The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries

by Bianca Blythe

  She now knew Mr. Tehrani had definitely been dead, had definitely been murdered, when he’d been in her apartment.

  Someone else had killed Mr. Tehrani. Someone in my apartment building.

  Her heart tightened.

  She’d thought it unlikely that any of the neighbors were guilty. After all, would they have had time to remove the body in the short time when Cora and Veronica were greeting the police constable? But now it was entirely too possible that any of them could have done it, even Miss Greensbody, even, for that matter, Bess.

  Suddenly Cora was no longer so happy that Archibald was alone in the apartment. What was rain when compared to a murderer on the loose?

  “I have to go,” she said.

  Pop nodded, still managing to look ashamed.

  She hurried back to Bloomsbury. She tried to tell herself that just because a person had developed an interest in murdering somebody, didn’t mean they’d developed an interest in murdering pets, but Cora knew she would only be relieved when she saw Archibald again and assessed his wellbeing for herself. Her heartbeat ratcheted in her chest, and she stopped looking at the elaborate Georgian facades and concentrated only on maintaining a steady speed, even as people slowed, intent on avoiding puddles.

  It was only later that she remembered she hadn’t asked Pop’s opinion on Mr. Tehrani’s business relationship with Miss Greensbody.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cora arrived at the building and removed her keys. Her hands shook, and it took several tries to enter correctly. She blinked into the dark light and ushered Archibald outside before she returned to prepare for the evening.

  She dreaded going to Club Paradiso. Moving a dead body from a murder scene must be against the law. If it wasn’t, it was only because the law couldn’t anticipate her father’s actions.

  It was perhaps sweet he’d done it to protect her. She wasn’t used to any signs of fatherly affection, and she would take what she could get.

  Still.

  Wouldn’t the police be able to at some point tie everything to Pop? This wasn’t her first murder, and she knew the swarm of police that accompanied any investigators. There were men whose whole jobs were dedicated to looking at practically invisible things, like fingerprints and collecting strands of hair.

  And what would happen then?

  Perhaps Pop was wrong, and Cora should march to the nearest police station and confess everything. Perhaps Pop would get in trouble, but wouldn’t confessing lead to a smaller charge than murder?

  She shivered.

  She despised that Pop had done this. Would the police ever figure out who killed the man now?

  Perhaps they couldn’t determine it, but she knew the connection to this building in Bloomsbury. Perhaps she could discover the murderer’s identity. Pop’s freedom might depend on it.

  It would be easier to pretend none of this had happened. Yet, even though she’d changed her bedding, and even though she’d rearranged her furniture, none of that changed the fact that someone, someone in this very building, had murdered Mr. Tehrani.

  Fortunately, Mr. Tehrani and she had little in common. Perhaps that would quell any murderous instincts any of the residents had. A tiny part of her told her this was nonsense, and only certain serial killers took pains to ensure their victims resembled one another. A normal murderer would be far more likely to feel compelled to murder because of a particular situation. If they thought her a threat, they might feel inspired to have her meet a similar fate as the Persian, particularly if imbued by the belief they could get away with a second murder. Unfortunately, Cora had not found a correlation between being a murderer and a paucity of confidence.

  Cora exited her flat and locked the door. At least she didn’t appear threatening. She tried to

  “Hello,” Bess said.

  Cora turned around sharply, surprised to see her neighbor. She hadn’t noticed her.

  Bess laughed. “You look quite pale.”

  “I’m a bit on edge,” Cora admitted.

  “Rollo told me you’d thought you saw a man on your bed.” Bess’s eyes were slightly narrow.

  Last time they’d met, they’d gotten along fine, but a new tension seemed between them that Cora instantly despised.

  “I did see somebody,” Cora said, “though perhaps he was simply ill and wandered off. The constable said that was the most likely explanation.”

  Cora despised that she’d lied, but at least Bess’s gaze seemed less stern. Her neighbor shrugged. “Better keep your window closed.”

