Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) (6 page)

Sure, it sounds a little backwards, but it’s quicker jumping up and climbing over than standing on the street picking a lock.
 

From this side, I could stand behind the gatepost, pick the lock, and have not only an excuse as to why I was on this side—
the gate was open and I didn’t know it was a private street
—and a quick exit should there be a slavering Rottweiler around the next corner.

Taking another quick look, I waited until a couple walked past on the street before sticking my picks into the simple lock.
 

Less than fifty seconds later it clicked, and I turned the handle.
Bingo
. I closed it but left it unlocked as I made my way down the alley behind the café.
 

There was a small yard behind each of the shops, where the garbage cans were kept. Again, walls were good. My biker boots were tough but flexible and I was over Café H’s wall before you could say
naughty little cat burglar
.
 

I told myself I was just going to have a little look through the window. Unfortunately the window was barred on the outside and the shutters were down.

Judging by the vents coming out of the wall, I guessed it must be the café’s kitchen. I looked up. The whole time I was there, I swore I was only going to have a nosy round on the outside, but then I spotted the open upstairs window, right beside a drainpipe.
 

What’s a girl to do? It’s like it was meant to be, and who was I to defy fate?

I put on the pair of soft leather gloves I always kept in my pocket and peered over the wall either side of Café H.
 

The neighbouring premises were both shops and had already closed. There was a light on above one of them, but the curtains were drawn. I tested the drainpipe to see if it was sound. It was, and so up I went like a little monkey.
 

I’m five feet five tall, and despite all the cake I shovel in, I’m still petite, so I was able to lean across, get onto the ledge, and then pour myself through the small, open window.
 

From my position I reached down and opened the catch on the wider part of the window, letting myself in to the upstairs flat above the shop.

My heart was pounding, but you know what? I kinda liked it. It was exciting. I was here for a good reason, not to steal anything. It’s quite the feeling.

I dropped to the floor and closed the window quietly, checking again that nobody had seen me.
 

Sure that the coast was clear, I drew the curtains and had a quick look around the room. It wasn’t totally dark yet, so I could still make things out. I didn’t put the light on in case anyone was in the flat.
 

I was in a living room that featured tasteful but boring, typical man-cave stuff: big TV, big couch, no ornaments, an empty beer bottle on the coffee table, no pictures on the wall, except one…
 

On the fireplace was a single photo frame. It was a picture of Chloe!
 

The image was taken from a newspaper cutting. She was at school and had won a prize for spelling, according to the blurb underneath the picture. It looked a couple of years old, the print had faded, the paper had yellowed and Chloe looked a little younger, but it was definitely her.
 

Yes!

We had our man. On impulse I pocketed the photograph.
 

I might have left the same way I came in, but just then a great ginger moggy darted from under the couch and ran out of the door. When my heart stopped pounding, I followed the silly animal.
 

If the café owner had gone away and left ginger locked in, I had to check that it had food and water. What can I say? I’m a softie when it comes to animals, especially cats. I somehow managed to tame Monty, so I guess I had some kind of cat-whisper skill.
 

I got my phone out and turned on the nifty flashlight app.
 

A beam of ghostly light spilled into the darkness ahead of me and I quietly tiptoed into the corridor. I passed a bathroom that was small, but clean and tidy. It had black and white tiles on the walls and one of those old-style water closets above the toilet. Hanging on the towel rail was a pair of socks and an old school tie in purple and gold stripes.

After the bathroom I came to a bedroom and peeked inside. The bedclothes were rumpled, but the bed was empty. I went over, removed my glove, and touched the shallow depression where someone had lain. It was stone cold.

The furniture was old fashioned but in good condition and very elegant. Clothes were strewn across the floor. There was a dressing table with a comb, some aftershave, cufflinks, and a watch on it.
 

The cat was nowhere to be seen.

“Here, puss.” I made the universal ‘
chchch’
call of cat summoning.
 

Nothing.
 

