The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries

by Bianca Blythe

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Cora had never seen a dumbwaiter before, but she’d heard about them. Apparently some houses possessed them so servants might transfer food easily from the kitchen downstairs to the dining room.

  “Let’s check behind the paintings.” Cora scrambled toward a reproduced landscape.

  Only floral wallpaper was behind it, and Cora sighed. She turned, surveying the room. “Perhaps there’s something behind the mirror?”

  “Right. I’m on it.” Randolph rushed to the mirror and lifted it up.

  This time, there was no floral wallpaper.

  “Bingo,” Randolph said gleefully. He ran his fingers over a smooth surface. There was a small latch, and he pulled it open.

  “Oh.”

  It was a simple hole in the wall that tunneled downward. Some ropes dangled on either side.

  Randolph grabbed hold of the ropes and pulled on them. Creaking sounded, and then a tray appeared.

  Cora blinked. “Amazing.”

  “Do you think he could have fit inside?” Randolph asked.

  “Yes,” Cora said, in awe. “Though it would have been tight. And he would have risked it falling completely. I’m not sure what the weight limit for this is.”

  “If he was dead, it wouldn’t have mattered,” Randolph remarked wryly.

  “Oh.”

  “But who would have hidden him?” Cora asked.

  “The murderer,” Randolph said. “He must have been interrupted. He must have killed the guy, thought the room was a good hiding place because it was empty, and then panicked when he heard you and Veronica speaking with the constable.”

  Excitement rushed through Cora. “Lionel and Rollo were very surprised when we came to their flat to call the police.”

  “And Lionel did not seem overly friendly,” Randolph said.

  Cora shivered.

  “Don’t worry,” Randolph said quickly. “I may have mentioned you were important to me. And that I’ve been trained in various martial arts.” He wiggled his eyebrows again.

  Cora settled back onto the bed.

  “So you think Lionel killed him?” she asked.

  “He’s the landlord.”

  “Landlady’s son,” Cora corrected.

  Randolph shrugged. “He would have known about the dumbwaiter.”

  Cora laughed. “He really did not make a good impression on you.”

  “Anyone who insults you makes it impossible to give me a good impression,” Randolph said.

  “He has no motive,” Cora said.

  “Drug deal gone wrong?” Randolph asked. “Or perhaps they were both interested in the same girl.”

  “You’re just making up possibilities.”

  “They could all have happened,” Randolph said more seriously, and Cora nodded.

  He was right.

  They all were possible.

  “There’s no proof of anything,” Cora said. “There’s no blood on that dumbwaiter or anything that would tie him here. The poor man was poisoned.”

  Randolph was silent. He couldn’t deny the lack of evidence.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to leave now?” Randolph asked.

  Cora shook her head.

  It was tempting. But she’d paid her rent in advance. This was a fine apartment. She’d been lucky to find one in such a lovely area that accepted dogs.

  Was it truly so dangerous?

  The murderer might know Cora had seen a body, but the body had been removed. There had been no picture of the man in the papers, perhaps as a concession to the squeamish, and perhaps because they didn’t know his identity yet. Cora had already told her concerns to the constable. Would the murderer risk more attention to kill Cora? Veronica had also seen the body. Was she also in danger?

  Cora shivered.

  “Just fix the window,” Cora said. “And—er—make certain the lock on the door works.”

  “Very well.” Randolph set to work. He then climbed from the window, and Cora secured it in the manner he suggested.

  Her heart still beat uncomfortably, and she resisted the urge to run after him.

  This was her home.

  This was her dream.

  She wasn’t going to allow anyone to talk her out of staying in it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sleep had been elusive during the night, despite Randolph’s efforts at increasing the security in the room.

  She’d clung to the belief the man on her bed had not been truly dead, since he would have had to have walked from the room.

  But Randolph had shown it could have been possible.

  She frowned.

  She wanted to forget everything.

