“I suppose you think I’m foolish.” Miss Greensbody sniffed and unfolded her handkerchief.
“No, no,” Cora said hastily. “Naturally not.”
Miss Greensbody raked her hand through her hair again, and a larger section of her hair fell onto her brow.
“Fiddlesticks,” Miss Greensbody said, and her eyebrows darted together, as if seeking to join in some feat of gymnastics.
She opened the door to her apartment, and Cora followed her inside.
Cora looked around the room. A dining room table and chairs with majestic Darby-Brown legs sat in one corner of the room, though Miss Greensbody had evidently abandoned any attempt at dinner parties and was using it chiefly as a place to hold papers and books.
“How cozy,” Cora murmured politely. “Mine is still very bare.”
“I remember when Lionel was still at school. He had the decency to be quiet then.”
“That’s a long time,” Cora mused.
Miss Greensbody shrugged. “I went to university here.”
“How long have you worked at the institute?”
“One year. And my first exhibit is a disaster,” she wailed.
“I’m sure the exhibit still is impressive,” Cora said soothingly. “Given your passion, how else could it be?”
“I suppose that’s true,” Miss Greensbody said, and her sobs grew less frequent.
“I’m certain,” Cora said decidedly. “In fact, I’ve been quite looking forward to seeing it.”
“You have?” Miss Greensbody blinked, and her tears halted.
“Yes,” Cora said forcefully. “The exhibit sounds fascinating.”
Fascinating was perhaps an exaggeration. Cora had never had particularly strong opinions toward Persia, and she was not more eager to see an exhibit on Persia than she was to see an exhibit on Indochina or Ethiopia.
But this was London. Everyone knew the British Empire was the largest, most expansive in the world. Everyone knew the sun never set on the British Empire, and everyone also knew the British seemed compelled to forever adventure to places even outside their empire and had a habit of bringing treasures back with them.
Though she wasn’t certain what people in those countries thought of their treasures being removed, she did want to learn more about the world and its history and cultures, and there seemed no better place to do that than right here.
Cora was happy to begin learning at Miss Greensbody’s exhibit.
“Let’s go,” Miss Greensbody said.
“Now?”
Miss Greensbody nodded. “I have to return back anyway. My lunch break is almost over. Unless, of course, you don’t have anything else to go to?”
“I don’t,” Cora said. “Now is perfect.”
After all, soon she’d find a job, and she would have no time left.
She could also take the time to ask Miss Greensbody questions about the neighborhood. Perhaps her neighbor had seen somebody who matched the dead man’s description.
“Now is perfect,” she said.
Miss Greensbody rose. “I see you haven’t obtained a job.”
Some people seemed to have a natural proclivity toward snootiness, and unfortunately, Miss Greensbody had been heavily bestowed with that quality. At least she seemed more content than before.
Soon they were strolling outside. Cora quickly realized it was going to take far less time to reach the exhibit than it had when Archibald had accompanied her. Though Archibald delighted in walks, he could not match Miss Greensbody’s vigor and long strides. If Cora was going to learn anything about the rest of the apartment from Miss Greensbody, it would have to be now.
“What do you think about the other people in the apartment?” Cora asked.
“All dreadful.” Miss Greensbody turned to her. “I’m still deciding about you.”
Dreadful as in one of them might be a murderer?
“Do you think anyone is involved in unsavory activities?” Cora asked.
Even though Miss Greensbody was walking, and even though her legs and hands were moving at a considerable pace, Miss Greensbody’s eyebrows now joined her legs in activity and rose. “Such curiosity. I hope you’re not inquiring about the potential of procuring...drugs from any of them.”
Cora felt her skin warm. “I’ve never taken drugs.”
“Perhaps you never had the opportunity.”
Despite Miss Greensbody’s earlier vulnerability, she seemed to be rapidly regaining her former confidence, or at least, her prickly demeanor.
Cora knew she should be happy Miss Greensbody was no longer clutching a handkerchief and looking mournfully about, but being the object of Miss Greensbody’s scoldings was unpleasant.
Still...
Drugs.
It hadn’t occurred to her before, but perhaps the man on her bed had been in a drug-induced stupor. Perhaps that explained his stiffness.
If only she’d taken more opportunities in Hollywood to speak with the actors and actresses who seemed to know much about drugs and who experimented with the vigor of a scientist, intent on curing some disease. Heroin seemed particularly popular, having spread to Hollywood from the Harlem jazz scene in the last decade. She would not be surprised if the drug were equally popular here.
Finally, Miss Greensbody stopped before a narrow building. A large banner proclaiming the magnificence of the exhibit hung from a balcony and spanned nearly the entire width of the building. “We’re here,” Miss Greensbody said brightly. “The finest place in all London.”
“Splendid,” Cora said.
She followed Miss Greensbody inside. The building was pleasant, and light shone over sculptures from past centuries.
Though the exhibit did not have the swarms of people Cora had seen outside the British Museum the day before, it was not empty. Bespectacled men and women clutched notebooks and seemed to take great interest. Mothers and daughters strolled together. It seemed lovely to Cora that education could be an outing.
