Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) (19 page)

They looked every inch the doting couple, drinking champagne from each other’s glass. I just hoped that they didn’t get too caught up in the act and forget to keep an eye out for security.
 

I made it to the corridor without anyone setting the dogs on me. Chalk one up for Operation Mata Hari.
 

Next: find Farquar. I headed to his office. Nobody gave me a second glance as I slipped into the service corridor.
 

When I reached Farquar’s office, I listened at the door to make sure that he wasn’t with anyone. It was quiet, too quiet. I tried the door, but it was locked. I checked my watch. Farquar should have been in by now. I knocked on the door.

“Mr. Farquar? There’s a delivery for you,” I said, trying to disguise my voice. There was no answer.

“Just great, Harley.” I tapped the mike on. “Cordi?” I whispered. “Have you seen Farquar?”

A few seconds passed; then static crackled through the earpiece. “Bad Wolf to Little Kitty, do you copy, Little Kitty?”
 

“Is that you, Cordi?”
 

“Yes, who did you think it was?”

“I really wasn’t sure.”

“Oh. Perhaps we should just leave the code names for now.”

“Good idea. Now, have you seen Farquar?”

“No, dear. Isn’t he in his office?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do?”

That was a very good question. I crouched by the door and took a peek through the keyhole. The place was shrouded in darkness. “I’m going to take a snoop around his office. Let me know if anyone comes my way, okay?”

“Roger. I mean, yes, will do. And do be careful!”

“I will.” I turned off the mike and got out my trusty lock picks. After a couple of tweaks and turns, I heard the satisfying click of tumblers aligning in the barrel of the lock.
 

I put my picks in my garter before turning off the light in the hallway and waited a few seconds until my eyes adjusted and then climbed onto a box and unscrewed the light bulb.
 

It wouldn’t buy me a lot of time, but every second would count if someone came in.

Once inside, I jammed a chair behind the door before turning on the desk lamp. Farquar might not have been in, but his laptop was. Flipping the lid, the screen sprang to life. He’d left it on, which meant I didn’t have to crack his password. Result!

I immediately checked his browsing history. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I had a hunch that I’d know it if I saw it.
 

And there it was!

About half a dozen pages on cassava had been bookmarked on the computer. Cassava, or Brazilian arrowroot as it’s also called, is used to make tapioca.
 

One web page explained that, if prepared incorrectly, the toxic substance present in cassava, something called linamarin, is converted by the human digestive system into cyanide poison.

I checked the dates that the pages were first accessed and my blood ran cold.
 

The searches were made before Henry Renholm was found dead.
 

“Gotcha,” I said to myself and dug the memory stick that I’d brought with me out of my bra.

I hadn’t brought it to copy anything. I’d brought it to show Farquar that I had a copy of the nasty letter that he’d sent to Renholm.
 

As it turned out, I could now use it to copy these files, just in case Farquar decided to wipe the hard drive or destroyed the laptop.
 

When the files had copied, I went into Emilie Grey’s office and checked her laptop. Like Farquar, she’d been careless and hadn’t turned it off or logged herself out. Her diary had a list of Farquar’s appointments. The one at the top explained why he wasn’t here.
 

Apparently, he was checking something out in a warehouse not far from here.

I just finished writing down the address on a Post-it note when there was a knock on Farquar’s office door. I froze.

“Harley, it’s me, quick, let me in!” It was Cordi.

I ran back into the office and moved the chair from behind the door. Cordi rushed in, looking scared.

“Where’s Michael?” I asked as she closed the door behind her and put the chair back.

“He’s causing a diversion by pretending to choke on a piece of carrot.” She gasped, breathless. “We saw a security guard heading down this way and it was all we could think of to stop him. I left the guard trying to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on poor Michael, but we haven’t got much time.”

I nodded and reached for the door handle when I heard footsteps approaching.

“Oi. Jon, what’s happened to the light?” someone shouted. Whoever it was had a rough, gravelly voice.
 