  Cora nodded. “London is a big city. I’m not used to it.”

  Bess’s gaze softened. “I’m not from here either.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “The Cotswolds.”

  Cora was vaguely aware of the idyllic rolling hills and honey-colored cottages famous in that region.

  “You look nice,” Bess said, perhaps also anxious to rescue their conversation, now she no longer thought Cora was in the habit of conjuring up stories of dead people.

  “Thank you,” Cora said.

  She felt glum, but she wasn’t going to contradict Bess.

  “Please tell me you’re going somewhere fun,” Bess said. “And then tell me I can come with you. It’s much too tiresome here.”

  “I’m going to Soho,” Cora said. “And you are very welcome to join.”

  If she was going to figure out the murderer, she needed to spend more time with her neighbors. And where better than in a place in public?

  Bess grinned. “I’m so glad. I swear I thought I could hear Miss Greensbody cry last night. Obviously, it was her cats yowling. Miss Greensbody, is far too respectable to ever have emotions.”

  Cora shifted her feet awkwardly. She had no desire to contradict Bess. Miss Greensbody had shared things with her in confidence. Bess didn’t need to know Miss Greensbody felt her career was in an unideal situation.

  “Do you think Rollo and Lionel might want to come?” Cora asked.

  Bess stared at her, somewhat incredulously. “I’m sure they would want to, but do you really want to invite them?”

  “I thought you were close to them.”

  Bess shrugged. “They’re all right. They’re just boys though. Have you seen their apartment?”

  “Well, you don’t have to invite them,” Cora said. “I just want to be neighborly.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Invite us to what?” Rollo called from the downstairs landing.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Bess murmured. “These walls are thin.” She inhaled. “Cora and I were planning to go into Soho. Would you like to join us?”

  “Would we ever!” Rollo shouted. “I’ll tell Lionel.” The door slammed, and the sound of his feet pounding through his flat continued, as if he were an elephant escaped from the zoo and confronting steps for the first time.

  Bess rolled her eyes. “So childish.”

  “Not your type?” Cora asked.

  Bess shook her head. “I want a real man, one who doesn’t need to count his money all the time. One who can buy me a drink and not have it matter.” She flushed. “I suppose you think I sound like an alcoholic. I’m really not.”

  It occurred to Cora that Mr. Bijan Tehrani might fit those qualifications very well. His clothes had been tailored well, and he’d possessed a groomed appearance. How long had he been in London? Would Bess have had an opportunity to meet him?

  “I’ll get dressed.” Bess ducked back into her apartment.

  It didn’t take them long to prepare. Bess soon appeared, clothed in a black gown that made her look sophisticated despite its obvious simplicity.

  Bess and Cora descended the steps and then waited for Rollo and Lionel.

  “Golly,” Rollo said upon seeing her. “You’re stunning.”

  “Thank you.” Bess appeared pleased.

  They exited the building.

  Rollo continued to speak with Bess, managing to compliment both her attire and her hair in a very short time, and C
ora found herself walking with Lionel.

  “So your young man isn’t coming tonight?” Lionel asked.

  “No,” she said.

  Lionel’s lips extended into something that too closely resembled a smirk.

  “This really wasn’t intended to be a large event,” Cora said.

  “You enjoy going to clubs on your own?” Lionel’s lips were definitely smirking now, and even his eyebrows were raised, as if eager to make a condescending gesture of their own.

  “My father’s performing there,” Cora said. “He’s the singer.”

  “Ah, a show business family,” Lionel said.

  “I suppose.” She turned to him. “And you’re in the family business too.”

  Lionel looked puzzled for a moment.

  “Your mother is the landlady,” she prompted him.

  “And I take care of matters here. It is a task with much responsibility.” His chest seemed a trifle broader than before, and his chin tilted upward.

  “How splendid,” Cora said faintly.

  She hadn’t taken him for someone to be overly pompous. Managing a single building didn’t seem cause for excessive praise.

  “I know you think poorly of me,” Lionel said.

