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CORA ARRIVED AT THE building and removed her keys. Her hands shook, and it took several tries to enter correctly. She blinked into the dark light and ushered Archibald outside before she returned to prepare for the evening.
She dreaded going to Club Paradiso. Moving a dead body from a murder scene must be against the law. If it wasn’t, it was only because the law couldn’t anticipate her father’s actions.
It was perhaps sweet he’d done it to protect her. She wasn’t used to any signs of fatherly affection, and she would take what she could get.
Still.
Wouldn’t the police be able to at some point tie everything to Pop? This wasn’t her first murder, and she knew the swarm of police that accompanied any investigators. There were men whose whole jobs were dedicated to looking at practically invisible things, like fingerprints and collecting strands of hair.
And what would happen then?
Perhaps Pop was wrong, and Cora should march to the nearest police station and confess everything. Perhaps Pop would get in trouble, but wouldn’t confessing lead to a smaller charge than murder?
She shivered.
She despised that Pop had done this. Would the police ever figure out who killed the man now?
Perhaps they couldn’t determine it, but she knew the connection to this building in Bloomsbury. Perhaps she could discover the murderer’s identity. Pop’s freedom might depend on it.
It would be easier to pretend none of this had happened. Yet, even though she’d changed her bedding, and even though she’d rearranged her furniture, none of that changed the fact that someone, someone in this very building, had murdered Mr. Tehrani.
Fortunately, Mr. Tehrani and she had little in common. Perhaps that would quell any murderous instincts any of the residents had. A tiny part of her told her this was nonsense, and only certain serial killers took pains to ensure their victims resembled one another. A normal murderer would be far more likely to feel compelled to murder because of a particular situation. If they thought her a threat, they might feel inspired to have her meet a similar fate as the Persian, particularly if imbued by the belief they could get away with a second murder. Unfortunately, Cora had not found a correlation between being a murderer and a paucity of confidence.
Cora exited her flat and locked the door. At least she didn’t appear threatening. She tried to
“Hello,” Bess said.
Cora turned around sharply, surprised to see her neighbor. She hadn’t noticed her.
Bess laughed. “You look quite pale.”
“I’m a bit on edge,” Cora admitted.
“Rollo told me you’d thought you saw a man on your bed.” Bess’s eyes were slightly narrow.
Last time they’d met, they’d gotten along fine, but a new tension seemed between them that Cora instantly despised.
“I did see somebody,” Cora said, “though perhaps he was simply ill and wandered off. The constable said that was the most likely explanation.”
Cora despised that she’d lied, but at least Bess’s gaze seemed less stern. Her neighbor shrugged. “Better keep your window closed.”
Cora nodded. “London is a big city. I’m not used to it.”
Bess’s gaze softened. “I’m not from here either.”
“Where are you from?”
“The Cotswolds.”
Cora was vaguely aware of the idyllic rolling hills and honey-colored cottages famous in that region.
“You look nice,” Bess said, perhaps also anxious to rescue their conversation, now she no longer thought Cora was in the habit of conjuring up stories of dead people.
“Thank you,” Cora said.
She felt glum, but she wasn’t going to contradict Bess.
“Please tell me you’re going somewhere fun,” Bess said. “And then tell me I can come with you. It’s much too tiresome here.”
“I’m going to Soho,” Cora said. “And you are very welcome to join.”
If she was going to figure out the murderer, she needed to spend more time with her neighbors. And where better than in a place in public?
Bess grinned. “I’m so glad. I swear I thought I could hear Miss Greensbody cry last night. Obviously, it was her cats yowling. Miss Greensbody, is far too respectable to ever have emotions.”
Cora shifted her feet awkwardly. She had no desire to contradict Bess. Miss Greensbody had shared things with her in confidence. Bess didn’t need to know Miss Greensbody felt her career was in an unideal situation.
“Do you think Rollo and Lionel might want to come?” Cora asked.
Bess stared at her, somewhat incredulously. “I’m sure they would want to, but do you really want to invite them?”
“I thought you were close to them.”
Bess shrugged. “They’re all right. They’re just boys though. Have you seen their apartment?”
“Well, you don’t have to invite them,” Cora said. “I just want to be neighborly.”
“Hmph.”
“Invite us to what?” Rollo called from the downstairs landing.
“Now you’ve done it,” Bess murmured. “These walls are thin.” She inhaled. “Cora and I were planning to go into Soho. Would you like to join us?”
