Lionel rose and sauntered casually to the door. He smirked as he leaned against it.
She rose as well, and Lionel raised his eyebrows slightly, as if to indicate he thought her mad to think leaving the table would do much good, when he was guarding the only exit.
She paced the room, hoping her blatant nervousness would calm them. She wished that the emotion did not come so easily to her. She wished that she had to use her acting experience to feign nervousness.
But she was nervous.
To her very core.
Her heart beat wildly against her ribs, and her stomach seemed intent on dropping to her toes. Every organ seemed clearly discernible, as if they knew the end was near, and as if they wanted to experience life to the fullest right now, even if experiencing life entailed making her as uncomfortable as possible.
“You’ve gone quite white,” Rollo mused, gazing at her.
“Have I?” Cora asked, trying to laugh.
She wanted to pretend everything was fine, that these were still her friends, and she was simply having a pleasant tea with them, just as she’d planned.
“You’re going to have to kill her, Rollo,” Lionel said.
“Me?” Rollo widened his eyes. “But she’s nice.”
“Exactly, Rollo,” Cora said quickly. “I’m nice. We’re friends, right?” Her voice wobbled uncontrollably as she said the last word, and Rollo’s eyes narrowed at once, as if considering for the first time that they may not be.
He peered at her, assessing her, and she shivered.
She’d taken his calm for intelligence. She’d seen him as a more pleasant variation of his older cousin. He’d seemed to be more removed from partying and the other uncouth habits prevalent in students. Perhaps she’d simply been flattered because he’d recognized her, even though most people wouldn’t know that she was living in Britain, and even though most people might struggle to place her when she was no longer grasping a magnifying glass and wearing a floppy hat, just like she had in all of the Gal Detective film promotions.
She’d been wrong about him.
She’d been wrong about all of them.
I have to leave.
The dumbwaiter was the only way.
It had carried Mr. Tehrani’s body, perhaps it would also carry hers.
It was a bad idea.
The dumbwaiter wasn’t meant to carry people.
It might be broken after having struggled with Mr. Tehrani’s considerable weight. Mr. Tehrani had after all been a full grown male, complete with muscles and a woolen suit. Even though he had not approached the more massive size found in the steak and sofa adoring, he was considerably heavier than a tray topped with tea and other delicacies would be.
It’s the only way.
She inched closer to the dumbwaiter. At least it was still covered by the mirror. At least none of these men had guns, like their American counterparts may have done. She would have to take comfort in that. It was the only comfort she had.
“Cora won’t tell anyone,” Bess said, no doubt realizing what the two cousins were contemplating.
“She will,” Lionel said. “You know who her sweetheart is? Someone who works for the government.” He said the latter triumphantly, but Bess blinked.
“In an administrative office?”
“Something like Scotland Yard,” Lionel grumbled.
“He told you he worked for Scotland Yard?” Bess sounded incredulous.
“No,” Lionel admitted. “But it was obvious it was something like that. From his bearing. He was very fit.”
Bess rolled his eyes. “You think anyone who takes more time to train his muscles than you do must be working at something nefarious. Perhaps he simply isn’t lazy.”
“Yes, you could accomplish a lot if you weren’t hungover all the time,” Rollo said, and Bess giggled.
“Two minds acting as one,” Lionel grumbled. “Well, if you don’t kill her, you can go to prison. Perhaps that’s better anyway.”
He sounded mournful though, and Rollo sobered his expression.
“I don’t want to kill her,” Rollo said. “But I don’t want you to be sad. It’s not my turn though. I already killed before.”
“Lionel just doesn’t want to get in trouble if something bad happens,” Bess said. “He wants you to be in trouble.”
“Rollo is already in trouble,” Lionel said, and the others were silent, contemplating the veracity of his statement.
Cora shivered.
She looked at Bess, hoping Bess would say something, but she was silent. Her face had grown paler, and perhaps it had occurred to her that she had been overly effusive at Rollo’s actions. Perhaps she feared for her own life now as well.
Cora wasn’t going to wait to see what ways they might murder her.
She wasn’t going to let them laud the firmness of frying pans or the sharpness of carving knives. She wasn’t going to let Rollo talk about the dangerous chemical properties of regular household cleaning products, and she wasn’t going to let any of them think that shoving her out the window of her third floor flat might be the most efficient method.
The flat had always seemed tiny before, but now it seemed rife with danger.
She grabbed hold of the mirror and yanked it down.
She ignored the expressions of surprise on the other’s faces or the crash of the glass breaking against the floor.
They could use the shattered mirror pieces to stab her. That was another method of death she did not desire to contemplate.
She leaped into the dumbwaiter, ignoring the strange smells, the sudden dearth of light and the surprised screams of the others.
The dumbwaiter wobbled beneath her and then pitched down rapidly. She had the presence of mind to grab onto the pieces of rope, lest the dumbwaiter topple down completely, exhausted by its unexpected need to work.
The dumbwaiter did not pitch down sharply. Instead, it moved too slowly. Why wasn’t it moving? Was it broken?
