The Body in Bloomsbury Page 3

  It mustn’t be murder.

  Cora had had enough murders so far in her time in England, and she wasn’t prepared to move into an apartment where one had been committed.

  “Where’s the body?” the constable shouted.

  Cora frowned. “On my bed.”

  “Gracious,” Miss Greensbody said, clutching the fastening of her cardigan. “Was it your lover?”

  “I didn’t know him.”

  “But I know about you modern girls,” Miss Greensbody said, even though she was probably only fifteen years older, and even though that generation had been infamous for having good times in the previous decade. “He still could have been your lover.”

  “Cora’s never had a lover,” Veronica said.

  “Veronica!” Cora exclaimed.

  Cora had followed the rules her whole life. Every adult said it was important for young ladies not to take lovers, but Veronica seemed to find it an endless source of amusement that Cora never had.

  Cora was beginning to grow quite self-conscious about the matter as well.

  “Say, what’s all this nonsense?” The constable marched toward them. His face had taken on a purple tint, as if striving to match his blue uniform, but not managing to.

  Cora hoped he wouldn’t fail similarly at finding the killer.

  It’s not a murder, she corrected herself.

  She was becoming too accustomed to murders. Most people died of natural causes, even people who gave every appearance of being in exemplary health.

  The constable stepped from the apartment and shut the door. “Wasting police time is ill-advised.”

  “What on earth are you babbling about?” Veronica rushed past him, and Cora hurried after her.

  She stopped abruptly.

  The bed was there, just like before.

  The daisy-patterned coverlet was there and possessed no wrinkles.

  The body though had vanished.

  “Do you see that?” Veronica whispered.

  “Yes,” Cora squeaked.

  “I better leave,” the constable said.

  “Wait!” Veronica blurted. “Perhaps he’s...elsewhere.”

  The constable arched a bushy brow. “Then he wouldn’t be dead and he wouldn’t be my concern.”

  Veronica frowned but then marched to the wardrobe. She inhaled, quivering slightly, but then pulled the doors open abruptly.

  Cora tensed, half-expecting to see a body tumble out, but, with the exception of a handful of hangers evidently abandoned by the previous tenant, it was empty.

  “I’ll check the shower.” Cora strode from the room, but she soon returned. “It was empty.”

  “There is clearly nobody else in this flat,” Miss Greensbody said, in a tone so aggrieved it resembled disappointment.

  “Perhaps this is a good thing,” Veronica whispered, squeezing her hand. “Perhaps he was just a trespasser.”

  Cora shook her head. She’d touched the man’s wrist. It had been cold. His skin had had a grayish tint that could have been achieved with makeup, but would have had no reason to be. She glanced at the window. It was still open. Could someone have absconded with the body?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Both Miss Greensbody and Police Constable Meeks appeared more irritated than mystified.

  “It is highly unusual to make up seeing a dead body.” Miss Greensbody sniffed.

  Archibald barked, and Cora hushed him.

  Miss Greensbody shot an accusatory look at Archibald. “We’ve never had a dog here before.”

  Cora fought the urge to scoop Archibald into her arms. “The landlady told me pets were allowed.”

  “Pets, perhaps. Personally, I have a cat. Far more civilized. But then, I am British.” She gave a cool, tight smile, as if to indicate she was far too polite to mention Cora was American and obviously bereft of civilization.

  Archibald barked again, no doubt sensing the rising tension, and Miss Greensbody gave a triumphant smile. “Princess Petunia would never do that.”

  Cora hushed Archibald, and he gave her an exasperated look. Archibald seemed to have heroic tendencies, and unfortunately, he’d decided Cora’s new neighbor, was the enemy. No doubt he could smell cat hairs on her.

  The constable cleared his throat. “Goodbye, ladies.”

  “But you haven’t found the body!” Veronica exclaimed.

  “He can’t find a body that doesn’t exist.” Miss Greensbody smirked.