Even though she’d felt guilty about not devoting her time to finding a job, she realized she was excited about the exhibit.
“I’ve never been in a museum before,” she confessed.
Miss Greensbody’s mouth gaped open, even though Miss Greensbody had tended to emulate propriety, and Cora did not think gawking was part of it.
“You poor thing,” Miss Greensbody said finally, showing an empathy Cora did not associate with her. “Poor American.”
Cora gave a wobbly smile, wishing she hadn’t told Miss Greensbody.
She was soon distracted by beautiful artifacts.
And then she saw it.
A portrait.
That was him.
That was the man who had been on her bed.
Why is there a picture of him at the exhibit?
Cora strode toward the portrait. It was painted in a realist style. Perhaps either he or his artist had thought it important to capture his exact appearance, since he was definitely handsome.
She’d suspected he was handsome when he’d been lying on her bed, despite his ashen face. She hadn’t wanted to linger on his features, but she’d noted their regularity. Most people didn’t have symmetrical faces. Even most actresses had a favorite side of their face for photographs. But the photographer for this man would not have had to be limited to a particular side. That had been obvious when she saw him, and it was obvious now.
“Oh, don’t look at that,” Miss Greensbody said. “There are many older things here.”
Cora glanced in the direction of the rest of the exhibit. She could make out various friezes.
“Do you know who he is?” Cora asked.
Miss Greensbody pressed her lips together. “Nobody important.”
The woman seemed upset, and Cora turned to her.
Miss Greensbody turned her head and then stepped toward Cora. “He’s the man who never appeared.”
Miss Greensbody’s voice was low, and at first Cora thought she had misheard. “Man who never appeared?”
“Mr. Bijan Tehrani.” Irritation filled Miss Greensbody’s voice. “He was supposed to bring the jewels. We hung up a portrait of him, and yet he couldn’t even bother to make our meeting. We can’t find him anywhere. If I had my way, I would burn the portrait. That would somewhat begin to serve him right.”
Cora blinked, surprised by the sudden violence Miss Greensbody had suggested.
There were more questions Cora wanted to ask Miss Greensbody, but she suddenly felt a shiver of fear.
Miss Greensbody said the man had not shown up to meet her, but was that true? Had he perhaps met her earlier—the day before, in her own building? Had Miss Greensbody been so enamored in the jewels that she’d desired to keep them in her possession?
Perhaps she’d invited him up for tea in the empty room upstairs.
Tea with poison.
“You’ve gone quite white,” Miss Greensbody remarked.
“Oh?” Cora attempted to sound innocent. “It feels suddenly much hotter in here.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Greensbody said. “The temperature is evenly controlled. The temperatures must be stable for all the valuable art.”
“Of course,” Cora said, even though the practicalities of art storage was not something she was familiar with.
Miss Greensbody continued to gaze at her. Light glinted off of Miss Greensbody’s round glasses, and Cora wished she could see her exact expression.
The expression she was imagining was not good.
Had Miss Greensbody killed him? And if so, why?
She frowned.
It seemed unlikely that Miss Greensbody would be motivated to kill a man who was intending to further her career. Had he objected to lending the museum the jewels after all? Had he berated her in some manner, leading her to kill him in a sudden rage? Miss Greensbody’s prickly exterior did not lead a person to compliments.
She wanted to ask Miss Greensbody about her exact whereabouts the morning Cora and Veronica discovered the body, but she didn’t want Miss Greensbody to be overly suspicious.
But then... If Miss Greensbody had killed him and left his body in Cora’s bedroom, surely she would know that Cora had seen him. She would most likely think it odd Cora had not mentioned it.
Cora’s head swirled.
Miss Greensbody did not inspire confessions.
“I think I’ll see the rest of the exhibit,” Cora said.
“Naturally,” Miss Greensbody said.
Cora strode to a frieze. She stared at the ancient stone carving of some king, now long dead, but her only thoughts were on another Persian who had died more recently. Her heart continued to thump, and she strode hastily through the exhibit, stopping only to murmur appropriate expressions of enthusiasms at the various exhibits with the largest amounts of text, no doubt lovingly written, beside them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cora couldn’t go home.
Not now. Not when Miss Greensbody must have known she recognized the person.
She wished she had a way to contact Randolph.
There was somebody else who was closer. Someone else she was supposed to see anyway.
Pop. Maybe he wouldn’t know what to do, but he could distract her.
Cora waved hastily to Miss Greensbody and then hurried to Club Paradiso.
Cora entered the club. The same coat check girl was there.
“Hello, Miss Clarke.” The girl touched the phone. “Shall I call your father?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cora said. “I’ll see myself in.”
“But no one is allowed—”
Cora pushed through the door and entered the club. Pop was still on the stage, just like last time. He was still dressed impeccably, though he now wore a black suit, not that the color managed to make him appear any more sober.
Pop halted singing. “Honey bunny!”
Cora continued toward him.
Pop’s ceased smiling, perhaps noticing the seriousness on her face, and his lips straightened. He glanced around the club, as if expecting other people in it, but there were only rows of empty round tables. It was later in the day than when she’d been here first, and garnet-colored tablecloths and vases filled with fresh flowers adorned the tables. He moved from the stage and toward her, keeping his eyes on the newspaper.