  “Nonsense,” Cora said automatically.

  “You needn’t prevaricate,” Lionel said. “It was clear from my conversation with your—er—significant other.”

  Cora knew she should be focusing on Lionel, but the only words that rang through her head were significant other. Yes, that’s what she and Randolph were. No one had ever described it thus before, but surely that’s what they were.

  She found herself smiling contentedly, and Lionel nodded, perhaps seeing her smile as an acknowledgment of his own correctness.

  “I’m a student,” Lionel said. “My hours are odd, but they won’t always be.” He shrugged. “Actually, my hours will probably be just as odd when I’m a doctor.”

  “A doctor?” She turned to him sharply. “You’re in medical school?”

  He nodded. “Yes. It can be stressful at times. Lots of studying at odd hours. I sleep when I can, and I party when I can too.”

  “Oh.” Cora found herself flushing.

  She’d thought little of him, but he was obviously smarter than she’d imagined.

  “I misjudged you,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.” He winked and opened the door for her as they headed outside.

  “Do you enjoy your studies?” she asked.

  “Enjoy is perhaps too strong of a word,” Lionel said. “But it’s fine. It’s certainly interesting at times.”

  Cora tried to nod authoritatively, but she knew little about medicine. She’d barely learned any biology when she was being tutored on set, and her knowledge of the organs in her body was limited to only the most important. She knew her heart was on the left side of her chest, and she knew her brain was located in her head, but all the bones and muscles that made up the rest of her body were rather more mysterious.

  If Lionel studied medicine, he might also know things about poisons.

  He knew the house better than anyone. He would have known about the dumb waiter hidden behind the painting in Cora’s bedroom.

  “Murder in Bloomsbury! Murder in Bloomsbury! Read all about it!” A newsboy paced the pavement.

  Cora stiffened. They came to the same young boy whom she had seen before. She glanced at the paper, and her eyes widened when she saw a picture of Mr. Tehrani. Perhaps the newspaper men hadn’t desired to protect their audience’s sensibilities. Perhaps they simply hadn’t had an image of him yet, even when dead.

  The newsboy winked when he saw her.

  “It seems you’ve made friends,” Lionel remarked.

  His voice was tinged with humor, and Cora’s cheeks warmed. “I’m just getting to know the neighborhood.”

  She quickened her steps, lest one of them buy a newspaper.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Finally, they reached Club Paradiso.

  Lionel raised his eyebrows. “This is where your father works?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Have you been here?”

  “Lionel’s been to every club in Soho,” Rollo said.

  Lionel grinned. “I’m still searching for my favorite cocktail.”

  “And when you find it, you can tell us all about it,” Bess said. “I do appreciate a good drink.”

  “This place specializes more in wine,” Lionel said. “Though they do serve limoncello if you can abide it. I can’t.”

  “Then we won’t order it,” Bess said impatiently. She turned around. “Now how do I look? I don’t want to wait long to enter. These heels are beginning to hurt.”

  “You look beautiful.” Rollo’s voice sounded somewhat hoarse, and his eyes seemed brighter than before.

  Bess flushed, but Cora caught Lionel rolling his eyes.

  Perhaps Rollo had a longstanding appreciation for Bess’s beauty and Lionel was tired of hearing him praise it.

  Never mind.

  That had nothing to do with the murder. Bess was pretty, though no great beauty, and it was charming to see how much Rollo appreciated her. She rather wished Bess would appreciate him more. He seemed much more humble than Lionel.

  “Are you on the list?” A swarthy looking man with a bald head asked.

  “No.” Bess smoothed her dress.

  “My name is Cora Clarke,” Cora broke in. “And these are my friends.”

  “Miss Clarke.” The man’s expression changed instantly. “Go right in. I do apologize. The performance is quite full. We’re expecting a large crowd tonight, and you can never be too careful.”

  Everyone seemed to say that.

  She nodded and entered, pleased the others seemed suitably impressed. A woman soon led them to the inside of the club and sat them at a round table near the stage.

