“I’ve seen your movies!” the man said breathlessly. “I love them! You are both so talented! Magnificent! Wonderful!”
Cora exchanged glances with Veronica. They’d both seen this before. Some people had a strange tendency to replace normal words for platitudes in their presence, as if they could only remember the more exuberant words in the dictionary.
“He’s not listening,” Veronica whispered.
“No.”
“You are so kind.” Veronica gave a regal smile and slipped past Cora’s new neighbor. Her necklaces and bracelets jangled together as she strolled into the apartment, and she wove expertly around piles of books. “Now where did you put your phone?”
The man’s eyes goggled. “Veronica James is in my apartment. Veronica James is in my apartment!”
“Searching for your phone,” Cora reminded him. “Perhaps you can help her.”
“Right.” He blinked. “I suppose you Americans really are always on the phone. I thought that was a myth. But clearly—”
“She needs to call the police,” Cora said hastily.
“The police!” The man’s voice rose sharply, as if he were practicing for a role that required a falsetto, and he stepped back. Cora did not fail to notice that he was not as successful as Veronica at evading the scholarly obstructions placed haphazardly about the room, and he collided with a pile of medical books.
“There’s a body in my bedroom,” Cora said. “A dead body.”
“What’s going on, Rollo?” a man appeared from the other room. He was rather less clothed than his roommate and he clutched a bottle of gin in his hand, as if he imagined it could serve as a replacement. The robe he wore exposed several inches of bare calves. “There are girls in here. Strange girls.”
“Famous girls,” Rollo said.
Cora scrutinized the other person. “You must be Lionel.”
“Er—yes.”
“Golly, she is a detective,” Rollo said behind her, and Cora found her cheeks warming.
“I’m not,” she said quickly. “You mentioned his name earlier. And I do beg your pardon for being in your apartment like this. I know it’s most inappropriate.”
“Nonsense. Mother owns this property,” Lionel said.
“You’re Mr. Addington!”
“We’re both Mr. Addington,” Rollo said behind her. “But my cousin is older.”
“You must be Miss Clarke, the new tenant in Apartment Six,” Lionel said, showing a surprising capacity for numbers, despite his hungover state. “Mother said we should expect you. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Cora had the distinct impression both men were nice, despite their confusion and morning mannerisms, even though it was past noon, and quite too late for bathrobes and unbrushed hair.
“Golly,” Rollo said. “We’ll have a celebrity living with us. A Hollywood one.”
“Rollo’s a film student,” Lionel remarked. “You must forgive him.”
“How interesting,” Cora said. It seemed odd to consider that anyone could study film. “Is that common here?”
“Not at all,” Rollo said, managing to inhale sufficient air to speak, “but the nice thing about university is that one can write a dissertation on positively anything. The more obscure the better.”
“So you consider us obscure?” Veronica’s voice wobbled.
“Of course not,” Rollo said hurriedly, and his cheeks once again adopted a ruddy color, as if it were a permanent sign of deference.
Deference was always a good idea in Veronica’s presence.
“And she’s Veronica James.” Rollo pointed at Veronica, who had evidently found the phone and was speaking.
His eyes widened again.
Veronica had the ability to cause pupils to enlarge.
“I’m afraid there’s a dead body in my room,” Cora said.
Lionel threw back his head and chuckled. “Good one.”
“I’m being serious,” Cora said, and her horror at the discovery was quickly replaced by irritation at not being believed.
“Is it murder?” The man’s eyes glimmered, and he seemed perilously close to winking. She moved past him, thankful for her petite size.
The apartment was larger than Cora’s own, and music still sounded from another room. Its tempo remained upbeat and lively, and Cora could imagine it might irritate Miss Greensbody. If this man celebrated with this vigor at the joys of a Wednesday afternoon, how might he celebrate a Saturday night?
Perhaps some things shouldn’t be pondered.