  “Your neighbor is right,” the constable said, almost reluctantly.

  “But there was one,” Cora said.

  The constable’s eyes softened. “Perhaps it was some vagrant who’d decided to take a nap there. The window is open after all. He was probably embarrassed at being discovered and pretended to be dead. And then once you left, he did a runner. It’s a good thing he’s not here.”

  Cora nodded. She wanted to believe the constable. She wanted the young man she’d seen to be alive.

  “A vagrant wouldn’t be wearing a suit,” Veronica said.

  “All the more reason for him to be embarrassed,” Miss Greensbody said. “Now, be sure to keep that window closed. We don’t want any more people sneaking in. I’ll be sure to write to Mrs. Addington to express my deep irritation about this matter. A profound waste of time.”

  “You have a busy schedule?” Veronica asked.

  “Indeed,” Miss Greensbody said. “I am the lead curator at the Persian Antiquities exhibit at the Museum of Ancient Antiquities on Great Russell Street. It is a most important role. Persians rather mastered civilization centuries ago. In fact, I should be going. I have an important business meeting at the museum and I must feed Princess Petunia.”

  Miss Greensbody marched from the room.

  “I’ll best be going too,” the constable said. “There’ll be paperwork for me to fill out.”

  Cora watched as the constable exited the room and then moved her attention to the bed. “I’m going to go buy some new bedding. And perhaps a new mattress.”

  “New bedding?” Veronica grimaced. “You’re staying with me.”

  “You don’t have an apartment yet.”

  “Only a matter of time, honey. And the Ritz is quite suitable in the meantime.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  “We can go to your landlady and demand your money back,” Veronica said.

  “I don’t think it’s that easy,” Cora said. “I did sign an awful lot of papers. And since neither the constable nor our neighbor seemed convinced the body didn’t belong solely to our imagination, I doubt she’ll be more accepting.”

  “Oh.” Veronica blinked. “How very frustrating. Do you think it’s possible we did imagine it? Not the body of course, but whether he was actually dead? Perhaps he had just chosen the wrong spot for a nap. The English do despise being rude. Perhaps you’ll even see him wandering about later.”

  “Perhaps,” Cora said doubtfully. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn about the neighbors.”

  “Splendid,” Veronica said.

  “Let’s take a walk, Archibald,” Cora said, grateful for the company as she made her way down the stairs.

  She’d lied to Veronica.

  She didn’t feel the least bit brave about living in this place.

  But she didn’t want to go rushing to live in Veronica’s hotel. Veronica had helped her sufficiently in England. This was Cora’s chance to be independent and form her own life. She wasn’t going to run away now.

  She lifted her chin and strode down the stairs. When she turned onto the next landing, she nearly collided with someone ascending the stairs.

  Uncertainty barreled through her, and Archibald barked at the new presence, but when she gazed at the person before her, she only saw a woman about her own age with dark hair, curlier than Cora’s own. Tension eased from her shoulders.

  “Are you the new girl?” the woman asked.

  “New girl?”

  “Lionel said there’d be another girl moving in across from m
e. I’m so glad. The boys below are dears, but I’m quite convinced male eardrums must be entirely different from female eardrums. They insist on playing such noisy music, and I’d rather not have to listen to Miss Greensbody argue about it with them.”

  Cora smiled. There was something about this new woman that was pleasant. “I’m Cora.”

  “And I’m Bess.” She returned Cora’s smile. “Welcome to Bloomsbury.”

  “Thank you,” Cora said, and some of that excitement she’d once felt about the prospect of moving here managed to fill her again.

  “Is it your first time living in London?” Bess asked.

  Cora nodded. “Yes.”

  The door opened, and Rollo poked his head out. “Hello, Bess. I thought I heard you. How are you?”

  “I’ll be living opposite an American,” Bess exclaimed. “Have you met her? This is exciting.”

  “She’s a film star,” Rollo said, and Bess widened her eyes.

  “Is that so?” Bess asked Cora.