Her heart leaped in her chest. There was light from above, and she heard the voices of the others. She scrambled with the ropes, trying to remember what Randolph had done when they’d discovered the dumbwaiter. Finally, she got it to move, and it catapulted downward.
She moved, down and down, and then it thudded.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the wall, and Cora hesitated on whether she should search for an opening. Perhaps she hadn’t accomplished anything by attempting to escape. Had they followed her downstairs so quickly?
Perhaps.
She heard an odd scraping against the floor panels and then heavy panting.
Archibald.
She knocked on the wall, and barks soon met her.
“Archibald? Veronica?” she called.
“Cora? Where are you?” Veronica’s cool, American accent sounded through the wall, and relief moved through Cora before she remembered they didn’t have time. There were three of them, and they knew where she was.
“I’m in the dumbwaiter! And they’re all up there!” Cora babbled. “They’re going to kill me.”
“Hang on!” Veronica said.
Fiddling sounded, and Cora prepared for Veronica to tell her she couldn’t open the door, that it was locked, that most likely no one had seen the key for the past thirty years—
She prepared for the others to start throwing the mirror into the dumbwaiter, but perhaps the thought hadn’t occurred to them, or perhaps they recognized the benefits of a cleaner method of murder.
The door was wrenched open, and light streamed through and she saw Veronica’s startled face.
Archibald barked, and she scrambled from the dumbwaiter.
“What on earth are you doing there?” Veronica asked.
“There’s no time! But I found out who killed Mr. Tehrani—who really killed him, and now they want to murder me.” A horrible thought came to Cora. “And probably you, since I told you.”
“That’s not going to happen.” V
eronica gritted her teeth.
A creaking sounded in the wall. The dumbwaiter. They were pulling it up. No doubt they’d realize it was empty soon enough.
“All of them? They all murdered Mr. Tehrani together?” Veronica asked.
“No, just Rollo.”
“That bastard. No one threatens my friend.” Veronica lifted her dress and removed her pearl-hilted pistol from her thigh.
Cora stared. “You still carry a pistol?”
“Can’t ever be too careful,” Veronica said.
“You know how to use one of those?”
Veronica smirked. “Are you telling me you didn’t see Mail Order Bride I and Mail Order Bride II?”
Cora smiled. “I forgot about those.”
“Gary Cooper used to take me for shooting practices during lunch breaks. Better for the waistline than dessert, and more thrilling than even chocolate.”
“We can still run,” Cora said.
Veronica nodded. “You get a constable. I passed one on my way here.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Veronica tossed her hair. “Naturally.”
Footsteps sounded upstairs. The others had probably heard them talking in the landing, and Cora scurried outside quickly. She wasn’t going to allow anyone to harm Veronica.
She rushed outside, conscious she must appear ridiculous to the tourists who strolled through Bloomsbury, tired after a morning filled with contemplating art, and that she must just appear annoying to the gray-faced workers anxious to return to their offices after their lunchbreaks.
Never mind.
She swept her gaze around the park, not lingering her gaze on the blossoms starting to appear or hearing the manner in which the birds chirped pleasantly.
Where’s the constable?
She looked for the familiar blue helmet. She wasn’t certain whether she should scream, and attract the attention of Lionel, Rollo and Bess, but she wasn’t going to waste time. “Constable! Constable! Constable!”
She hollered, grateful for her years of voice lessons. She might be tiny, but her voice was strong and well-exercised after her impromptu performance at Club Paradiso. Before long a constable came running from the park.
On another occasion she may have smiled. She wasn’t the only person who enjoyed seeing the new flowers.
It was the same constable whom she’d met her first day here, and her heart sank as she saw the suspicion in his gaze. He recognized her too. Golly.
“We’ve caught a murderer!” she said. “Hurry!”
Police Constable Meeks sighed, and for a horrible moment she thought he might laugh and proceed on.
Thankfully he seemed to have some understanding of procedure and he went inside. “There better be an actual body this time.”
“No, no one died,” she said. “But the murderer is still here. I swear.”
He narrowed his gaze, but thankfully he removed his baton, and her shoulders relaxed.
It will be fine.
It must be.
The constable swung open the door. There before them, in all her glory was Veronica. She pointed her pistol at Lionel, Rollo and Bess. “Don’t move closer! I’ll shoot!”
“That’s the murderer?” the constable asked Cora. “Veronica James?”
“Of course not.” Cora pointed at Rollo. “He killed Mr. Tehrani. You must have heard about the body discovered near here. That’s the body I found in my bed.”
“And why wasn’t it there when I looked?”
“Obviously it was moved.”
“By the murderer, hmm...” The constable sneered. Cora supposed she needed inform him of everything now. The important thing was that he believe them.
“What nonsense,” Lionel said, using his most upper-class voice. “My mother owns this building, and Roland is my cousin. Not a murderer. What absolute drivel. Americans, right?”
The constable seemed to waver, and his grip on his baton seemed to loosen.
Cora’s heart sank.
Was everything going to go awry now? When everything seemed so close to being sorted?
