Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) (7 page)

James nervously approached the table. He was tall and broad with a kind face and hazel eyes. A light sprinkling of grey dusted his temples. He was dressed casually in jeans and T-shirt but was wearing a tailored jacket and handmade leather brogues. A wedding ring sparkled on his finger.

Cordi and I exchanged glances as Chloe got up to greet her uncle. The family resemblance was striking. Really striking.

“Uncle James?” Chloe said.

“No. I’m sorry, Chloe, this is all very strange to you, I’m sure. Well, it’s strange for me too. The truth is, I’m not your uncle.”

“Okay, now I’m confused,” I said. I looked at Cordi. She shrugged.

“I don’t understand,” Chloe said, tears pearling on her lashes.

“I’m not your uncle. I’m… I’m your father,” he said, and then wrapped her in his arms. “Oh, Chloe. All these years I wanted to find you, but I couldn’t.” He sounded choked up. “Henry didn’t know that I’d had a fling with your mother, and I couldn’t tell him, it would have broken his heart. Now it can’t hurt him, but can you ever forgive me?”

She pulled away, but not angrily. She smiled up at him through the tears. “I… It’s going to take some time to sink in. It’s all been such a shock.”

He nodded. “I know, I know. I’m so sorry. Will you come with me, back to my house? We need to talk; you need to know about what happened and… and meet your half-brothers and half-sisters, and my wife.”

“Oh my.” Chloe gasped. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true, love. I’ll explain everything. But first things first.” He turned to Cordi and me. “Ladies, how can I ever thank you?”

“Cheque or credit card,” I joked. “Seriously, it’s been a pleasure to help Chloe; I just wish your brother was still alive.”

He looked at his feet. “The cops are saying that they think it was accidental poisoning, but I don’t believe that, Henry was a great cook; he wasn’t stupid.”

My sleuthing instincts started to tingle. Something told me this case wasn’t over yet. “So you think there might have been foul play?” I asked.

James placed both hands on the table. “I’m as sure as I’m standing here. I believe my brother was murdered. Ladies, can you help? I’ll pay whatever your rates are, but please, help me find my brother’s killer.”

Chloe came up beside him and looped her arm through his. “Please, if anyone can find out the truth, it’s you, Harley.”

I raised my hand. “Okay, guys, enough of the hard sell. Of course we’ll help, in any way we can. But you have to accept you might be wrong.”

James nodded. “I do. But I know I’m not wrong. Here, take this.” He took a key out of his pocket and handed it to me. “It’s the key to my brother’s place. Feel free to look around.”

I took it and tried not to look guilty. “Er, thanks.”

“No problem. The police’s initial thoughts are that it was cyanide poisoning derived from a food source—which is ridiculous, Henry was an experienced cook.”

“Well, we’ll find out for you, James, and for you too, Chloe, I promise.”

Chloe smiled. “Thanks, Harley, that means such a lot to me. Even if he wasn’t my father, he was still my uncle.”

“James, did your brother have anything like a laptop or an address book I could look at?” I asked.
 

“Yes, he did, but the police have them at the moment.”

“Darn. Okay, we’ll have to wait until they’re done with them.” I was a little frustrated. I should have grabbed the laptop while I was waiting for Alex to turn up. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

James turned to Chloe. “Will you come with me to meet my family, Chloe?” he asked. He looked both nervous and hopeful.

Maggie came back from the bar, clutching a Bloody Mary complete with a stick of celery. “Your wife is charming; although I’m not sure I like being lied to, young man,” she said to James.

“I didn’t really lie to you, Ms. Silvers. I just didn’t tell you all of the truth.”

Chloe frowned. “Does your wife know about me? Did you cheat on her with my mother?”

“No, goodness no,” James said. “I met my wife ten years ago, long after that one-night stand I had with your mother. I didn’t tell her about you because…” He looked at his feet. “Because I was a coward, but this morning, when I found out that Henry was dead.” He took a deep breath. “I knew I had to find you, and tell Ashley—my wife—that I had a daughter. It’s up to you if you’ll let me be your father… If you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
 

Chloe reached out and squeezed his arm. “It’s okay. We have a lot to talk about, but don’t beat yourself up over this. Life is too short, right?”
 