I checked under the bed for a pair of green eyes to flare out of the darkness.

Again, nada. What I did spot was a pile of dirty laundry and what looked like a long red wig gathering dust and covered in cat hair. It probably made a really nice bed, but there wasn’t any sign of the occupant.

The little gremlin was going to make me work for my good Samaritanhood. I guess it was instant karmic payback for breaking in—even though it was for a good cause.
 

I left the bedroom and continued down the hall. There was an office with a semi-tidy desk, a chair, and laptop, which was in ‘sleep mode’. I tapped the keyboard to wake it up. If the owner came back and found it on, he’d just think it was the cat.
 

As everyone knows, cats love nothing better than tap-dancing on computer keyboards. Alas, the screen it brought up was the login and I didn’t have time to sit and crack the password.
 

Finding the cat was first priority. I needed to put it outside if it didn’t have any food or water. I could hardly put food and water down for it. I mean, cats are smart, but they’re not great with can openers.
 

Growing more frustrated by the second, I headed out of the office. At the end of the corridor a stairway led down to the café.

Halfway down the stairs I got a whiff of a sickly sweet smell I knew only too well. I braced myself and made my way through the dark, into the kitchen, where the smell was strongest.
 

Sitting there, beside the body of a man lying face down in what looked like a plateful of cake, was the ginger cat. It mewled pitifully at me as if to say: ‘It’s about time you caught up.’

“Oh no,” I said, feeling my legs go cold at the sight of the body. I back-pedalled so fast that I hit the edge of the counter with my back.
 

A fancy glass award on the counter fell over, half scaring me to death.
 

I fumbled my phone and almost dropped it in a mop bucket, but caught it before it hit the murky water.
 

My hands were shaking, but I managed to dial Cole’s number. He’d know what to do, and I just needed to speak to him right now. The cat just sat there, watching me while I willed my boyfriend to pick up.
 

He didn’t. I could have screamed.
 

“Come on, you’re Harley Hill,” I told myself in a trembling voice. “You’re a sleuth, you’ve been here before, get a grip. This isn’t your first corpse.” I took a breath.

Cole was probably up to his neck in the undercover operation in Manchester, so it was pointless trying him again.
 

Besides, he’d see my number when he checked his phone and get back to me when he could… I hoped.
 

Meanwhile, I had to tell someone about this. Unfortunately ‘I accidentally fell over a locked gate and into an upstairs window’ is a bit of a hard sell, as explanations go; believe me, I’ve tried. I was about to bang my head against the countertop when it came to me.
 

Alex!
I could call Cordi’s ex-husband, Alex. He was a right royal pain in the butt and had broken Cordi’s heart, but he was a smart cop who had helped us out before, and I needed help right now.
 

I dialled his number and prayed that he’d pick up. It rang three times and then he answered.

“Good evening, Ms. Hill. I wasn’t expecting a call from you. Are you ringing to tell me you’ve ditched that loser Cole Lockland? Or have you upset the Mafia again?”

“Alex! Just listen to me,” I said, my voice shaking.

He must have guessed something was wrong, as his teasing tone vanished instantly. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m okay… kind of. I’ve got a problem, Alex. A big, dead problem.”

Chapter Seven

After calling Alex, the rest of the night was a bit of a blur. He took me home while the crime scene unit got to work at Café H. I told Cordi what had happened over a cup of decaf tea and a slice of lemon drizzle cake before staggering off to bed, leaving her, Alex, and Michael having a tense cup of tea in the kitchen.
 

We didn’t wake poor Chloe and tell her the terrible news; we thought we’d wait until morning. Just before I fell into a deep sleep, I checked my phone to see if there were any messages from Cole.
 

Nothing.
 

I started to dial his number but then stopped. As much as I wanted to speak to him, to hear his voice, I wasn’t going to hound the guy. Just not my style.
 

The next morning, we broke the news to Chloe. Naturally she was upset, but she didn’t know her father, which I guess made the sad news easier to bear.
 