“Would we ever!” Rollo shouted. “I’ll tell Lionel.” The door slammed, and the sound of his feet pounding through his flat continued, as if he were an elephant escaped from the zoo and confronting steps for the first time.
Bess rolled her eyes. “So childish.”
“Not your type?” Cora asked.
Bess shook her head. “I want a real man, one who doesn’t need to count his money all the time. One who can buy me a drink and not have it matter.” She flushed. “I suppose you think I sound like an alcoholic. I’m really not.”
It occurred to Cora that Mr. Bijan Tehrani might fit those qualifications very well. His clothes had been tailored well, and he’d possessed a groomed appearance. How long had he been in London? Would Bess have had an opportunity to meet him?
“I’ll get dressed.” Bess ducked back into her apartment.
It didn’t take them long to prepare. Bess soon appeared, clothed in a black gown that made her look sophisticated despite its obvious simplicity.
Bess and Cora descended the steps and then waited for Rollo and Lionel.
“Golly,” Rollo said upon seeing her. “You’re stunning.”
“Thank you.” Bess appeared pleased.
They exited the building.
Rollo continued to speak with Bess, managing to compliment both her attire and her hair in a very short time, and Cora found herself walking with Lionel.
“So your young man isn’t coming tonight?” Lionel asked.
“No,” she said.
Lionel’s lips extended into something that too closely resembled a smirk.
“This really wasn’t intended to be a large event,” Cora said.
“You enjoy going to clubs on your own?” Lionel’s lips were definitely smirking now, and even his eyebrows were raised, as if eager to make a condescending gesture of their own.
“My father’s performing there,” Cora said. “He’s the singer.”
“Ah, a show business family,” Lionel said.
“I suppose.” She turned to him. “And you’re in the family business too.”
Lionel looked puzzled for a moment.
“Your mother is the landlady,” she prompted him.
“And I take care of matters here. It is a task with much responsibility.” His chest seemed a trifle broader than before, and his chin tilted upward.
“How splendid,” Cora said faintly.
She hadn’t taken him for someone to be overly pompous. Managing a single building didn’t seem cause for excessive praise.
“I know you think poorly of me,” Lionel said.
“Nonsense,” Cora said automatically.
“You needn’t prevaricate,” Lionel said. “It was clear from my conversation with your—er—significant other.”
Cora knew she should be focusing on Lionel, but the only words that rang through her head were significant other. Yes, that’s what she and Randolph were. No one had ever described it thus before, but surely that’s what they were.
She found herself smiling contentedly, and Lionel nodded, perhaps seeing her smile as an acknowledgment of his own correctness.
“I’m a student,” Lionel said. “My hours are odd, but they won’t always be.” He shrugged. “Actually, my hours will probably be just as odd when I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor?” She turned to him sharply. “You’re in medical school?”
He nodded. “Yes. It can be stressful at times. Lots of studying at odd hours. I sleep when I can, and I party when I can too.”
“Oh.” Cora found herself flushing.
She’d thought little of him, but he was obviously smarter than she’d imagined.
“I misjudged you,” she said.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He winked and opened the door for her as they headed outside.
“Do you enjoy your studies?” she asked.
“Enjoy is perhaps too strong of a word,” Lionel said. “But it’s fine. It’s certainly interesting at times.”
Cora tried to nod authoritatively, but she knew little about medicine. She’d barely learned any biology when she was being tutored on set, and her knowledge of the organs in her body was limited to only the most important. She knew her heart was on the left side of her chest, and she knew her brain was located in her head, but all the bones and muscles that made up the rest of her body were rather more mysterious.
If Lionel studied medicine, he might also know things about poisons.
He knew the house better than anyone. He would have known about the dumb waiter hidden behind the painting in Cora’s bedroom.
“Murder in Bloomsbury! Murder in Bloomsbury! Read all about it!” A newsboy paced the pavement.
Cora stiffened. They came to the same young boy whom she had seen before. She glanced at the paper, and her eyes widened when she saw a picture of Mr. Tehrani. Perhaps the newspaper men hadn’t desired to protect their audience’s sensibilities. Perhaps they simply hadn’t had an image of him yet, even when dead.
The newsboy winked when he saw her.
“It seems you’ve made friends,” Lionel remarked.
His voice was tinged with humor, and Cora’s cheeks warmed. “I’m just getting to know the neighborhood.”
She quickened her steps, lest one of them buy a newspaper.