Chloe was a smart kid. I felt really proud of her, like a big sister.

“I don’t know if I can accept everything you have to tell me, but I promise you, I’ll try.” She smiled at James. “And I’d love to meet your wife and my brothers and sisters. Wow, I never imagined I’d have brothers and sisters.”

I knew what she meant. Her situation was uncomfortably close to my own. James put his arm around his daughter. There was no doubt that they were father and daughter when they were stood side by side. They looked like two peas in a pod.
 

“We need to go,” James said. “The police are coming round to talk to me about Henry.”
 

“Sure.” Chloe nodded and turned to Cordi and I. “I’ll see you guys later, and thanks again for everything.”

“Anytime, Chloe,” I said and I meant it, although I wasn’t sure that she should thank us yet. If James was right and his brother had been murdered, we would need all our sleuthing wits about us to track down the killer.
 

Maggie tucked in to Chloe’s lunch rather than let it go to waste, and the three of us had a team talk after Maggie showed us all the documentation that she had dug up on James, proving his familial connection with Chloe. Though given the resemblance, I would have believed them even without the paperwork.

“I know Alex has Henry Renholm’s address book, because that’s where he got James Renholm’s phone number from,” Cordi said as she delicately picked over her lunch.
 

I noticed that, like Maggie—and I have to say, like myself—her gaze kept drifting over to where the gorgeous Greg was working.

“We need to get that address book,” I said as I polished off my lunch. “If Henry Renholm was murdered, then the killer’s name might be in that book.” I undid the top button of my tight black jeans, ensuring I had enough room to squeeze in a dessert. I waved Greg over. “Cordi, can you speak to Alex, see if you can wheedle that book out of him?”

Cordi frowned. “I don’t know, Harley, that would mean speaking to my not-so- beloved ex-husband.”

“Please, Cordi, we need it.”

“Indeed,” Maggie said. “As the youths would say, ‘Get over yourself, girlfriend,’ and just give the man a call.”

“Aunt Maggie, really!” Cordi blushed more out of anger than embarrassment. “I’ll have you know I am perfectly over myself. I just don’t want to talk to Alex. But I will, for the sake of the case, not because of your bossiness.”

“If you say so. But tell him this: if he doesn’t give it to you, he’ll have to answer to me. That should do the trick.” Maggie winked.

I left Cordi and Maggie bickering in the Coach and Horse as I headed off alone to Renholm’s flat, which as it turned out was a complete waste of time.
 

The café was under guard, wrapped tight in a police cordon of yellow and black crime scene tape. When I tried to sneak in, I was told in no uncertain terms by the cop on duty to go away, or else.
 

I’d already pushed my luck enough with regards to Café H, so I reluctantly headed home, frustrated that I hadn’t had the chance to search the place—again. But I had this feeling in my gut that James was right; this felt like murder. Henry couldn’t have possibly accidentally poisoned himself through ill preparation of food. The guy was a legit cooking pro.
 

This case was going to take some extra digging, I knew that much. But where to start?

Chapter Eight

“Ah. There you are.” Cordi was washing up when I got back. She hadn’t got round to getting a dishwasher yet, even though we could now afford one. She was therefore standing at the sink full of pots, wearing a pink sparkly apron with matching washing-up gloves trimmed with pink marabou feathers. That was Cordi—always glamorous. “Did you find anything out?” she asked.

I flopped down at the dining table, somewhat dejected. “No. The cops wouldn’t let me into their rotten crime scene. It’s not fair; I’m the one who told them about it. If it wasn’t for me, Henry Renholm would be cat chow.”
 

Cordi paused, dish scrubber in hand. “Urgh. Yes. That poor cat. I do hope it’s all right.”

“Me too.”

Just then Michael came into the kitchen. “Hi, Harley. What’s up with you? You look glum.”

“I couldn’t get into Café H because the police are still going over the place.”

“Ah. Yes. I can see how that might be frustrating.” He sat down beside me. “Listen, I have an idea. I noticed there was a band on at the Coach and Horse tonight. Why don’t we go down there?”

“You guys can go. I’m gonna stay here and see if I can find anything out on the Internet about Henry Renholm or accidental cyanide poisoning from food.”