  Cora smiled. She probably wouldn’t have trusted Rollo either.

  “A rather melodramatic one,” Lionel grumbled, stepping into the landing.

  “Who lives in the other apartments?” Cora asked.

  “Let’s see,” Bess said. “Both of us have the top floor. Lionel and Rollo have flat three, below me, and Miss Greensbody lives in flat four.”

  “And the bottom apartments?”

  “They used to be the kitchen,” Lionel said. “No one is living there.”

  “We’re going out to the pub. Care to join us?” There was an odd hopeful tone in Rollo’s voice.

  “No, thank you,” Bess said primly.

  “I see.” Rollo’s shoulders slumped down slightly. “Next time.”

  “Perhaps,” Bess replied, not meeting his eyes.

  “I didn’t know we were going to the pub,” Lionel said.

  “I just thought of it.”

  “My head aches.” Lionel raked a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think I drank so much yesterday.”

  “You’re getting old,” Rollo said with a grin, and Lionel scowled and punched him playfully on the shoulder.

  Bess and Cora watched them go down the stairs. Finally, Cora turned to Bess. “Who was the previous tenant? Was it a young man by any chance?”

  Bess gave her a strange look. “A young lady. Not that I would mind if there were young men here. Rollo and Lionel are pleasant, but not exactly husband-worthy. One doesn’t come across many eligible men at the perfume counter of Harrods either behind or in front of the counters.” Bess leaned closer to her. “The men who do show up are buying perfume for another woman.”

  “Oh.”

  Bess’s eyes sparkled, and she grinned. “I think we’re going to be friends.”

  “I’d like that,” Cora said, and her chest felt somewhat lighter than before.

  Perhaps the constable was correct.

  Perhaps she’d only imagined that the person on her bed was dead.

  Perhaps imagining dead bodies was only a regrettable side effect from her time on the South Downs and in the Yorkshire Dales, when people had truly been murdered.

  Murder could not be so common.

  Bess, Lionel and Rollo seemed delightfully normal, and though Miss Greensbody was eccentric, there were no doubt equally dedicated and eccentric curators.

  “Would you consider this a safe neighborhood?” Cora asked carefully.

  “Very,” Bess said. “Father would never have stood for it if I’d moved elsewhere. But it’s fine, you’ll see. There are some nice parties with all the people in university, and the museums are nice.”

  “You like art.”

  “I like everything beautiful,” Bess announced.

  Archibald barked as if in agreement, and Cora and Bess giggled.

  Cora said goodbye to her new neighbor and stepped outside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cora wandered the city.

  It was glorious.

  London was everything she could have ever imagined.

  The Thames might not sparkle, and the murky waters seemed a strange mixture of gray and brown, neither color a traditional choice for rivers, but Cora still felt awe at the wide river that divided the city. She strolled over Tower Bridge, imagining the ships and shore boats that had filled it for centuries. She ambled beside the river until she came to the Parliament buildings. The sky turned golden as the sun toppled downward, casting the buildings in a tangerine and rose colored glow.

  She inhaled.

  Her first day at her new home may have been unideal, but there was plenty here to enjoy.

  She felt anonymous. No crew members would send her pitying glances, aware she was not excelling in her position, and no other actors and actresses would smile at her smugly, aware they were succeeding over someone who’d been in the business for longer.

  No one recognized her.

  Men and women in heavy overcoats marched over the streets, toward the tube station. Work must have ended.

  Archibald looked at her curiously from time to time, and she realized this was the longest walk she’d given him.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, reaching down to pet him. “You must be tired. I’m just not eager to return home.”

  She gathered him in her arms, worried someone in the swarm of people leaving the Houses of Parliament might step on him, and searched for a black cab. She didn’t think Archibald was ready for the tube yet. He’d had sufficient adventures.

  The black cab was comfortable, but a knot in her stomach that could not be attributed to hunger grew as the cab inched toward Bloomsbury. She pulled Archibald onto her lap. At least he seemed to find the ride enjoyable and wagged his tail.

