Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) (18 page)

***

Emilie Grey lived in the ground-floor apartment of a rented house not far from the club where she worked. Chintzy lace curtains hung at the windows and there were lots of flowerpots in the garden. I imagined a nice little old lady with glasses hanging round her neck on a chain.

So I was surprised when I rang the bell for her flat and a young woman answered. She was wearing an old cardigan over a faded floral dress. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and the only jewellery she had on was a crucifix.
 

She must have been doing a spot of gardening, as she was also wearing wellington boots and dirty gardening gloves.

“Can I help you?” she said, so quietly that I could barely hear her.

“I hope so.” I smiled, but she was looking at my feet rather than my face. “My name is Harley Hill and this is my partner, Cordelia Silvers. We’re investigating the death of Henry Renholm. Could we come in?”

She looked like a frightened mouse. How someone so timid worked for a bear like Farquar was beyond me.
 

She bit her lip nervously. “I… I suppose so. I’ve got something to plant in the garden if you wouldn’t mind coming through.”

She stood aside for us to enter. Both Cordi and I tried to catch her eye, but she stared resolutely at anything other than our faces.
 

The communal corridor had a door at the end and a staircase leading to the flat upstairs. She led us to the door and opened it for us to go in.

Inside, the walls were painted a sombre battleship grey. I felt like I’d just walked into a church. Hanging on the walls on both sides of the small hallway were religious icons and rosary beads.
 

There were a couple of doors leading into the other rooms of the flat, but she took us through a kitchen and out into her small garden.

“This is lovely,” Cordelia said. “It’s so nice to have a bit of outside space in London to do a bit of sunbathing or enjoy afternoon tea in peace.”

Grey nodded. “I find it a tranquil place to pray and contemplate God.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”
 

The garden was beautifully kept, except for the small patch of turned earth next to which sat a small tray of winter pansies. A number of religious statues were dotted around the garden, giving it the feel of a cemetery.

Emilie got down on her knees, and, using a small trowel, began to turn the soil ready for planting.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how I can possibly help you regarding Mr. Renholm’s death,” she said over her shoulder.

Other than the funereal statuary, there was something else distracting me. Grey looked really familiar, but I just couldn’t recall where I knew her.
 

“Before we get to that, can I just ask you, do I know you from somewhere, have we met?” I asked.

She tucked a loose strand of mousy hair behind her ear. “I don’t think you know me, although, I have quite a generic sort of face.” She smiled sadly. “So I’m told.”
 

“It’s funny, you look really familiar.”

She stuck the trowel into the ground and turned to me. I think I saw a hint of fire in her pale blue eyes, but it was gone in a second. “I’m sure that I would remember meeting
you,
Miss Hill, and I don’t, I’m afraid. Now, what can I help you with? Only you can see that I’m quite busy.”

“Too busy to even offer us a cup of tea,” Cordi side-mouthed to me. I shushed her with a stern look.

“Did you know Henry Renholm?” I prompted.

“Yes, sort of. He was well known locally. He won the Small Business of the Year Award, and he used to go to the club quite a lot.”

“How did he get on with your boss?”

She shrugged and picked up a pot of pansies. “I couldn’t really say.”

Cordi crouched beside her. Even then, Grey refused to look her in the eye. “These are lovely. Tell me, did you ever hear them arguing?”

“I can’t say that I did,” Grey said as she tapped the pansy out of the pot. “I just get on with my work and do as I’m asked.”

“So you never heard your employer say anything about Mr. Renholm?” I asked.

She shrugged again. “No, I can’t say that I did.”

I was getting a little frustrated. It had been a long day and this little mouse was starting to irritate me. “Do you remember the day Renholm died?” I demanded.

She planted the pansy, picked up another, and tapped the base of the pot. “Er, yes, I do.”

“Well, that’s something. Do you recall where your boss was during that time?”

“Er…” She tapped the pot thoughtfully. Cordi and I hung on her every word. “Hmm. Oh, yes, that’s it. We were doing the end-of-year accounts. We were in the office pretty much all of that week.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. It was so hard to tell if she were lying. She wouldn’t look at either of us and barely spoke above a whisper.