“You sure about that? Only, I’d quite like to see a band,” came a familiar voice from behind me.

I spun to see Cole poking his head around the kitchen door.
 

“Cole!” I said, and leapt out of my seat and into his arms.
 

We kissed like it was the first time. He tasted so darn good and he smelled amazing, clean like sea spray and fresh mountain air.
 

A thrill ran down my spine as he encircled my waist with his strong hands and lifted me off my feet. I threw back my head and laughed. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” I said before planting another passionate kiss on his eminently kissable mouth.

“So, how about that band, then?” asked Michael.

“Oh, go on then. Let’s make a night of it!” I said. “I’ll need to go get ready, though.”

“Me too,” Cordi said, throwing her gloves onto the counter and escorting me out of the kitchen as we left Cole and Michael in the kitchen, discussing the football results while we went upstairs and made ourselves beautiful.
 

After a quick shower I scampered over to Cordi’s dressing-up room. It was where she kept some of the vast collection of theatrical costumes and vintage clothing she’d gathered over the years of finding props for fashion and theatre.
 

For tonight I chose a pretty 1950s strappy black dress covered in bright red cherries. It looked great with my black converse pumps. A splash of crimson lipstick and I was good to go.
 

Cordi chose a blue floral number with a cute little matching bolero jacket and a pair of killer heels. When we were ready, we admired ourselves in the full-length mirror.

“More than mortal man deserves,” I said.

“And immortal,” Cordi said with a laugh. “Let’s see how the boys are doing.”

We went downstairs to find Michael wearing a tweed jacket and a blue shirt. He looked really nice and kept smiling shyly at Cordi when he didn’t think anyone else was looking. Cole had also freshened up.

His thick hair was swept away from his face. He was wearing a white shirt and scruffy denim jeans that were cut perfectly to show off his fine legs. His face was tanned, which made his eyes all the more striking.
 

I felt like pinching myself. Was this gorgeous guy really
my
boyfriend? The thought triggered a minor panic as I remembered that he wanted to ‘have a talk’ and I still didn’t know what it was about. Although seeing him now dispelled any ideas that he might want to break up with me. I mean, the greeting and the way he was looking at me like that weren’t the actions of a guy looking to move on, were they?

The Coach and Horse had been pretty quiet at lunchtime, but at night, with the band The Wild Stallions about to play their first set, the place was buzzing.

“So, how’s your case going?” I asked Cole while we waited at the bar. His arm drifted around my shoulders. He drew me close.
 

“I think we’re almost there now, just a few loose ends to tie up.” He shrugged. “It’s art forgery, it’s not exactly saving the world, not exactly righting wrongs.”
 

“You sound unhappy.” I snuggled against him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, really. I’m just tired. Anyway, don’t worry about me. What about you? Do you think Renholm killed himself?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I mean, my gut is telling me there’s something wrong, James Renholm seems sure that his brother didn’t accidentally poison himself. But until I get back in the café and have a snoop around, I won’t know for sure.”
 

Just then I noticed that my brother was leading Cordi onto the packed dance floor as the band began to play ‘I’ve had the time of my life’ from the film
Dirty Dancing.

Cole noticed too. “Check those two out,” he said.
 

I was struggling to concentrate on Cordi and Mike. I could smell Cole’s cologne, feel the heat of his body that was pressed against mine. Michael and Cordi were gazing deep into each other’s eyes, their bodies swaying in time to the music.
 

“It looks like your brother and your partner are becoming an item.”

“I think it’s sweet,” I said.
 

Cole got served and handed me a beer. We clinked glasses.
 

“Here’s to the future,” I said on impulse. I wish I hadn’t. His face darkened and he looked away. I couldn’t leave it there. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something. What was it, Cole?”

“Here isn’t the right place. C’mon, babe, let’s dance.” He took a sip of his beer and took my hand. I held back, raising an eyebrow. “Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”
 

He smiled. “Sorry, ma’am. Would you care to dance?”

I grinned. “I’d be delighted.” I let him lead me through the crowd to the dance floor, all the while I couldn’t help thinking that maybe I was going to lose him, and this was just a way to soften me up for the bad news.