  A thought occurred to her. She’d thrown the old bed linen into the waste bin. Perhaps she could check it. She thought she would have remembered a daisy print, but she’d ripped the bedding off hastily. She ignored the sharp feeling of dread and searched the waste bin, grateful she’d done a miniscule of cooking in the room. Unemployment did not lend itself to elaborate meals, even if Cora had been able to cook.

  It was there.

  The fitted sheet was white and the pillows were white, save for a small daisy strip that ran on them.

  It must have been a set.

  She swallowed hard. Whoever had deposited the body must have taken care to not use the coverlet, as if determined to not arouse suspicion.

  If only she hadn’t spotted the dead body.

  She shivered, not wanting to imagine the man taking his final breaths.

  She frowned and decided to rearrange the furniture. She couldn’t move the bed, since it hung from the wall, but she could move the settee and the coffee table. She moved them a foot farther from the window.

  Well. Perhaps this wasn’t vastly different.

  Even worse, she couldn’t erase her memories. She inhaled, trying not to imagine that it was the same air that the dead man had taken, back when he was alive, back when he’d felt safe.

  Had he gone to her room to hide?

  She sighed. Perhaps some gang had gone after him, and it truly was ludicrous to imagine Lionel, even in his grumpiness, or anyone else in the apartment, to have committed the murder.

  She wished she knew the identity of the murderer.

  Perhaps she could buy a newspaper today to see if the police had made more progress on their investigation on her way to visit a new employment agency.

  She took Archibald for a short walk, and then proceeded on a longer one.

  No doubt once she found a job, things would seem more normal.

  Unfortunately, jobs were evidently difficult to come by, and when she returned to her apartment, she still did not have any leads.

  She marched up the stairs. She hadn’t gotten very far when the front door opened behind her.

  She ignored the sudden prickle of fear that rushed up her spine and turned around.

  It was Miss Greensbody.

  Her hair was less immaculate before. Though she hadn’t previously sported a fashionable coiffure, her bun had been pristine, every strand of mousy hair in perfect place. Now strands of her hair lay horizontally against her forehead, as if she’d raked her fingers through it.

  “Hello!” Cora forced her voice to remain bright. “Lovely weather.”

  “I wasn’t looking at the sky.”

  “How was your meeting yesterday?” Cora asked.

  Miss Greensbody frowned slightly, but raised her chin. “Everything was fine. No need to trouble yourself.”

  Something about Miss Greensbody’s brave smile and wobbly chin made Cora’s heart ache. She couldn’t just go to her room. “Are you certain you’re fine?”

  “Any casual observation should tell you I’m not.” Miss Greensbody sniffed, clutching a handkerchief to her face.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cora said.

  Miss Greensbody blinked rapidly and then jerked her handkerchief toward her eyes.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Cora asked.

&
nbsp; “I wouldn’t,” Miss Greensbody said, “but it seems everyone else is speaking about it.”

  Cora blinked, and Miss Greensbody tossed her a newspaper in a show of athleticism that she hadn’t expected from the assistant curator.

  “There, right there,” Miss Greensbody said dramatically. “Under New Exhibit at the Museum of Ancient Antiquities.”

  Cora read a short column and then raised her gaze. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “The Times declared the exhibit an adequate glimpse at Persian culture.”

  “You’d rather it was more effusive in its praise?” Cora sighed. “Reviews are not always good. I know, as an actress—”

  Miss Greensbody waved her hand dismissively. “No, no. The Times’ article was justified. The exhibit wasn’t supposed to be adequate. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to be a glimpse at Persian culture. It was supposed to be magnificent.”

  Cora made sympathetic noises. They usually worked when Archibald seemed stressed, but Miss Greensbody only sent her a regal glare.

  “We were supposed to receive precious jewels about Cyrus the Great,” Miss Greensbody said. “They were supposed to be the center point of the exhibit. Unfortunately, the man who was supposed to bring them never showed up. What use is an exhibit that constantly references something that does not appear?”

