Read Online Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) by Heather Hiestand - Free Book Online

brother to make deliveries, assuming he had no skills.
    While he paced in front of the door, he realized the Carters were not his problem. But he’d noticed Betsy seemed worn down by cares of late, and she was in danger of losing her youthful bloom. Was it wrong to be grateful that this wasn’t because of her professional duties? Was it a crime that he liked looking at pretty girls at work? After all, the customers did as well, the male ones at least.
    Simon Hellman—now, he was a Redcake’s problem. Betsy might not be his only victim. How could he resolve the situation without making Betsy’s secret known? Assuming he wasn’t the murderer, of course. He entertained the idea that some lazy cakie had left the window unlatched, leaving it open for two opportunistic thieves to come in, argue, and then one’s violent death. But they’d been upstairs and heard nothing. Surely thieves would have made noise as they threw things into bags.
    Greggory wasn’t exactly sure what would be worth stealing in the tearoom. Teapots? Crockery? Tablecloths? All the money went into the upstairs safe at night. Little of value remained below.
    He was puzzling over these interlocking problems when four men came to the door, wearing the distinctive blue tunics and helmets of the police. When he unlocked the door, the men immediately took charge, wandering through the tearoom with a masculine energy that seemed outsized in the rather feminine space. Greggory stood in the doorway as they discussed the body. They didn’t recognize the man either.
     
    Betsy hovered in the entry hall while Mr. Redcake stood in the doorway of the tearoom. She heard footsteps in front of the main door and went to it, thinking she’d be letting in more police. Instead, she saw Grace Fair and her mother’s assistant, Prissy.
    She came forward to block the door, but the two women were already inside.
    “We were walking by and saw the lights were on,” Grace explained. “Is something wrong, Miss Popham?”
    Betsy looked from one woman to the other. “You shouldn’t be here.”
    The seamstress’s nostrils flared. “Something smells very bad in here.”
    Grace turned to her in alarm. “You are right. What is that?”
    “Death,” Betsy said. “Someone was murdered in the tearoom.”
    “Oh, my goodness.” Prissy put her hand to her throat and was across the hall and peering through the open tearoom door before Betsy could protest.
    Mr. Redcake had left his post in the doorway and was inside, gesturing animatedly to the window as he spoke to one of the policemen.
    Grace shrieked and grabbed for Betsy’s arm when she saw the legs of the dead man, but Prissy, a much bolder character, stepped right up and stared down at the man.
    “Why, I know him,” she announced after a long glance. Betsy couldn’t see the seamstress’s expression, but she sounded cool and composed.
    One of the policemen turned toward Prissy. “You do? Who are you?”
    “Prissy Weaver, Constable,” she said pertly.
    “All right, then.” He took out a notebook and a pencil. “Who is the deceased?”
    “Manfred Cross,” Prissy said.
    Betsy heard no doubt in the woman’s voice, but it wasn’t the name of the man that struck her. It was Prissy’s surname. Weaver? That had been Betsy’s mother’s name before she married her father. Who was Prissy Weaver? With her similar looks and suspicious name, she had to be a relation.
    Grace still held her arm. Betsy asked the girl, “How long have you known Prissy?”
    “She started working for my mother about three weeks ago.”
    “Do you know where she came from?”
    Grace nodded. “Bristol.”
    “I’m from Bristol,” Betsy said.
    Grace frowned. “I hadn’t noticed before, but she looks so much like you. You could be cousins for certain.”
    “If her name is really Weaver, she can’t be my cousin.” She could be my sister, though.
    “Why not?”
    Betsy shook her head. “Just thinking aloud.”
    “Who is Manfred Cross?”