The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries

by Bianca Blythe

  Cora didn’t feel particularly lucky. She felt embarrassed. She’d been so happy, and now she was being chided like some schoolgirl, though unlike a teacher or principal, Lionel didn’t have the most meager qualifications over her.

  Lionel hardly emanated respectability. His tousled hair signified a lax attitude to seeing barbers regularly. When she’d met him, he’d been obviously hungover and clutching a bottle of scotch, as if under the optimistic belief the strong liquid might make him forget his hangover.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Randolph said, and she nodded, eager to leave Lionel and his sudden avocation of propriety.

  “I’ll get Archibald,” she said.

  He grinned. “It will be nice to see him again.”

  “He’ll be happy to see you.”

  Randolph went to follow her inside, but Lionel cleared his throat noisily. “I believe Miss Clarke is unmarried.”

  “It won’t take long.” Cora felt her skin redden. She’d forgotten how conservative Britain was. This wouldn’t have been an issue in Hollywood.

  “Let’s not take chances. Besides...” He pursed his lips, “we all know you are in possession of a particularly strong imagination.”

  “You make that sound like an insult,” Randolph said indignantly.

  “Indeed?” Lionel retained an innocent tone at odds with his general demeanor. “I meant it to sound like the truth. Or have you not heard about the dead body she claimed she saw?”

  Randolph widened his eyes.

  Oh, no.

  Cora wanted to sink into the ground.

  What must Randolph be thinking?

  “What dead body?” Randolph asked, and his nostrils flared.

  “An imaginary one,” Lionel said.

  “Is that so?” Randolph asked.

  “I’ll get Archibald,” Cora said quickly. “I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”

  “Mm...hmm...” Randolph’s eyes remained focused on Lionel, and even Cora shivered at their intensity.

  She dashed up the stairs, conscious of murmured voices below.

  Why were they still speaking? They shouldn’t be speaking. They hadn’t seemed to like each other. They might both be British, but even Cora doubted Lionel and Randolph had changed the conversation to the oddities, or lack of oddities, about the weather.

  No.

  If they were talking, they were talking about her.

  Cora slammed her key into the lock and turned on the light, forgetting to feel any fear. The flat was soon swathed in light, and Archibald pitter-pattered toward her, wagging his tail.

  Good.

  At least he seemed to be behaving normally. Her stomach tightened at the thought of Randolph and Lionel continuing their conversation. Randolph didn’t need to worry about her safety.

  She grabbed Archibald’s lead. “Would you like to go on a walk?”

  Archibald gave a predictable joyful sounding bark, and she hooked his lead onto his collar. Soon, they were striding down the steps.

  Finally, they reached Randolph and Lionel.

  Archibald wagged his tail with greater intensity when he saw Randolph, and Randolph crouched down to pet him, while giving him several compliments. It was easy to give Archibald compliments, but Cora’s heart still warmed.

  Randolph cleared his throat, even though he’d given no signs of suffering from a cold earlier. Lionel’s face whitened, visible even in the dim light of the landing. Are those beads of sweat on his brow?

  “I should say,” Lionel said haltingly, “that I rather do apologize for my words earlier. They were unnecessarily aggressive.” He looked at Randolph, who nodded. “That’s not the kind of place this is, and I want you to feel comfortable here.”

  Randolph nodded, and Lionel’s shoulders seemed to lower a fraction.

  “I should go now,” Lionel said abruptly. “Have an—er—good evening.”

  In the next moment, Lionel had turned and was scurrying up the stairs.

  Randolph smiled and offered Cora his arm. “Let’s go on a walk.”

  Archibald rushed toward the door, his tail wagging fiercely, and in the next moment they were striding into the cool, London night.

  Chapter Nine

  The sun had fully set, and a dark blue sky rolled over them. Cora preferred it to the gray one which had been over her this evening, though perhaps anything she experienced in Randolph’s company was likely to be favorable.

  Randolph seemed to have that effect on her.

  He’d also seemed to have a disconcerting effect on Lionel, and Cora turned her head to her companion. “What did you say to Lionel?”

  “Me?” Randolph adopted an innocent voice.

  “He was a changed man when I came down.”

  “I merely told him to apologize. He saw reason quickly.”

  “Did you threaten him?”

  “Nonsense,” Randolph said. “Though people do seem to see reason quickly in my presence.”

  Cora smirked.

  Randolph could be intimidating. It did not take an expert in athletics to determine that Randolph was strong. Though he always fit comfortably into his suits and did not possess the overly broad shoulders and broader biceps of a boxer, his movements indicated a powerful force.

  He was handsome, all chiseled features and exquisitely tousled hair, and if he’d grown up in California, or even elsewhere, like Cora, perhaps he would have been practically forced into the film industry.

  Randolph’s style wasn’t repeating lines someone else had written, though Cora had no doubt he could do so perfectly, and it certainly wasn’t to feign living another character’s life.

  No, Randolph’s life was sufficiently interesting.

  “I don’t want you to cause trouble with my landlady’s son,” Cora said.

  “I was improving things,” Randolph said. “But you, sweetheart, have some explaining to do.”