  They settled around the table, and Rollo smoothed his hands over the tablecloth. “Quite posh.”

  “It’s a tablecloth,” Lionel said, and Rollo’s ears turned a ruddy color.

  Cora suspected that Rollo’s parents might have been poorer than Lionel’s. Perhaps the two cousins weren’t simply living together out of familial affection.

  “Well, I think it’s lovely as well.” Bess turned to Cora. “I’m so excited to hear your father sing. To think you’re related to Nick Valenti. The Nick Valenti. Do you think he’ll come over to say hello?”

  “Er—he may be busy.” Cora shifted in her seat. Coming over to say hello was something her father might do, but she hoped he could restrain himself. It was possible one of her neighbors might recognize him. She hadn’t actually asked him how he’d managed to get into the building. The last thing she needed when police were sniffing about was a connection between Pop and the building where Mr. Tehrani had been murdered.

  “I say, is that Veronica James?” Rollo put his hand over his forehead, as if to protect his eyes from the sparkling lights of the club.

  The others turned.

  There she was, dressed in a dazzling evening gown that glimmered. The hostess who led Veronica toward them kept on turning her head back toward Veronica. Her mouth gaped open, as if she could not quite believe her fortune.

  “Who do you suppose she’s coming to see?” Bess asked.

  “Our dear new neighbor,” Rollo said, and Bess looked suitably impressed.

  “Darling!” Veronica soon appeared and tore off her gloves. “Have you already sat down? Please tell me I’m not late.”

  “He hasn’t begun singing,” Cora said. “You’re fine.”

  “Oh, good!” Veronica beamed and turned her attention to the others at the table. “I see you’ve managed to make some friends.”

  “You remember Lionel and Rollo, Veronica?”

  “How could I not? I am so grateful to you for letting us use your phone.”

  Bess’s eyes widened slightly, but Lionel and Rollo were all smiles.

  “You look so much more handsome without your bathro
be,” Veronica said to Lionel. “Quite a difference.”

  Lionel shifted his gaze, as if unsure how to respond, and doing his best to think of responses.

  He missed his chance, for Veronica turned her attention to Bess. “I have not met you.”

  “No, this is another neighbor,” Cora said. “She lives on the third floor, opposite me.”

  “Ah.” Veronica narrowed. “And are you by any chance missing a tall, dark and handsome man?”

  Bess looked confused, and Cora shot Veronica a warning glance.

  Veronica put on an innocent smile, thankfully seeming to grasp Cora’s distress, and sat down. She arranged her dress, as if to find the position that would most illuminate its sparkles.

  The pianist changed songs, and Cora recognized one of her father’s most favorite melodies. He was going to come on stage now.

  She surveyed the people around her. They quieted, recognizing that the performance would soon commence. A man in a tuxedo strode onto the stage first, announcing with a great deal of pomposity and flourish the utter brilliance of the upcoming performance. Then, Pop stepped on stage.

  It was always amusing to see just how much people seemed to sigh in his presence. He had star power. He probably would have found a place in the entertainment industry even if he didn’t know how to sing, but the thing was, he did know how to sing.

  He was brilliant.

  Cora relaxed into her seat and sipped the martini somebody had ordered for the table. Evidently, Club Paradiso didn’t solely serve limoncello, and she savored the gin and vermouth.

  For a moment it was possible to forget she might be sitting at the same table as a murderer.

  For a moment there was only music.

  The song ended, and applause erupted. Cora surveyed the other visitors. They were well dressed, enjoying their night out.

  Well, most of the people seemed well-dressed. Some seemed rather scruffier. They didn’t drink, even though it was easy to imagine them imbibing tankards of ale, and they were scattered around the room.

  Were these Pop’s...security? What on earth was he doing with so many people watching him? What was he afraid might happen?

  She frowned, remembering something Lionel had said and turned to him. “What made you surprised we were visiting Club Paradiso?”