“What sort of body? A bird? Another dog?” Lionel glanced at Archibald and slurred his words. He swayed, as if attempting to slow dance with a ghost.
“A stranger’s body,” Veronica said. “A stranger’s human body. It’s dreadful.”
“It wouldn’t be better if I knew the person,” Cora said.
“No,” Veronica said, “I suppose that’s true. Especially since there’s a high percentage that I would be the body.”
“I’m not following,” Lionel said.
“I’m Cora’s best friend,” Veronica explained. “And since she is less social than I am, it would be statistically likely—”
“That’s not important,” Cora said hurriedly. No need for everyone to know the extent of her introversion. She was living in London now, and she wasn’t going to miss out on life and normal experiences anymore.
“The police will be here soon,” Veronica said.
“Police?” Lionel scrunched his eyes together, as if the word were a novel concept.
Cora wondered if Lionel was in university as well. Perhaps it was wrong to suppose continual education was a sign of a lofty intellect. Perhaps it was simply a sign of someone in need of an intellect.
The doorbell rang, and Lionel’s face whitened. “You better meet him.”
Cora gave a curt nod and exited the flat with Veronica.
Chapter Four
Cora and Veronica descended the steps of the building to answer the doorbell. Cora took Archibald into her arms, lest he scamper into the street, and opened the door.
A middle-aged man in a constable’s uniform stood outside. Rain speckled his shiny navy helmet. “You rang?”
“A man has been murdered,” Veronica said in her customary cool voice, and Cora’s shoulders eased.
This will all be over soon.
“His body is upstairs,” Cora explained.
“Very well.” The constable peered upward as he entered, as if thinking the building an unlikely location for a murder. No blood-stained killer loitered in the foyer, and the faded floral wallpaper conjured idyllic countryside visions rather than nightmares.
Veronica ascended the steps, and her lace dress swished against the dark banister.
“Er—yes.” The constable scrunched his face, and for a moment his square-shaped face appeared rather less square. “I say, you look just like Veronica James.”
Veronica gave him a patient smile. “I am Veronica James.”
“Golly,” the constable sputtered. “I’m—er—Police Constable Meeks. At your service.”
The door on the same level as Lionel and Rollo opened, and the matronly attired woman Cora and Veronica had spotted when they entered poked her head out.
“What is this dreadful commotion?” She rolled her r slightly and exchanged a soft e sound for where a soft i sound was customarily used, revealing a Welsh accent. The lenses of her glasses flickered, caught in the light of the grimy chandelier.
“You must be Miss Greensbody.” Veronica extended her hand. “I’m Veronica James.”
“The Veronica James,” the constable said, wonder still in his voice as he headed upstairs.
Veronica gave a smug smile, and even though there was a dead body in the apartment upstairs, Cora knew Veronica was musing about the wonders of her position, and how much she’d achieved.
“The movie star?” Miss Greensbody asked.
Veronica nodded, and her smile broadened. “You’re supposed to shake my han
d. Many people would be delighted to be offered it. Some people would even kiss it.”
“I’m not kissing your hand,” Miss Greensbody said.
“May I?” the constable breathed.
Veronica and Cora swiveled toward him, and his face reddened.
“Naturally not,” the constable said hastily. “That would be absurd. Utterly inappropriate. Ha, ha, ha, ha.”
“You may kiss my hand,” Veronica said regally, thrusting her gloved hand in the direction of the constable.”
“Better not,” the constable said, though his voice sounded hoarse. “This is an—er—business call.”
“Very well,” Veronica said.
“Gracious,” Miss Greensbody said. “What is he doing here?”
Veronica’s face sobered, perhaps remembering the dead person upstairs. “I’m afraid there’s been a tragedy.”
The constable nodded, grateful to be returned to his task. “Murder.”
Miss Greensbody sucked in her breath.
“Upstairs,” Veronica said graciously. “He’s lying on my friend’s bed. In Apartment Six.”
“Did you see the death?” the constable asked.