  Oh.

  There was a distinct steeliness in Randolph’s voice.

  “I assume you weren’t truly jesting about finding a body,” Randolph said.

  Oh, dear.

  She didn’t want to speak about this with him.

  Speaking about this with him might make him worried. Speaking about this with him might make her worried.

  It was far nicer to examine the buildings. Everything in London seemed lovelier in the night. Street lamps glowed, and the people outside no longer rushed, but instead strolled, taking in the sights.

  “Cora...” Randolph interrupted her musings on the wonders of London parks, and she felt herself flush.

  Thank goodness it’s dark.

  “Please tell me you’re not in trouble,” Randolph said.

  “I’m not in trouble.”

  “Hmmm... That was not as satisfying to hear as I’d hoped,” Randolph said.

  “No?” Cora gave an awkward laugh.

  “I prefer it when you don’t lie to me,” Randolph said. “And I want more than lies to know you’re fine.”

  “I suppose that’s sweet of you to say.”

  “I’m not aiming for sweet,” Randolph said. “I care about you. Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Besides having that child for a landlord?”

  “He’s hardly dreadful,” Cora said, pondering various boarding houses she’d lived in Hollywood which had been reigned over by stern looking women and inhabited by other actresses, many who seemed to deem attending parties vital to their careers and who came home at all hours of the night.

  “Hmph,” Randolph muttered. “The important question is, did you truly find a body in your flat?”

  “I did.”

  There was a silence. “A dead body?”

  “Yes.” Cora shifted her legs. “At least, I thought he was dead at the time. Veronica was also there. But when we called the constable and went downstairs to greet him, by the time we went back upstairs, the body was missing.”

  “That is most odd.”

  “So maybe we were wrong,” Cora said, trying to laugh. “M
aybe he was just an intruder who was pretending to be dead. Or maybe he was ill and recovered.”

  He was going to want to know everything.

  “Why didn’t you tell me at once?”

  “You’ve only just arrived,” Cora protested. “And the others didn’t believe me. Even the constable.”

  “I will always believe you,” Randolph said, his tone shifting entirely from any lightheartedness.

  Butterflies fluttered inside Cora.

  Randolph took hold of her hand. “What exactly happened?”

  So Cora told him.

  She told him all about her excitement about moving into the flat. She’d dreamed of living in a quiet neighborhood, in a flat that would permit a pet, and in a location not too far from the livelier sections of the capital.

  And then she told him about the man in her bed.

  “So you never saw him before in your life?” Randolph asked.

  “No,” Cora said.

  “And no one in your building said they’d seen a man matching his description before?”

  Cora frowned, conscious she hadn’t asked precisely that question before. “I suppose I should ask the neighbors about that.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “You should not do that. You don’t know these people. They could be dangerous. It’s very likely one of the people inside killed him. Who was he going to see? What brought him here?”

  “Perhaps they just brought his body here,” Cora said, but she was conscious of doubt sounding in her voice. She didn’t have to be trained by the British Government, like Randolph, to know criminals were unlikely to carry a dead body up multiple flights of stairs to rest it in an apartment. Her apartment had been empty, but a stranger to the building would not know that. Besides, someone had then moved the body.

  No.

  Someone in the apartment must know the identity of the victim.

  If only the body hadn’t been moved.

  “The police found a body a few blocks from here,” Cora said.

  Randolph raised his eyebrows. “Most odd.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Cora said. “Veronica and I were in the stairwell after we left the body. No one could have gotten past us.”

  “Were the other residents home?”

  Cora nodded and then paused. “Well, not Bess. At least, I don’t think she was home. I saw her coming home from her work later.”

  “Who’s Bess?”

  “She’s my age. She mentioned she worked at the perfume counter at Harrods.” Cora smiled. “Perhaps one day I might work in a shop.”

  Randolph snorted. “I’ve seen you in the pictures. You’re talented.”

  “You sound like my father,” Cora said. “He’s in town, by the way.”

  Randolph lifted his eyebrows. “You mean, I get to meet him?”

  “You want to meet him?” Cora asked suspiciously.

  “Naturally.” Randolph squeezed her hand.

  “He’s singing at a club in Soho,” Cora said.

  “Then let’s go there later this week,” Randolph said. “Tonight, you have to tell me more about your new home. I don’t like the idea of you staying in a dangerous place. You’re not alone in London, and you’re not without means.”

  “You exaggerate my means. My parents invested what I was paid poorly. There’s nothing left.” Cora raised her chin. “Besides, I need to make a career on my own. I’m not going to be running to someone else to take care of me. I want to make a life here.”

  “You’ve got gumption,” Randolph said. “But making a life for yourself in the big city does not entail putting yourself in unnecessary danger.”

  “I’ll move if it becomes necessary.”

  “See that you do,” Randolph said, his tone serious.

  Cora swallowed hard. “Tell me about Great Aunt Maggie.”

  They chatted further, laughing occasionally, and life seemed quite normal.

  Chapter Ten

  At the end of their stroll, Cora returned upstairs. Lionel’s and Rollo’s apartment was quiet. Perhaps Lionel had decided to visit a club or attend a student gathering rather than risk Randolph’s scolding again.