  “An educational exhibit?” Cora attempted.

  Miss Greensbody sent her a lofty scowl. “Miss Clarke, you fail to grasp the pressures of being a curator in Bloomsbury. We must display our finds. Otherwise we can just direct people to the British Library. After all, this is the center of all culture.”

  “I imagine parts of the world would disagree with that statement,” Cora said lightly.

  “That is not a testament to the intelligence of other cultures.” Miss Greensbody’s pince-nez drifted down her nose, and she shoved it back up.

  “I had wanted to visit the British Museum,” Cora admitted.

  “It’s too large,” Miss Greensbody said. “The museum cannot give everything the attention it deserves.”

  “Then the Persian Antiquities Exhibit at the Museum of Ancient Antiquities sounds even nicer,” Cora said.

  “There are no jewels,” Miss Greensbody warned her.

  “That’s quite fine,” Cora said.

  After all, Cora was in need of something to fill her day. Something so she did not solely muse about the body that had appeared in her bedroom or her lack of employment.

  Miss Greensbody gave her a wary look, perhaps remembering how she’d first met Cora. Finally, she nodded. “Everyone will benefit from culture.”

  “How did you get involved with studying Persian culture?”

  “Everyone else was studying Egyptian culture,” Miss Greensbody said. “I wanted something new. You wouldn’t understand the pressures of academe.”

  Cora nodded amiably, even though people here did seem to have a definite high regard for the past. Much of the architecture in London seemed intent on replicating classical lines and flourishes. Miss Greensbody turned to her sharply. “Your sympathy is endearing, my dear.”

  They strode up the stairs. Miss Greensbody continued to speak about the greatness of her vision for the exhibition and the deep tragedy that had been befallen her.

  Miss Greensbody couldn’t have been that old. Despite her bun, perched on the part of her head that seemed to be most unflattering to her profile, her skin was devoid of the wrinkles and creases that so often came with added age. Her hair might be mousy, but it was not in possession of the silver strands people tended to confuse with respectability. Her dress was slightly too long to be fashionable, and though Miss Greensbody’s attire was in possession of color, the colors possessed a uniform murkiness, as if they’d all been washed together too many times. No doubt Miss Greensbody thought perusing research tomes was a more worthy occupation than mastering laundry techniques.

  “I suppose you think I’m foolish.” Miss Greensbody sniffed and unfolded her handkerchief.

  “No, no,” Cora said hastily. “Naturally not.”

  Miss Greensbody raked her hand through her hair again, and a larger section of her hair fell onto her brow.

  “Fiddlesticks,” Miss Greensbody said, and her eyebrows darted together, as if seeking to join in some feat of gymnastics.

  She opened the door to her apartment, and Cora followed her inside.

  Cora looked around the room. A dining room table and chairs with majestic brown legs sat in one corner of the room, though Miss Greensbody had evidently abandoned any attempt at dinner parties and was using it chiefly as a place to hold papers and books.

  “How cozy,” Cora murmured politely. “Mine is still very bare.”

  “I remember when Lionel was still at school. He had the decency to be quiet then.”

  “That’s a long time,” Cora mused.

  Miss Greensbody shrugged. “I went to university here.”

  “How long have you worked at the institute?”

  “One year. And my first exhibit is a disaster,” she wailed.

  “I’m sure the exhibit still is impressive,” Cora said soothingly. “Given your passion, how else could it be?”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Miss Greensbody said, and her sobs grew less frequent.

  “I’m certain,” Cora said decidedly. “In fact, I’ve been quite looking forward to seeing it.”

  “You have?” Miss Greensbody blinked, and her tears halted.

  “Yes,” Cora said forcefully. “The exhibit sounds fascinating.”

  Fascinating was perhaps an exaggeration. Cora had never had particularly strong opinions toward Persia, and she was not more eager to see an exhibit on Persia than she was to see an exhibit on Indochina or Ethiopia.