“It’s the security guard,” Cordi whispered.

I had to think quickly. I got out my lock pick and stuck it in the lock. I could hear the security guard on the other side, muttering as he tried to put the light bulb back in the socket.

The tumblers fell into place; the door locked. It sounded loud to me, but the guard was making a meal out of replacing the bulb and didn’t hear it. I put my picks away.

“What are we going to do now?” Cordi asked, a hint of desperation in her voice. I pointed to Emilie Grey’s office. She nodded and we went inside.

“Cordi, do you have your phone on you?” I whispered.

“Yes, dear.” She opened her purse and fished out her phone. “Here, who are you going to ring?”

“Michael,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. He just wasn’t the only person I was going to call.

Cordi closed and locked Grey’s office door. I waited an agonizing three rings before Michael answered. “Harley! Listen, there’s a security guard on his way to Farquar’s office—”

“Yeah, I know, Cordi’s with me. Where are you now?”

“Outside of the club. I pretended I was ill, and they took me outside to get some air.”

“That’s great.”

“Is somebody in there? Mr. Farquar, is that you?” the security guard shouted from outside of Farquar’s office. The door handle rattled.
 

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly, dear,” Cordi whispered as the sound of voices in the corridor grew louder and angrier.

“Okay, Michael, go to the car and wait for us. Be ready for a fast getaway.”

“What? Oh… Okay, Harley.”

“Whoever’s in there, I’m calling the cops!” the guard shouted before there was a terrific noise that sounded like someone trying to kick the door in.

“Harley, we’re trapped!”
 

“No, we’re not. We’re getting out.”

“How?”

“The window, look.” I pointed to the rusty metal fire escape outside of Grey’s office window. It looked ancient, but it was our only chance.
 

The window was old fashioned and the latch was high up, so I dragged the desk over and climbed up. I still couldn’t quite reach it. I scanned the gloomy office, looking for a stepladder or something, but the only thing that might be useful was an old metal trunk.
 

“Help me with that,” I said to Cordi.

The trunk was old and heavy. We managed to lift it, but as we tried to muscle it up, Cordi lost her grip and it crashed against the table.

The lid sprang open and dozens of heads fell out of the trunk. Cordi yelped. I leapt back and tripped on the edge of a carpet. I fell amid dozens of severed heads… Severed puppet heads.

“How ghastly!” Cordi said as she helped me up.

“You can say that again. I guess these guys didn’t make the grade for Scarlet Grainger’s show.”

“It would seem not. Urgh, they’re so horribly lifelike.”

We closed the lid and got the trunk onto the table. With the extra height we were able to climb out onto the fire escape.
 

I was about to grab Grey’s computer, but just then there was an almighty crash from Farquar’s office as the guard smashed the door down. I didn’t wait for whoever it was to break down the door to Grey’s office. I hitched up my skirt and climbed out beside Cordi.

“Okay, you go first, Cordi, and hold onto the rail.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered. “I’m scared of heights.”
 

I put my hand on her shoulder to reassure her. She was rigid with fear. “Come on, Cordi, let’s go. You’d hate prison food and as for the clothes… urgh!”
 

I don’t know if it was my friendly banter or the sound of someone trying to break down the door behind us, but Cordi got moving and she set off down the rickety fire escape. At the end of the alleyway a pair of car headlights lit up the darkness.

Behind me, I could hear the door give way and angry shouting.
 

We ran to the car and leapt in. “Go, Mike,” I shouted.
 

Michael put his foot down, the brakes screamed, hot rubber burned on the cobbles; then the car juddered to a halt.
 

Of all the times for Cordi’s heap of junk to break down, this was without doubt the worst.

Michael turned the key in the ignition and put his foot down. The engine groaned and juddered. Two security guards ran out of the back gate of Farquar’s Emporium.

“Oi! You lot, stay where you are,” one of them bellowed.

“Come on, car, come on,” I begged. Nothing happened. I banged on the dashboard in frustration. The engine immediately roared into life and the car leapt forward. Michael put his foot down and we screamed out of the alley just before the security guards reached us.
 