“Nonsense,” Veronica said. “He was dead when we found him.”
“And his name is—?”
“We don’t know. But it’s not as important as removing him,” Veronica said. “My friend needs to move into her new apartment. She was excited about it, though goodness knows why.” Veronica glided her gaze about the stairwell, raising her eyebrows loftily.
The constable’s expression did not change. Most likely he thought this was a perfectly respectable place in which to live. Cora thought it a perfectly respectable place.
The constable restarted his path up the stairs, and Veronica and Cora followed.
“Wait.” Miss Greensbody followed them. “I’m coming with you.”
“It might be a terrible sight,” the constable warned.
“And it’s not your apartment,” Veronica said.
“From what I understand,” Miss Greensbody said, “it is not yours either, Miss James.”
“Your Grace,” Veronica corrected, even though she normally did not dwell on the fact she’d married a duke. Their separation had been unpleasant, and the duke’s activities were not of the sort that would cast a rosier light on Veronica.
Still, her husband was a duke.
Miss Greensbody’s eyes narrowed. “I remember reading about you in The Telegraph. You’re not the right sort of people for this house.”
“Are you saying you have an advantage over me?” Veronica asked, her tone incredulous.
“Yes,” Miss Greensbody said simply.
“That is absolute nonsense,” Veronica said.
“I have lived here for ten years. Peacefully. Your visit of ten minutes has proved significantly more disruptive. The people at the Museum of Ancient Antiquities will agree with me.”
“Perhaps she will recognize the body,” Cora murmured to Veronica.
“Oh.” Veronica frowned. “I suppose you can come.”
“Good heavens,” Miss Greensbody said. “Thank you for your permission. And I thought someone who’d failed out of university made for a poor neighbor.”
“Number Seven?” the constable called from above.
“The door should be open,” Cora said hurriedly, and they dashed upstairs. Evidently Veronica and Miss Greensbody had deciding arguing would only delay their arrival.
Perhaps the person’s death had been of natural causes and nothing suspicious.
Not murder.
It mustn’t be murder.
Cora had had enough murders so far in her time in England, and she wasn’t prepared to move into an apartment where one had been committed.
“Where’s the body?” the constable shouted.
Cora frowned. “On my bed.”
“Gracious,” Miss Greensbody said, clutching the fastening of her cardigan. “Was it your lover?”
“I didn’t know him.”
“But I know about you modern girls,” Miss Greensbody said, even though she was probably only fifteen years older, and even though that generation had been infamous for having good times in the previous decade. “He still could have been your lover.”
“Cora’s never had a lover,” Veronica said.
“Veronica!” Cora exclaimed.
Cora had followed the rules her whole life. Every adult said it was important for young ladies not to take lovers, but Veronica seemed to find it an endless source of amusement that Cora never had.
Cora was beginning to grow quite self-conscious about the matter as well.
“Say, what’s all this nonsense?” The constable marched toward them. His face had taken on a purple tint, as if striving to match his blue uniform, but not managing to.
Cora hoped he wouldn’t fail similarly at finding the killer.
It’s not a murder, she corrected herself.
She was becoming too accustomed to murders. Most people died of natural causes, even people who gave every appearance of being in exemplary health.
The constable stepped from the apartment and shut the door. “Wasting police time is ill-advised.”
“What on earth are you babbling about?” Veronica rushed past him, and Cora hurried after her.
She stopped abruptly.
The bed was there, just like before.
The coverlet was there and possessed no wrinkles.
The body though had vanished.
“Do you see that?” Veronica whispered.
“Yes,” Cora squeaked.
“I better leave,” the constable said.
“Wait!” Veronica blurted. “Perhaps he’s...elsewhere.”
The constable arched a bushy brow. “Then he wouldn’t be dead and he wouldn’t be my concern.”
Veronica frowned but then marched to the wardrobe. She inhaled, quivering slightly, but then pulled the doors open abruptly.
