The Missing Party-Girl: A Rags-to-Riches Cozy Mystery Romance by Nhys Glover (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📕

“Sorry I took over up there,” Cage said awkwardly. “I just went into PI mode.”

Adie laughed. “You and your good looks were her focus. You needed to be the one to ask the questions. Who knows how much extra stonewalling she would have done if I’d taken the lead.”

Cage relaxed. “Good. I did notice her fascination with me. When stuff like that happens I like to use it.”

Adie pulled a face. “For someone who thinks nothing of his appearance, you know how to use it to your advantage.”

Cage shrugged a little guiltily. “You use what you have. Sometimes it’s my size and muscles, sometimes it’s my looks or color. Using what you’ve got doesn’t mean you place value on those things yourself.”

This was an old argument Adie knew she could never hope to win. One day Cage might explain his attitudes to her more fully, but not today.

“Where to now?” she asked instead.

“To Soho and Minerva’s flat,” he announced, before leaning over to give Barry the address.

After that Cage rang the estate agent and confirmed their arrival time.

For another half an hour Adie enjoyed the sights of London as they made the trip back towards London’s West End via the scenic route. Her head was spinning with all the different sights she saw. All the while Barry regaled them with information all tourists ate up like candy. His spiel became more relevant to Minerva’s mystery the closer they came to their destination.

“The West End of London has been the center of entertainment for the masses for centuries,” he told them. “It got a fresh injection of life in the 60s when places like Carnaby Street and the new trends started drawing young, talented people to a city that’d been dour and war-damaged up ‘til then. They called it Swinging London, and though it’s not a big deal to us now, back then it would’ve been. Short skirts? Men with long hair? Shocking! The hair was the Beatles influence, o’ course.”

“I know the Beatles,” Adie spoke up.

Barry laughed. “You should! Their music changed the world. People still love their music.”

“This part you want to go to… it was the center of the mod culture. The Notting Hill area a little further out was a poorer area where the counter culture had its roots. Where the drugs and sex and rock and roll all started up. Trippy psychedelic stuff like LSD, that the middle-class mods weren’t into.”

“We’re looking into a club from that time. It was called The Den, and it was supposed to be pretty seedy. They had go-go dancers. Short skirts, knee-high boots, cages… that kind of stuff,” Cage said.

“Oh, aye. Any club in Soho area would’ve been seedy. That’s what the patrons wanted, you know? A walk on the wild side. But not the LSD and dope. That was further out, my ol’ da used to say. Kids with no future. The lower classes, you know. They turned to drugs and rebellion. Angry generation, that ’un. My da was no more’n a sprout back then, but he said the brawls were ugly. And the drugs just made it worse.”

“Marihuana doesn’t encourage violence,” Adie piped up, surprising herself.

“Not when its bein’ smoked. Same for LSD. If you’re tripping you aren’t usually violent. But when you weren’t up… then people’s anger came out. Oh, listen to me. Not exactly what I should be talkin’ about on a tour.”

“Do you know if anyone from that time still lives in the area? Anyone who might have known The Den?” Cage asked, when Barry stopped yet again for lights.

Really, they could have walked faster. But then they wouldn’t have gotten the Londoner’s perspective.

Barry looked down at his sat nav, studying the address Cage gave him. “That’s not a club anymore. Building got torn down. But there are shops across the road that have probably been in the hands of the same families for generations. I’d start there, if you want to know more about that club.”

Cage nodded.

When they pulled up on a narrow, congested street, Adie looked about her doubtfully. There was nothing appealing about the setting. Tall, crowded-in old buildings that had little to no character. And the people hurrying everywhere, making the traffic move even slower than it had been going before that.

“This is it!” Barry announced with a flourish. “Not quite the heart of the red-light district, but not far off. You want me to wait?”

“No. We’ll be fine from here. The Strand is within walking distance,” Cage said.

He took out his wallet and handing over a wad of cash. From the happy expression on Barry’s face Adie assumed the amount had included a good-sized tip.

“Enjoy the rest of your stay in London. There’s no place like it!” Barry said, by way of farewell.

A few moments later Adie was watching the black cab join the throng yet again, feeling like she’d lost a friend. It was a silly thought. The man had just been earning his tip. His friendly, open manner didn’t mean he’d actually liked them.

Resolutely, she turned to take in the building they’d come to view. It sat on an intersection occupied by other multistory buildings that had seen better days. At the frosted glass and wrought-iron embellished door a sophisticated looking business woman stood, obviously waiting for someone. Them?

Immediately intimidated, Adie fought the urge to huddle in a little behind Cage, letting him take the lead. But his arm through hers forced her to rethink that option. If they were supposed to be a couple looking for an apartment, she needed to act the part. At least her clothes were expensive enough that the realtor wouldn’t be turning her nose up at her. She’d probably be wondering why a gorgeous hunk like Cage was with someone like Adie, though.

“Mr. Donovan?” the blonde asked, with a