Read Online Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) by Kennedy Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: Kennedy Chase
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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
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
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