Cora tensed, half-expecting to see a body tumble out, but, with the exception of a handful of hangers evidently abandoned by the previous tenant, it was empty.
“I’ll check the shower.” Cora strode from the room, but she soon returned. “It was empty.”
“There is clearly nobody else in this flat,” Miss Greensbody said, in a tone so aggrieved it resembled disappointment.
“Perhaps this is a good thing,” Veronica whispered, squeezing her hand. “Perhaps he was just a trespasser.”
Cora shook her head. She’d touched the man’s wrist. It had been cold. His skin had had a grayish tint that could have been achieved with makeup, but would have had no reason to be. She glanced at the window. It was still open. Could someone have absconded with the body?
Chapter Five
Both Miss Greensbody and Police Constable Meeks appeared more irritated than mystified.
“It is highly unusual to make up seeing a dead body.” Miss Greensbody sniffed.
Archibald barked, and Cora hushed him.
Miss Greensbody shot an accusatory look at Archibald. “We’ve never had a dog here before.”
Cora fought the urge to scoop Archibald into her arms. “The landlady told me pets were allowed.”
“Pets, perhaps. Personally, I have a cat. Far more civilized. But then, I am British.” She gave a cool, tight smile, as if to indicate she was far too polite to mention Cora was American and obviously bereft of civilization.
Archibald barked again, no doubt sensing the rising tension, and Miss Greensbody gave a triumphant smile. “Princess Petunia would never do that.”
Cora hushed Archibald, and he gave her an exasperated look. Archibald seemed to have heroic tendencies, and unfortunately, he’d decided Cora’s new neighbor was the enemy. No doubt he could smell cat hairs on her.
The constable cleared his throat. “Goodbye, ladies.”
“But you haven’t found the body!” Veronica exclaimed.
“He can’t find a body that doesn’t exist.” Miss Greensbody smirked.
>
“Your neighbor is right,” the constable said, almost reluctantly.
“But there was one,” Cora said.
The constable’s eyes softened. “Perhaps it was some vagrant who’d decided to take a nap there. The window is open after all. He was probably embarrassed at being discovered and pretended to be dead. And then once you left, he did a runner. It’s a good thing he’s not here.”
Cora nodded. She wanted to believe the constable. She wanted the young man she’d seen to be alive.
“A vagrant wouldn’t be wearing a suit,” Veronica said.
“All the more reason for him to be embarrassed,” Miss Greensbody said. “Now, be sure to keep that window closed. We don’t want any more people sneaking in. I’ll be sure to write to Mrs. Addington to express my deep irritation about this matter. A profound waste of time.”
“You have a busy schedule?” Veronica asked.
“Indeed.I am the lead curator at the Persian Antiquities Exhibit at the Museum of Ancient Antiquities on Great Russell Street. It is a most important role. Persians rather mastered civilization centuries ago. In fact, I should be going. I have an important business meeting at the museum and I must feed Princess Petunia.” Miss Greensbody marched from the room.
“I’ll best be going too,” the constable said. “There’ll be paperwork for me to fill out.”
Cora watched as the constable exited the room and then moved her attention to the bed. “I’m going to go buy some new bedding. And perhaps a new mattress.”
“New bedding?” Veronica grimaced. “You’re staying with me.”
“You don’t have an apartment yet.”
“Only a matter of time, honey. And the Ritz is quite suitable in the meantime.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“We can go to your landlady and demand your money back,” Veronica said.
“I don’t think it’s that easy,” Cora said. “I did sign an awful lot of papers. And since neither the constable nor our neighbor seemed convinced the body didn’t belong solely to our imagination, I doubt she’ll be more accepting.”
“Oh.” Veronica blinked. “How very frustrating. Do you think it’s possible we did imagine it? Not the body of course, but whether he was actually dead? Perhaps he had just chosen the wrong spot for a nap. The English do despise being rude. Perhaps you’ll even see him wandering about later.”
The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries Page 38