Murder at the Dressmaker's Salon: Cleopatra Fox #4 by C. J. Archer

Author:C. J. Archer [Archer, C. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Historical
ISBN: 9781922554154
Google: iOS4zgEACAAJ
Publisher: C.J. Archer
Published: 2022-06-06T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Dressed in my old black woolen cloak, I drew the hood over my head and exited my room. I raced down the stairs, keeping my head bowed, but I met no one on the way. The hotel was almost deserted at this time of the evening. Shows and dinner parties had not yet ended so guests were still out unless they’d gone to bed early. I avoided the foyer altogether and headed into the service area behind the lift. I didn’t want to put Philip the night porter in an awkward position by asking him to keep quiet about my leaving.

Harmony met me in the staff parlor then we left the hotel via the service entrance into the lane. Goliath waited for us at the lane’s end at the edge of the circle of light cast by a street lamp. We nodded greetings and waited a few minutes until Victor arrived. He’d changed out of his chef’s whites and wore day clothes with a long overcoat, the collar flipped up to ward off the chill. His cap perched low over his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes.

Harmony appraised him. “You look like you’re going to commit a crime.”

He scrutinized her just as thoroughly. “And you look like you’re going to break someone’s heart. Let’s see which of us is right.”

He walked off, leaving her staring at his back. I hooked her arm with mine and dragged her along, trying not to smile too hard lest she scowl at me.

I knew the way, but I let Victor lead. I wouldn’t tell the others that Harry lived in the building opposite the theater’s back door. I didn’t want to endure Harmony’s censorial glare. She might not believe me when I denied being inside his flat.

Audience members trickled out of the theater’s front door as we passed. The trickle would soon become a torrent. We headed up Harry’s street to the back door marked STAFF. Victor asked us to wait while he went inside.

Two women brushed past him as he entered, chatting and giggling. Behind them came some members of the orchestra, carrying instrument cases. They all hurried off, dodging puddles, heads bent into the breeze.

A few minutes later another woman emerged. She crossed the street and unlocked the door to Harry’s building. It relocked behind her with a loud click. On the second floor, a light turned off. A few moments later, on the first floor, another turned on. The woman who’d entered the building appeared at the window briefly before closing the curtain.

Victor opened the theater door and signaled for us to follow him. The backstage area of the Regency Theater was laid out in a similar pattern to the Piccadilly Playhouse where I’d been several times while investigating another murder. Small rooms off the narrow corridor were used by the actors, dancers and singers. We caught glimpses of activity as we passed. The lead performers had dressing rooms to themselves, while others shared, jostling for space in front of the mirrors.

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