Read Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) for Free Online Page A

of rats scampering around.
    “Did you hear that?” I hiss-whispered when I heard claws scraping against concrete for the third time.
    “Hear what, dear?” Cordi asked. She’d added a light raincoat in teal and a teal-and-cream headscarf to her ensemble.
    “That scratching sound.”
    “I didn’t hear it,” Chloe said, though I noted she had her beanie pulled down over her ears and her hoodie on over the top of that. A plane could have landed on the building and she wouldn’t have heard it.  
    “It’s funny,” Cordi said, “but do you see the wall over there?” She pointed to a rough-hewn section of wall with a fancy carved column supporting it. “The basement is built over an old Roman ruin. They think it was a temple or something, because they found burials down here. Whatever it was, it gives me the creeps.”
    “And now, thanks to your story, it also gives me the creeps,” I said, not the slightest bit grateful for Cordi’s impromptu history lesson.
    Eventually, after wandering through the stacks, we found the files dated to roughly when we thought Chloe’s dad was in the area. The three of us got down to some serious finding business, courtesy of the ancient technology of the microfiche. After about an hour and a half of searching records mostly to do with restaurants, pubs, and cafés in the borough, one of my random darts scored a hit.  
    “Bingo,” I said. “A Henry Renholm who had been a sous-chef at La Grasa de Cerdo —a chic boho restaurant in Soho—bought his own café bistro in Notting Hill.”  
    Cordi and Chloe gathered round my machine.
    “Do you think he’s our guy?” asked Cordi.
    “My dad?” Chloe enquired.
    “Honestly? I don’t know,” I said. “But what are the chances of there being two chefs called Henry Renholm working in this part of town?”
    Cordi nodded. “A good point, my dear.”
    “Thanks,” I said. I was pretty pleased with what I’d discovered. “Of course, there’s only one way to be sure he’s Chloe’s dad.”
    “A field trip!” Cordi beamed. “How splendid. Now let’s get out of here, my skin’s crawling. Did you see that cockroach? It’s the size of a horse.”
    “No, and I don’t want to either.”  
    I quickly jotted down the address and totally freaked out when the lights dimmed to almost total darkness before blazing back to life. Clearly, I had got soft since my days on the streets.
    The three of us almost ran from the basement, all the time I felt sure I could feel eyes watching me from the darkness behind us. Probably the horse-sized cockroach, or was it a cockroach-sized horse? I didn’t hang around to find out.

    ***

    Traffic was as terrible as usual in London, but Cordi was a native and fearlessly navigated around buses, taxis, cyclists and delivery vans with skill in her beat-up Mercedes.  
    Her driving scared the life out of me, but she got us where we needed to be. After the white-knuckle ride, we pulled up near to the address of the café.
    “We passed this earlier,” I said as we turned the corner onto a quiet section of Portobello Road and saw Café H.
    “Oh my,” Chloe said. “We were this close and we didn’t know.”  
    She rushed over and tried the door. I paused a moment to take in the building and its surroundings. I wouldn’t say I was casing the joint as such , let’s just say, old habits die hard.  
    It was painted a fashionable grey and had white and grey blinds with a smart sign in metal lettering and a shiny black door. As I got closer, I could see that the sign hanging on the door said Closed .  
    Despite this, Chloe was still trying the handle.  
    Cordi was peeking through the window. “It looks very closed, I’m afraid, Chloe dear,” Cordi said.
    “I don’t believe it.” Chloe stopped trying the door and sat on the step, clearly dejected.
    “You lot must really want a cup of tea,” said a woman who was standing in the doorway of the clothes shop next door to the café.
    I went over to