Between gallons of tea and cake and Max and Monty being utterly adorable, we managed to cheer her up. At lunchtime I decided we needed to get out of the house; a change of scenery always perks me up. I suggested we go to our favourite local pub, the Coach and Horse, for a pie and a pint.

The Coach and Horse wasn’t a swanky gastro pub, the likes of which can be found on almost every street corner in Notting Hill. It was a traditional, real ale pub a little off the beaten track.
 

The bar was exactly the same as it was in the Victorian era, full of stained and etched glass and polished dark wood. I caught my reflection in the mirror that hung behind the bar. I had dark circles under my eyes, my hair needed a wash, and my eyeliner was smudged. Great. Normally I wouldn’t have minded so much, I’d had a rough night after all, but the new barman was
hot
.
 

Cordi, Chloe and I snuggled into a nice, cozy corner booth. I know Cordi had checked out the cute new barman too, as she quickly whipped out her scarlet lippy and swiped it across her lips faster than you could say ‘flirt’. I settled for hiding behind a menu.

A short while later,
hot new guy
came over to take our order.

“What can I get you, ladies?” he asked. His voice was husky; he had eyes the colour of melted chocolate and dark, wavy hair, and he definitely didn’t eat cake very often, not with a figure like that!

“I’m not hungry,” Chloe said between sniffles.

Cordi reached across the table and squeezed her arm. “You have to eat something, dear, to keep your strength up.”

“All right, if you say so.” She scanned the menu before looking up at the waiter with tear-stained eyes. “I’ll have double egg, chips, beans and garlic mushrooms, please.”

He took down her order. “Anything else with that?”

“Tea, please.”

He turned to Cordi. “And what can I get you, Madame?” He smiled.

Cordi giggled. “I’d like your finest Cumberland sausage casserole, please.”

“I’ll bet you would,” I added, mumbling under my breath.

“What was that, Harley dear?” she said, her eyes fixed like lasers on the waiter, whose name badge said ‘Greg’.

“Oh, nothing.” I smiled.

“Anything to drink, Madame?”

“I’ll have a tea too, please, no sugar. I’m sweet enough,” Cordi cooed.

“I’m sure you are,” he replied.
 

My stomach rumbled. “I’ll have pie and mash, peas and gravy, and a cup of tea,” I said, breaking up their little flirt-fest. “I’d like sugar with mine.”

“Certainly, Miss.” He smiled. I couldn’t help but blush. Not only did he look good, but I got a whiff of his aftershave as he leaned across the table to take the menus. He smelled pretty good too. One of the menus slid off the table. As he bent down to pick it up, Maggie swept into the bar.

“Well, you don’t see that every day,” she said, eyeing his tight buns over the rim of her oversized sunglasses. “You must work out,” she said and casually brushed her hand against his butt. I didn’t know where to look. Startled, he stood up quickly and banged his head on the underside of the table.
 

“Ouch!” he yelped.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, young man, I lost my balance.” Maggie smiled innocently. “I’m such a silly old lady.”
 

“Quite all right,” the waiter said as he returned to the bar, rubbing his head.

“Did you find the person in question?” Cordi asked Maggie cryptically.

“Of course I did. I’m a finder, it’s what I do.” Maggie smiled imperiously and looked behind her towards the door, where a man was loitering. She gestured for him to come forward. “Don’t just stand there, James,” she said.
 

The man blushed and walked to the table, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.
 

“Who’s this?” Chloe asked.

“This is your uncle James, Chloe,” Maggie said. “The police, well,
Alex
, gave us his number last night. I spent this morning tracking him down.” Maggie smiled and turned to the man. “James, this is your niece, Chloe. Chloe, this is your uncle, James. Now if you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to order a Bloody Mary and have an ogle of that delish new waiter.”
 

Maggie threw her silk shawl over her shoulders, propped her ornate walking stick against the table, and sashayed over to the bar like a woman half her age.