  Randolph could be intimidating.

  Normally, Cora considered sleep a thing to look forward to, but a prickle of uncertainty still ran through her as she approached her door. Her hands shook, and it took several tries to enter correctly. Finally, she did so.

  She blinked into the dark light.

  There were no signs of any intrusions, either of the dead, or, like her father, of the still living.

  Thank goodness.

  Cora made herself a cup of tea and settled onto her small settee with a book. Archibald curled at her feet and soon slept.

  It was very still.

  Cora shivered.

  She wouldn’t mind if she did hear...something.

  The rain had perhaps scared some passers-by, and the streets outside were quieter than the night before.

  All of a sudden she heard a sound from the window.

  She trembled.

  Someone was coming in. Someone was truly coming in.

  Her heart leaped and sputtered.

  Archibald snored softly, and she hesitated to wake him.

  I’m probably being foolish.

  The thought should have comforted her. She’d been called foolish before, but usually when somebody was saying she was too nice or not sufficiently besotted at the delights of parties.

  Where’s that frying pan?

  Cora rose and headed toward the kitchen. The nice thing about small apartments was she did not have far to go. Unfortunately, the sound outside her window had shifted. It had become louder.

  Much louder.

  Someone’s entering.

  Cora grabbed the frying pan, wishing she’d had the presence to grab Archibald and flee with him outside the house when she’d first felt uneasy.

  She’d never despised her occasional proclivity toward optimism more.

  Golly.

  A hand appeared at the window, followed by a shoulder and then more of a man’s back.

  She frowned.

  The outline should have been intimidating.

  The shoulder and back seemed strong, and the hand was hardly flimsy.

  And yet...

  She swallowed hard.

  Randolph?

  In the next moment he’d opened the window and was peering inside. His eyes drifted to her frying pan, and he grinned. “I like a gal with a sense of protection.”

  “Randolph!” she exclaimed, shoving the frying pan back onto the tiny kitchen counter. It made a loud clatter, and she cringed, hoping Miss Greensbody would not come barging up.

  She rushed toward him. “You shouldn’t be here!”

  “No,” he said casually, as he extended a long leg into the room and then entered the room, more gracefully than should have been possible. “This window is not secure.”

  “There’s a lock on it.”

  “But I managed to open it with some strategic wiggling from the outside.”

  “But someone could have you seen you. They might be calling the police now!”

  His lips quirked up. “Do you hear sirens?”

  A dull feeling settled in Cora’s stomach, and she shook her head.

  “I don’t either.” Randolph shut the window.

  “Well, they’ll come later,” Cora insisted.

  Randolph settled onto the settee, the one seat in the room. “You are adorable.”

  Cora sat gingerly on the bed.

  “You mustn’t look so frightened,” Randolph said. “I promise I won’t ravage you.” His eyes sparkled. “Though the action would be delightful.”

  Were his eyebrows waggling? Cora looked at her lap, conscious of heat attacking her cheeks.

  Cora felt awkward and naïve. Veronica would have known just what to do with him.

  “It’s ok,” Randolph said, more seriously. “I know you’re an innocent.”

  She stiffened.

>   “It’s written all over your face. It’s always been written all over your face.” He smiled. “I think it’s cute.” He shrugged. “And admirable.”

  Her mouth dried, and she shifted her legs over the bare floorboards.

  “I didn’t come into your bedroom to do anything untoward,” he said. “I was worried about your safety. Quite rightly, it seems.”

  Cora turned her head toward the street.

  There were no sirens.

  No footsteps and people shouting.

  No constables banging on the door.

  “There are so many people outside,” she said. “Not as many as during the day, but it’s still crowded. You must have been seen.”

  “And everyone is too polite to do something,” Randolph said. “Besides, just because I snuck in through the window does not make me evil. After all, I might have forgotten my key. I also might be visiting my sweetheart, whose landlord doesn’t allow late night visitors. I’m not necessarily a robber or murderer.”

  Cora inhaled.

  He was right.

  Of course.

  Cora suddenly felt very alone. Randolph was here now, but soon he would go. If something happened to her, like something had happened to the previous person in this room, would anyone know? Would they hear her scream? Would they ignore it?

  She drew her legs up. It wasn’t the most ladylike position, and Randolph’s eyes softened.

  “It will be fine,” he promised. “Just let me fix the window.”

  “Do you think the body was removed from the window?” The thought seemed absurd, and she flushed.

  “That’s a good question,” Randolph said. “There may be another way into the room.”

  He looked around, surveying every corner with an unusual intensity. “This is quite a nice room.”

  “Thank you,” Cora said, surprised.

  “Mm...hmm... I wonder if it used to be larger.”

  “Larger?”

  “Perhaps this building was divided into multiple apartments later. Your kitchen, for instance, hasn’t been here for long.” He glanced out the window. Lights from buildings from the other side of the square sparkled in the distance. “This would have made an excellent dining room once.”

  “Oh.” Cora blinked and a thought occurred to her. “I see. You think there might be a dumbwaiter here?”