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

Grace asked.
    “I have no idea.”
    Mr. Redcake had moved back toward the body now, and was talking intently with Prissy and two policemen. His usually friendly, animated face looked drawn. Prissy, on the other hand, was smiling when she turned around and came toward the two women.
    “What a shock that I actually knew who he was,” she said, as if proud of her accomplishment.
    “I think you should take Grace and go home now,” Betsy said. She could feel the younger woman’s body trembling. “This is really upsetting her.”
    “Don’t you want to know the story?”
    “No, I want you to take care of Grace,” Betsy said. She could learn all she needed to know from Mr. Redcake. As for Prissy herself, she wanted to talk to her father.
    “Oh, she’ll be fine. Murder is so exciting, isn’t it? It’s like a novel come to life.”
    “But you did know the person.”
    Prissy gave her a blank stare. “I recognized him, that is all. He’s quite notorious in some circles.”
    Grace swayed.
    “Please take Grace home,” Betsy repeated, though not without a faint sense of irritation, because she did want to know why the dead man was notorious.
    Prissy gave a sharp little nod. “Very well. Come along, Grace. We were meant to fetch sausages for your father’s dinner.”
    At that, Grace turned green. She doubled over and was sick on the entry-hall floor. Betsy glared at Prissy, who merely shrugged and handed her handkerchief to Grace.
    A minute later the two women were gone, leaving Betsy nauseated. Two of the constables came out of the tearoom.
    “I’ll fetch the doctor,” the taller one said, and walked out to the street. “The sooner we can have one here, the sooner we can have the body moved to a morgue.”
    The other constable came up to Betsy, who was glad to hear the body wouldn’t be staying on the premises for long, and pointed at the locked doors in the middle of the room.
    “Where do those lead to?”
    “The back rooms. Mr. Redcake and I were on the floor above, in the offices. We found the body when we came downstairs.”
    “Everything locked up?”
    “Not the tearoom or that one window. The bakery was locked.”
    “You been in there?”
    “Yes. We used the telephone in the bakery to call the station.”
    The policeman nodded. “If it were locked up tight, no need to investigate. But the back rooms weren’t locked if you were still there.”
    She nodded. “But we were definitely alone on the top floor.”
    “What else is on this floor?”
    “The kitchen and loading dock and storage rooms. But nothing smelled funny in the back. I mean, no blood or anything.”
    “We’d still better have a look.”
    “I don’t have the keys. Only Mr. Redcake does. He is the owner as well as the manager.”
    “And you are his assistant? I suppose he doesn’t trust a woman with such responsibility.”
    “His housekeeper has an extra set of keys and he lives nearby. I could access the keys if I needed them,” she said, maintaining dignity with an effort.
    “Very good,” the constable said, making a note. “Anyone else have keys?”
    “To their respective departments, storerooms, and so forth, but Mr. Redcake is the only person with every key.”
    “I will see him about the keys, then. You might want to go home, miss. Getting late, and we’ll have to remove the body soon.” He tucked his notebook away, then lifted his brows. “One more thing. You must have cleaners. When do they come in?”
    “When the bakers do. In the wee hours.”
    “A few hours from now, then. Electric lighting here?”
    “Yes.”
    “Night watchman?”
    She shook her head. “There’s been no need. This is a good area. No trouble here.”
    “Not like other parts of London, to be sure. I used to walk the beat in Lambeth.” The constable shook his head. “All but a different race living there. Know anything about this Cross chappie?”
    “That woman, Prissy Weaver, said he was notorious. She’s just moved from Bristol