farquar ran a hand through his thinning, greased-back hair. “I had that misfortune, yes.”

“You’re clearly not a fan, Mr. Farquar. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“No? Would you rather have this conversation with the cops?”

“Are you threatening me, Miss Hill?”

“Perish the thought, Mr. Farquar, I’m just trying to do my job.” The setting really got me in the mood for sleuthing, I felt like a modern-day Sam Spade in high heels. “Now, about you and Renholm, you guys go way back, right?”

Farquar made blustery noises and fiddled nervously with his gold tiepin. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“No?” I flicked a glance at the school photograph hanging on the wall. Although I couldn’t pick the two of them out of the class of fresh-faced kids, I’d caught the date of the year the photograph was taken and the tie was the same as the one I’d seen in Renholm’s place. Farquar’s grudge was about more than just a business rival.

“It’s funny that you don’t remember someone you went to school with.”

Farquar turned scarlet. “I did not go to school
with
Henry Renholm. I had the misfortune to go to the same school
as
Henry Renholm. I assure you it is not the same thing.”

Farquar couldn’t have sounded more offended if he’d tried. I pressed him. “So, you didn’t get on?”

“No. Not then, and not now.” He stood up and paced behind his desk.
 

I’d done bad cop, it was time to change tack. I cleared my throat and softened my tone of voice. “So tell me, what did Renholm do to upset you so much?”
 

He laughed bitterly. “What didn’t he do? Henry Renholm was a bully. When I was at school, I was not the confident entrepreneur you see before you. I was a shy, sensitive boy. I wore glasses and was a little heavy. I read poetry and despised sport.”
 

“And Renholm bullied you?”

“Yes. He did, among others. Henry was sporty, handsome and outgoing. His friends thought he was witty. I just thought he was mean. He mocked me, Miss Hill. Taunted and teased me mercilessly.”

“I can imagine how upset that must have made you.” Although I was fishing for information about their relationship, I felt sorry for Farquar if what he said was true.

He narrowed his eyes. “But not upset enough to kill him if that’s what you’re trying to insinuate.”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Mr. Farquar. I’m just trying to discover the facts.”

He fixed me with an angry stare. “Are you sure you’re not the police?”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Yeah, quite sure. They wouldn’t have me. Now, you were telling me about you and Renholm at school. What happened after that?”

“I forgot him and all the other bullies.” Farquar took his handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his brow. “I worked in the world of entertainment, where creativity and individuality are celebrated, not mocked. Eventually, I opened this club, the finest of its kind in London, if not the whole of Europe.” He gave a little bow.