When we were safely out of the area, we all cheered.
 

It felt real good to be out of that creepy office full of severed puppet heads, which reminded me… this wasn’t over yet.

“Michael, I need you to get to this address right away.” I handed him the Post-it note that I’d written the address on. “You need to hurry. This could be a matter of life or death.”

“Do you think Farquar is the killer?” Cordi asked.

“I think we need to get to this warehouse, and fast. Can you direct Michael while I make a call?”

“Certainly, dear.” Cordi nodded. She took the Post-it from Michael. “Right, Michael dear, you need to take the next left and, for goodness’ sake, put the pedal to the metal, as they say.”

While Cordi was directing Michael through the backstreets of London, I made a call. It went straight to an answering machine. “Hey, Alex,” I said as quietly as I could. “It’s me. Listen, you need to get to the address I’m going to give you ASAP. Consider it a goodbye present.”

Chapter Twenty-one

The warehouse was in Kensal Green near an old cemetery.
 

The dilapidated industrial estate where the warehouse was located was deserted at this time of night. The only light came from a flickering streetlamp outside of the main gate. I had a very bad feeling about this, but I kept it to myself, as I didn’t want to worry Cordi and Michael.

“Oh my goodness,” Cordi said. “What are we doing here, Harley?”
 

I was in the back of the car, getting changed into my own clothes. “I think Farquar’s here,” I said as I pulled on my leather jacket. “At least, the appointment I saw listed on his assistant’s computer said he
should
be here.”

We parked around the corner from the warehouse and got out. Cordi and Michael were still dressed in their 1920s finery, but I was back in my own comfy clothes and, more importantly, my own shoes.
 

Those heels were killers.

“Okay, guys, we’ll get a little closer, but I think we should wait outside until, er, the cops arrive.”

Cordi looked worried. “The cops?”

I didn’t want to tell her that we were waiting for Alex. “Yeah, kind of.”
 

We crept up to the door of the warehouse. A thin trace of light bled from under the shutters. I checked my watch. Alex should have been here by now, but as usual he was late.

A cold wind gusted round the corner. Cordi shivered; the poor thing was only wearing a thin satin gown.
 

Like a true gentleman, Michael gave her his jacket, but she still looked frozen. I was about to tell her to go wait in the car, where it was warmer, when I thought I heard a stifled moan coming from inside the warehouse.
 

It was pretty faint, so I put my ear to the door.
 

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“I thought I heard someone groan, but it must have been the—” I was just about to say ‘wind’ when I heard it again. Someone was definitely in trouble. “There it was again. It sounds like someone moaning.”

“We should go in,” Michael said and reached for the door handle.

“Wait, it could be dangerous,” I said. “You guys stay here and wait for the cops. I’ll take a look inside.”

Cordi stepped forward. “No way, partner. We’re not letting you go in there on your own, are we, Michael?”

“Certainly not. We’re coming with you, sis, like it or not.”

The sentiment touched me. I still wasn’t used to the fact that there were people in my life who cared about me.
 

Even though this was a pretty tense situation, I had to smile. “Okay, guys, I’m not going to argue with you, but stay behind me and be real quiet.”

“Got it.” Cordi slapped the torch into her hand like she was ready to bash someone’s brains in.
 

Michael took a lump of two-by-four out of a dumpster.
 

They both looked ready for action, even though they were dressed like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire.
 

The warehouse door wasn’t locked, but it was pretty rusty. I opened it carefully, to minimize the creaking. It made some noise, but the howling wind covered it.
 

Inside, an internal wall divided the space into sections.
 

When we were all inside, I closed the door behind us. It was dark in this part of the warehouse and more than a little creepy, as it was stacked with what looked like old theatrical props.
 

We tiptoed past giant, leering heads and papier-mâché dragons over to another door. Light was spilling into this room from behind a torn curtain hanging over a window next to the door.