“I swear this is the truth,” Cora said hastily.
“These girls are quite insane,” Lionel said. “Thank goodness you’re here, constable.”
“Well—” The constable frowned and turned to Cora. “So that skinny guy is a murderer.”
“Yes,” Cora said primly. “Though his cousin was attempting to murder me.”
“And yet I’m not the one holding the pistol,” Lionel said, continuing to deploy a far more regal accent than he normally did.
“Yes, you better lower that pistol, Miss James,” the constable said.
Veronica held the pistol steady. “I don’t like it when men order me about.”
“I am an officer of the law.”
“One who has not arrested these atrocious people,” Veronica said.
“Right. I suppose I’ll have to haul you all into the station.” The constable scratched his helmet, and then frowned, as if realizing that scratching a helmet was far less satisfactory than scratching a head.
Lionel smirked and nudged Rollo.
“He’s going to run away,” Cora said quickly. “And then he’ll be gone forever.”
The constable turned to her. “So you really mean to say that nice young gentleman is a murderer?”
“He is.”
“That body was discovered nowhere near here,” the constable chided her. “Now, I have all the respect in the world for you, but... You must understand I can’t haul this young man who appears decent to a police station just because of the word of a person who pretends to be a detective. It’s just not right. It’s the sort of thing that would make others laugh, and frankly, workplaces aren’t places for laughter.”
“You mean you think you would be teased?” Cora asked bluntly.
The constable’s face turned a ruddier color. “Naturally, I don’t care about such things. But it does raise a point, and well, the economy might be doing a bit better than before, but I’m still very grateful for my job and—”
“I assure you,” Cora said, “You will only be praised for ridding London of this dangerous criminal.”
“He’s not dangerous,” Lionel said sharply. “He’s my cousin. My mother—his aunt, owns this house. She will be most displeased when she learns about the behavior of the local constables.”
The constable’s face had now reached an equally rare pale shade. “I don’t suppose you have any witnesses to your extraordinary statement, Miss Clarke?”
She blinked.
She didn’t.
They’d all been in the room. They’d all heard Rollo confess to the killing, but they would all be silent.
If only Veronica had been there.
“I’m a witness,” Bess said abruptly.
Cora blinked.
Bess scrambled from the steps quickly, moving past Lionel and Rollo, as if they might kill her now.
They didn’t.
They just stared at her.
“But Bess,” Rollo’s voice wobbled, and its tone was so endearing, that even Cora had to look away. She didn’t need to see the sorrow and betrayal in his face.
When Cora looked at Bess, she saw only guilt.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Cora said, and Bess nodded.
“I know. I-I shouldn’t have let things get so out of hand,” Bess said. “It was the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, and my life has been quite dull and this seemed exciting.”
Cora nodded. She didn’t quite understand, but that didn’t matter.
“I’m a witness,” Bess said, “that man should be arrested for murder and his cousin should be arrested for trying to murder Miss Clarke.”
“Very well,” the constable said. “I suppose I’ll have to take you in. I don’t get many of these arrests, but I’ll try to remember the right words.”
“Just cuff them,” Veronica said hastily.
The constable removed his handcuffs, and soon
he snapped them onto both Lionel and Rollo.
“This is absolute nonsense,” Lionel blustered.
“Then you’ll be released in no time,” the constable said sweetly.
The doorbell rang. For a moment Lionel looked like he would take the opportunity to run, and Cora hastily went to the door.
If Lionel was going to flee, she wanted to be nowhere near his path.
Her legs still wobbled, and her entire body was stiff, as if not quite certain whether to believe she was actually going to be just fine.
She shivered when she saw the tall frame of a man.
Did Lionel and Rollo have any equally aggressive cousins?
But when she opened the door, she recognized a coat that looked curiously like Randolph’s. Her heartbeat quickened, and she looked up.
Randolph.
He was here, and everything would be fine.
And beside him was Pop.
And beside Pop was Aunt Maggie.
Cora’s heart soared. They were here. Randolph had found Pop. Had he been staying with Aunt Maggie? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that everything was going to be fine now.
“Golly.” Aunt Maggie’s curly gray hairs jostled as she moved her gaze from Veronica’s pistol to Rollo’s and Lionel’s handcuffs to Police Constable Meeks. “London is dangerous. My poor dear girl.”
“Are those the murderers?” Pop asked. “You want me to punch them, police constable?”
“Er—that’s not necessary,” Police Constable Meeks said quickly.
“What on earth’s going on?” Randolph asked.
“Just closing up a murder case,” Cora said with an oddly high-pitched laugh.
Randolph didn’t seem to mind and he just smoothed a loose strand of her hair from her face. “Sweetheart.”
Her heart swelled.
“Oh, would you lovebirds get inside,” Veronica said. “I want to witness the arrest.”
“It’s not as interesting as in the movies,” the constable said, red-faced.
“I think it’s quite interesting,” Veronica said. “I’ll especially think it’s interesting when they’re out of here forever.”
The constable beamed. “The prosecutor will be wanting more information from all of you.”
The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries Page 52