  Finally, the cab stopped. She paid the driver and exited the cab.

  Nightfall had not improved the area. A steady wind swept against her back. The leafy square seemed menacing, as if evil lurked behind the large trees.

  Her heart pounded in her chest.

  Perhaps I imagined the body. Perhaps I imagined he was dead.

  She tried to quell her earlier protestations.

  Music sounded from an open window. Evidently Rollo and Lionel were having a party. She strode up the steps, grateful for the upbeat tempo of the music that seemed distant from death, though even the joyous strains couldn’t keep her heart from ratcheting.

  Perhaps I should have accepted Veronica’s offer.

  She almost considered leaving straight away, but instead she inhaled and marched resolutely up the steps.

  No one wanted her dead, and she did have Archibald. He might be small, but an intruder who entered the room in the dark wouldn’t know that. He’d only hear Archibald’s bark, which was considerable.

  She strode past Rollo’s and Lionel’s apartment and up the stairs to her own.

  This was her home.

  She wasn’t going to allow anyone to make her feel unwanted.

  She removed her key, thrust it inside the keyhole, and opened the door sharply.

  There.

  She’d done it.

  Nothing to be scared of.

  Obviously.

  She ignored the rapid beat of her heart and moved her hand toward the light switch. Her skin bristled, as if some animal instinct in her was aware of something her mind was not.

  Someone’s here.

  She jerked her hand back and refrained from turning on the light switch.

  Archibald trotted to the next room.

  He didn’t bark.

  Shouldn’t he be barking?

  I’m being foolish.

  She closed the door quietly. Her heart beat quickened, and she grabbed the frying pan from the kitchen and tiptoed after Archibald. She had the definite sense she was being ridiculous, but it didn’t matter. Only her safety, and Archibald’s, mattered.

  She moved into the room, making out the dark outline of the bed.

  There didn’t seem to be a person in it. Her limbs were still stiff, and she tightened her gr
ip on the handle of the frying pan. She seemed to sense another person. The murderer? Or some demonic ghost? Perhaps a serial killer, someone intent on murdering everyone who deigned to enter this room?

  The idea sounded ridiculous in her mind, but tension still swept through her.

  “Do you always enter this room with a frying pan in your hand?” A cool voice broke through the darkness.

  The voice should have terrified her.

  This was everything she’d feared.

  Someone had broken into the room.

  But she recognized the voice at once.

  She’d heard it for years. Most people had heard it for years. The voice was silky, smooth and American.

  “Pop?” she squeaked.

  “Hi sweetie,” her father said. “Why don’t you turn on the light?”

  “You could have turned it on,” Cora said.

  “I was taking a nap,” Pop said casually. “This time difference is brutal.”

  “What are you doing here, Pop? And how did you get inside?”

  Her father narrowed her eyes. “You should be glad I’m here. And I thought I taught you better manners on how to greet a guest.”

  Cora’s knees wobbled, and she sank onto the bed. “I am glad to see you.”

  “Good.” Pop beamed. “That’s more like it, honey bunny.”

  Pop’s gaze dropped to the frying pan in Cora’s hand. “You know, if you’re not adapting well to living on your own, you can always move back. I’m sure we could find you another job in Hollywood. I have many friends.”

  Cora shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  Archibald lay down on the floor, curled beside Cora’s feet, as if to emphasize that Cora was not going anywhere.

  “You’d tell me if you were in trouble?” Pop asked carefully.

  Cora stiffened.

  What would Pop say if she confessed she’d thought she’d discovered a murder? In this very room? Would he insist she leave?

  He’d never seemed overly burdened by fatherly instincts.

  “I thought I saw something bad,” Cora confessed.

  “Oh.” Pop watched her intently.

  More intently than she would have anticipated.

  Pop did seem warier than he’d been in Hollywood. He certainly had heightened his security.