Cora widened her eyes.
Pop was acting distinctly suspicious. His face had whitened, and his gait was less graceful than she was accustomed to seeing.
“What brings you here?” Pop asked in a low voice. “Did you want me to run through my songs? Maybe you want to listen to the whole performance.” His voice seemed strained, and he spoke too quickly with a forced joviality that made her blink.
“No, Pop. I’ll see your show this evening.”
“Right.” Pop frowned.
She sighed. Why was Pop acting so strangely?
“Can we speak in private?” she whispered.
Relief shone over his face. “Good idea. Let’s go to my hotel.”
“I was thinking more your backstage space.”
“Can’t trust anyone here.” He leaned closer to her. “There could be...listening devices.”
“Listening devices?” She raised her eyebrows. “We would hear those machines.”
“You’re not a security expert,” Pop said. “Can’t be too careful.”
She blinked.
Pop was truly acting most extraordinary.
“I have more security at my hotel,” Pop explained. “It’s safer.”
He snapped his fingers, and a man whom Cora had not seen approached them from another room. He must have been observing Pop carefully, and Cora was beginning to understand why Pop had insisted they find a more private location.
An uneasy feeling filled Cora.
“I know the identity of the dead person in my room,” Cora said.
“Please!” Pop scolded her. “Be quiet.” His teeth were gritted together. “We’ll talk about it later. Soon.”
Pop turned to the other man. “We’re going back to the hotel for a while.”
The man nodded, and Cora allowed herself to be bustled from Club Paradiso. Soon they arrived at Pop’s hotel. It was stylish and magnificent, and for a while, Cora could only admire the chandeliers that dangled from tall ceilings.
Pop’s suite was similarly magnificent.
“You’re doing very well,” Cora said.
“Er—yes.” Pop scratched the back of his neck.
Well.
He could be rather less suave when not surrounded by dozens of fawning women.
“I made a good business deal,” Pop said. “Very good,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself. “Er—sweetie, what was it you wanted to say?”
“Just that I know who was in the room. It was some Persian who was supposed to meet my neighbor.”
“Your neighbor?” Pop looked startled. “Or was it someone you knew? You can tell me anything.”
“You’re acting strangely.”
Pop laughed. “Nonsense.”
But his laugh did seem tighter than normal.
Pop had been in her room. Alone. A curious feeling invaded her chest.
“Pop, are you mixed up with this?” Cora asked sternly.
“Me, naturally not.” His voice was even, controlled, the epitome of someone not telling a lie.
The only thing was... Pop wasn’t looking at her. Normally, he would look at her when telling her something. Pop’s eyes though were drifting from his hands to even the furthest corners of the room.
“Pop, he was in my room. Dead. He was in my bedroom. My new flat.” Cora had thought she’d begun speaking calmly, but her voice wobbled. The room seemed too hot, as if someone had decided to set it afire. “I thought I was crazy. That Veronica was crazy. And now I know I’m not.”
“How could anyone have transported him from your room if he was dead?” Pop smirked.
“There’s a dumbwaiter in my room,” Cora said, smiling as she remembered discovering it with Ran
dolph. “Someone could have put him in it, and then transported him out downstairs.”
“That sounds far-fetched.” Pop smirked.
“Pop! You are not being helpful,” Cora said. “You’re supposed to give me advice. Or at least sympathize with me.”
Pop’s face sobered. “You’re right. So—er—there’s nothing you want to confess?”
“Me? No.”
Pop appeared unsettled. “And you say this guy was some friend of your neighbor? Not one of your friends? Perhaps some bad man in your life?”
“I already told you I didn’t know him,” Cora said impatiently.
Pop’s face appeared whiter than normal. “Perhaps—um—someone did not know this, saw the body in your room, and thought you—er—may have—er—lost your temper? What then?”
“That’s a preposterous suggestion. Not what we’re discussing.”
Pop was silent.
Oh.
“Pop,” Cora asked finally, “please tell me you didn’t move the body.”
Pop remained silent.
Oh, no.
“Why would you move the body?” Cora asked.
“Maybe you murdered him.” Pop shrugged.
“I’m not a murderess!” Cora exclaimed.
Pop smiled. “Of course, honey bunny. But better safe than sorry, that’s what I always say.”
“That’s what you always say?” Cora sputtered.
“There wasn’t time to ask you, what with the constable coming up the stairs.”
It all made sense.
Well, it all made some sense.
Cora could never imagine an opportunity in which disposing a body would be desired, much less deemed necessary, but Pop’s sense of logic had always varied from her own.
“You shouldn’t have moved the body,” Cora said sternly. “You weren’t even supposed to be there.”
“I changed my mind,” Pop said. “It’s not every day I’m around you. Moving into a new apartment is a big deal.”
“So you entered through the window?” Cora frowned.
“I don’t like constables,” Pop said stiffly.
“And then you put the body in the dumbwaiter?”
The Body in Bloomsbury Page 7