“Yes. Quite sure,” she said and then continued to plant her darn flowers like we weren’t even there.
 

I looked at Cordi. She shrugged.
 

Grey finished planting the flowers and patted the dirt from her gloved hands. “Was that all? Only I said I’d go to church and help with the graveyard clean-up this evening.”

“Yes, that’s all. Thank you for your time, Miss Grey,” I said, disappointed not to get anything more useful out of her. Short of tying the woman to a chair and shining a light in her eyes, there wasn’t much else I could do.
 

***

“Well, she was quite peculiar, don’t you think?” Cordi asked when we were a good distance down the road from Emilie Grey’s flat.

“You can say that again. Did you see how she couldn’t even look at us? Talk about shy, she takes it to a whole new level.”

“But do you believe her, about Farquar?”

A cold wind blew along the road. I stuffed my hands deep into the pockets of my leather jacket. “I don’t know, Cordi. It’s hard to read someone who won’t even look at you.”

“Did you see all those icons in her hallway and those statues? I think she missed her calling. She should have been a nun, not a secretary.”

“Amen to that, sister.” I grinned. It took Cordi a moment, but then she laughed.

“So, what shall we do now, Harley?”

“For now, let’s go home and regroup. I need to think a few things through.”

“Like what, dear?”

“I’m not sure. Something isn’t right. I’m not sure if it’s what Grey said about Farquar being in the office at the time of Henry’s death or… if it’s something about her. Tell me, did she look familiar to you?”

“No, dear. I found her eminently forgettable, why, I could probably walk past her now and not recognize her.” Cordi got out her phone. “It shouldn’t take us long to get home, traffic willing. In which case I’m going to call Michael and tell him that when he gets back from walking Max, he can put the kettle on.”

I put my arm around her shoulder. “That sounds like a brilliant idea, partner.”

Chapter Twenty

“So you’re sure that’s what you want to do, Harley?” Michael asked me over dinner. He had cooked pasta and meatballs for when Cordi and I got back, and boy, was I ready for it.

“Yeah, once I’ve digested this gorgeous meal.” I sat back and unfastened the top button on my jeans. Monty immediately took my relaxed posture as an invitation and leapt onto my knee, but not for a cuddle.
 

With one quick swipe, he knocked a meatball off the plate and onto the floor. The daring thief jumped down and gobbled his prize.

“Monty!” Cordi exclaimed. “You naughty boy.”

Michael and I were less appalled by his table manners and both chuckled.

“I guess he likes meatballs,” I said.

The oven pinged. Michael put on some oven gloves. “I used a recipe that Maggie gave me, although, if I’d known you were going out again this evening, I wouldn’t have made something quite so filling.”

“Sorry about that, Mike, but I have to,” I said. “I just know that we’re really close to cracking this case, but there’s something I’m missing, something to do with Farquar and that club.”

Cordi cleared the dishes away. “It’s all very
White Mischief
, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. “It might be, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 

“It’s a film about decadent, bright young things and murder,” Cordi said over her shoulder. “It’s very good.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I’m more of a Disney princess kind of gal.”

Michael looked surprised. “Are you really?” he asked.

I had to laugh. “No, of course not, but I had you going there for a moment.”

He laughed. “You did. You know, you should let me come with you this evening, just to be on the safe side.” He took a steaming apple pie out of the oven. “You need someone who can keep an eye out for you girls.”

It was hard taking his offer seriously, as he was wearing Cordi’s apron with the words
Domestic Goddess
emblazoned across it.
 

“Gosh, yes,” said Cordi. “Just think what could have happened earlier if that young man hadn’t been passing.”
 

“Er, yeah.” I had a sudden attack of guilt. I couldn’t tell Cordi that it was Alex who had helped me out. It would have upset her. Instead, I made up a story about a guy off the street hearing the scuffle and chasing away the bikers. It was only a little lie, but I still felt bad about it.

Cordi dried her hands. “So what’s the plan, Harley?”
 

“Okay, given that I’ve been barred from the Emporium, I’m going to have to sneak in.”

