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CORA AND VERONICA DESCENDED the steps of the building to answer the doorbell. Cora took Archibald into her arms, lest he scamper into the street, and opened the door.
A middle-aged man in a constable’s uniform stood outside. Rain speckled his shiny navy helmet. “You rang?”
“A man has been murdered,” Veronica said in her customary cool voice, and Cora’s shoulders eased.
This will all be over soon.
“His body is upstairs,” Cora explained.
“Very well.” The constable peered upward as he entered, as if thinking the building an unlikely location for a murder. No blood-stained killer loitered in the foyer, and the faded floral wallpaper conjured idyllic countryside visions rather than nightmares.
Veronica ascended the steps, and her lace dress swished against the dark banister.
“Er—yes.” The constable scrunched his face, and for a moment his square-shaped face appeared rather less square. “I say, you look just like Veronica James.”
Veronica gave him a patient smile. “I am Veronica James.”
“Golly,” the constable sputtered. “I’m—er—Police Constable Meeks. At your service.”
The door on the same level as Lionel and Rollo opened, and the matronly attired woman Cora and Veronica had spotted when they entered poked her head out.
“What is this dreadful commotion?” She rolled her r slightly and exchanged a soft e sound for where a soft i sound was customarily used, revealing a Welsh accent. The lenses of her glasses flickered, caught in the light of the grimy chandelier.
“You must be Miss Greensbody.” Veronica extended her hand. “I’m Veronica James.”
“The Veronica James,” the constable said, wonder still in his voice as he headed upstairs.
Veronica gave a smug smile, and even though there was a dead body in the apartment upstairs, Cora knew Veronica was musing about the wonders of her position, and how much she’d achieved.
“The movie star?” Miss Greensbody asked.
Veronica nodded, and her smile broadened. “You’re supposed to shake my hand. Many people would be delighted to be offered it. Some people would even kiss it.”
“I’m not kissing your hand,” Miss Greensbody said.
“May I?” the constable breathed.
Veronica and Cora swiveled toward him, and his face reddened.
“Naturally not,” the constable said hastily. “That would be absurd. Utterly inappropriate. Ha, ha, ha, ha.”
“You may kiss my hand,” Veronica said regally, thrusting her gloved hand in the direction of the constable.
“Better not,” the constable said, though his voice sounded hoarse. “This is an—er—business call.”
“Very well,” Veronica said.
“Gracious,” Miss Greensbody said. “What is he doing here?”
Veronica’s face sobered, perhaps remembering the dead person upstairs. “I’m afraid there’s been a tragedy.”
The constable nodded, grateful to be returned to his task. “Murder.”
Miss Greensbody sucked in her breath.
“Upstairs,” Veronica said graciously. “He’s lying on my friend’s bed. In Apartment Six.”
“Did you see the death?” the constable asked.
“Nonsense,” Veronica said. “He was dead when we found him.”
“And his name is—?”
“We don’t know. But it’s not as important as removing him,” Veronica said. “My friend needs to move into her new apartment. She was excited about it, though goodness knows why.” Veronica glided her gaze about the stairwell, raising her eyebrows loftily.
The constable’s expression did not change. Most likely he thought this was a perfectly respectable place in which to live. Cora thought it a perfectly respectable place.
The constable restarted his path up the stairs, and Veronica and Cora followed.
“Wait.” Miss Greensbody followed them. “I’m coming with you.”
“It might be a terrible sight,” the constable warned.
“And it’s not your apartment,” Veronica said.
“From what I understand,” Miss Greensbody said, “it is not yours either, Miss James.”
“Your Grace,” Veronica corrected, even though she normally did not dwell on the fact she’d married a duke. Their separation had been unpleasant, and the duke’s activities were not of the sort that would cast a rosier light on Veronica.
Still, her husband was a duke.
Miss Greensbody’s eyes narrowed. “I remember reading about you in The Telegraph. You’re not the right sort of people for this house.”
“Are you saying you have an advantage over me?” Veronica asked, her tone incredulous.
“Yes,” Miss Greensbody said simply.
“That is absolute nonsense,” Veronica said.
“I have lived here for ten years. Peacefully. Your visit of ten minutes has proved significantly more disruptive. The people at the Museum of Ancient Antiquities will agree with me.”
“Perhaps she will recognize the body,” Cora murmured to Veronica.
“Oh.” Veronica frowned. “I suppose you can come.”
“Good heavens,” Miss Greensbody said. “Thank you for your permission. And I thought someone who’d failed out of university made for a poor neighbor.”
“Number Seven?” the constable called from above.
“The door should be open,” Cora said hurriedly, and they dashed upstairs. Evidently Veronica and Miss Greensbody had deciding arguing would only delay their arrival.
Perhaps the person’s death had been of natural causes and nothing suspicious.
Not murder.
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 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?