  But this was London. Everyone knew the British Empire was the largest, most expansive in the world. Everyone knew the sun never set on the British Empire, and everyone also knew the British seemed compelled to forever adventure to places even outside their empire and had a habit of bringing treasures back with them.

  Though she wasn’t certain what people in those countries thought of their treasures being removed, she did want to learn more about the world and its history and cultures, and there seemed no better place to do that than right here.

  Cora was happy to begin learning at Miss Greensbody’s exhibit.

  “Let’s go,” Miss Greensbody said.

  “Now?”

  Miss Greensbody nodded. “I have to return back anyway. My lunch break is almost over. Unless, of course, you don’t have anything else to go to?”

  “I don’t,” Cora said. “Now is perfect.”

  After all, soon she’d find a job, and she would have no time left.

  She could also take the time to ask Miss Greensbody questions about the neighborhood. Perhaps her neighbor had seen somebody who matched the dead man’s description.

  “Very well.” Miss Greensbody rose. “I see you haven’t obtained a job.”

  Some people seemed to have a natural proclivity toward snootiness, and unfortunately, Miss Greensbody had been heavily bestowed with that quality. At least she seemed more content than before.

  Soon they were strolling outside. Cora quickly realized it was going to take far less time to reach the exhibit than it had when Archibald had accompanied her. Though Archibald delighted in walks, he could not match Miss Greensbody’s vigor and long strides. If Cora was going to learn anything about the rest of the apartment from Miss Greensbody, it would have to be now.

  “What do you think about the other people in the apartment?” Cora asked.

  “All dreadful.” Miss Greensbody turned to her. “I’m still deciding about you.”

  Dreadful as in one of them might be a murderer?

  “Do you think anyone is involved in unsavory activities?” Cora asked.

  Even though Miss Greensbody was walking, and even though her legs and hands were moving at a considerable pace, Miss Greensbody’s eyebrows now joined her legs in
activity and rose. “Such curiosity. I hope you’re not inquiring about the potential of procuring...drugs from any of them.”

  Cora felt her skin warm. “I’ve never taken drugs.”

  “Perhaps you never had the opportunity.”

  Despite Miss Greensbody’s earlier vulnerability, she seemed to be rapidly regaining her former confidence, or at least, her prickly demeanor.

  Cora knew she should be happy Miss Greensbody was no longer clutching a handkerchief and looking mournfully about, but being the object of Miss Greensbody’s scoldings was unpleasant.

  Still...

  Drugs.

  It hadn’t occurred to her before, but perhaps the man on her bed had been in a drug-induced stupor. Perhaps that explained his stiffness.

  If only she’d taken more opportunities in Hollywood to speak with the actors and actresses who seemed to know much about drugs and who experimented with the vigor of a scientist, intent on curing some disease. Heroin seemed particularly popular, having spread to Hollywood from the Harlem jazz scene in the last decade. She would not be surprised if the drug were equally popular here.

  Finally, Miss Greensbody stopped before a narrow building. A large banner proclaiming the magnificence of the exhibit hung from a balcony and spanned nearly the entire width of the building. “We’re here,” Miss Greensbody said brightly. “The finest place in all London.”

  “Splendid,” Cora said.

  She followed Miss Greensbody inside. The building was pleasant, and light shone over sculptures from past centuries.

  Though the exhibit did not have the swarms of people Cora had seen outside the British Museum the day before, it was not empty. Bespectacled men and women clutched notebooks and seemed to take great interest. Mothers and daughters strolled together. It seemed lovely to Cora that education could be an outing.

  Even though she’d felt guilty about not devoting her time to finding a job, she realized she was excited about the exhibit.

  “I’ve never been in a museum before,” she confessed.

  Miss Greensbody’s mouth gaped open, even though Miss Greensbody had tended to emulate propriety, and Cora did not think gawking was part of it.

  “You poor thing,” Miss Greensbody said finally, showing an empathy Cora did not associate with her. “Poor American.”