Cordi frowned. “That isn’t going to be easy. The paparazzi are always trying to get in to snap celebrities, so the security is very tight.”

I smiled. “That’s okay. I have a plan. Now, how about a slice of that pie?”

***

We parked at the end of the alleyway behind Farquar’s Emporium. Ghostly grey steam billowed from the club’s kitchen vents, and the smell of food and alcohol drifted on the evening breeze.

I turned to Cordi. “So you know what to do if you see security head towards Farquar’s office?”
 

Cordi nodded. “Yes, dear. Michael will create a distraction, and I’ll let you know to get out of there, using my hidden microphone.” She dug the microphone out of the spray of gardenias that were pinned to her blue satin gown.

“That’s great, Cordi. Now tuck it back into the corsage.”

“This is so exciting, I feel like Mata Hari.” She grinned.

“You’re far more beautiful than she was, Cordelia,” said Michael.

“Oh, darling.” Cordi kissed him.

I sighed. “Er, guys, I hate to break up the love-in, but we do have some sleuthing to do.”

They reluctantly parted. Cordi giggled. “Sorry, Harley, it’s just that this mission is so terribly exciting.”
 

“Well, I’m glad someone thinks so.” I adjusted the earpiece for my microphone set-up and tucked the mike inside my T-shirt. “Right, I’m out of here. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, little sis,” Michael said.

“Yes, Harley dear, good luck. Give us about ten minutes to get in before you commence ‘Operation Mata Hari’.”

“I didn’t know we were calling it that,” I said.

Cordi beamed. “Me neither, I just made it up. Good, isn’t it?”
 

I gave her a big hug. “It’s fantastic.”

After texting my contact, I headed for the back gate of the club and waited. A few minutes passed before the gate opened, and Tom, the waiter who Farquar had shouted at the other night, stuck his head out and beckoned me inside.

Before I had a chance to say anything, he hustled us into a storeroom in the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. Here,” he whispered and handed me a hat-check girl uniform. “I hope it’s the right size, I had to guess.”

I held up the dress. “It should be okay, so long as I don’t breathe. Don’t these girls eat?”

“Mr. F likes them skinny. Oh, I almost forgot.” Tom ducked behind a stack of boxes. When he emerged, he was holding a pair of black stilettos. “These are a size five, will they fit?”
 

“Perfect,” I said. “Listen, Tom, I really appreciate your help. I promise, no matter what happens, I won’t tell anyone you were involved.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, Harley. After the other night I started looking for another job. Farquar is a tyrant and I’ve had enough of being picked on. Thanks for getting in touch and for giving me the chance to get back at him.”

“It’s a pleasure, Tom, I hate bullies.”

“I’ll let you get changed. When you’re done, just go through the kitchen, into the main bar and then out into the corridor where the toilets are, you’ll be able to find your way to his majesty’s office from there.”

“Thanks, Tom, I owe you one,” I said.

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him. I got changed quickly, mostly because it was freezing.

There wasn’t a mirror in the storeroom, just a lot of boxes of canned peaches, but I was pretty sure that I’d pass a casual inspection. I took a few tentative steps. The heels were black and shiny to match the dress and the tiny little hat.
 

I checked that the seams of the nylon stockings were straight before clipping the microphone to the frilly neck of my dress and hiding the wire of the earpiece in my hair.
 

Before leaving the storeroom, I double-checked that my lock-pick kit was securely tucked into the garter holding up my right stocking. Confident that the case was secure, I took a deep breath and whispered into the microphone, “Operation Mata Hari is a go.”

***

Nobody challenged me as I dodged past the busy waiters and chefs. The big test would be getting through the main bar area without anyone realizing that I didn’t work there.
 

I tugged the little hat down over my eyes and strode purposefully into the club behind a waiter who was carrying a tray of food.
 

My heart was pounding. I felt that any second someone was going to call me out.

Making my way through the room, I walked past Cordi and Michael, who were sitting at the table by the exit. The choice of table hadn’t been an accident.
 

From this position they could watch the corridor through the beaded curtain that separated it from the main room.