Free Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) by Kennedy Chase

knew it. That was why I was so angry with him. He knew I liked him.
    “Well, you’ll be pleased to hear you won’t have to worry about that for much longer.”
    “Why, are you leaving town?” I joked.
    He gave a wry, slightly sad smile. “Got it in one, Detective Hill.”
    “What? Why?” I was stunned.
    “Come on, I thought you were supposed to be a sleuth. Can’t you guess, Sherlock?”  
    “No.” I really couldn’t. My mind was a blank. All I could think was that he was leaving. Just like Cole. What was so bad about me that people just wanted to get away? At least Max was still by my side.
    “Have a read of that suicide note, see what you think.” He flicked his gaze to the file. “I can’t give you the original, but I can tell you the only prints on it were Renholm’s. Other than that, there was nothing to suggest a third party had anything to do with his death. This case is getting pretty cold, pretty quick.” He turned the engine back on and kicked the bike into life. The roar of the engine echoed down the street.
    “So why are you leaving?” I asked. My mind was racing as it tried to process too much information at once.
    “Because of you, dummy.” He grinned, but I was sure I saw pain lurking behind his eyes. He lowered his visor for the last time and gunned the engine. Before I could stop him and ask him what he meant by that, he was just a red taillight vanishing into the shadows of the night.
    I stood there for I don’t know how long, rooted to the spot with the file in my hand until Max decided it was time to go home and dragged me down the street.  
    My mind was awash with a million thoughts all wrapped up in a spiky bundle of conflicting emotions. Cole was being distant and evasive, the case might be over before it had begun, and Alex Cobb was leaving London.  
    What shocked and surprised me most was the last item on the list, or rather, my reaction to it: Despite being a prize jerk sometimes, I was going to miss Alex.

Chapter Nine

    I woke up early the next morning with a ‘not hangover’.  
    A ‘not hangover’ is pretty much like a regular hangover, only it’s worry and stress and misery that brings them on rather than booze. In my opinion, I much preferred the boozy kind. At least then you forgot what happened the night before.  
    Alex was leaving. Cole was being distant. Two very different, unpleasant thoughts were duking it out in my head from the second I woke up.  
    I crawled out of bed, slid my feet into my furry, monster-feet slippers and put on my fluffy dressing gown before grabbing my phone and beloved Disney watch. I wandered into the hallway, where I bumped into Cordi. She was wearing her Rebecca number—a nightgown made of floaty satin that was actually a replica of one used in the classic film starring Joan Fontaine.
    Cordi was singing tunelessly; she looked like the cat that’d got the cream. Clearly, she and Michael had had a good night.
    “You look terrible, Harley dear,” she said.
    I grunted. “Thanks, partner. Where’s Mike?”
    “As if I should know.” She blushed.
    “Well, do you? Is he still tucked up in bed?”
    She laughed. “It’s a fair cop, gov. But I’m sorry to disappoint you. He’s just gone for a run. I’m going to meet him later. Come on, I’ll fix us some breakfast.”
    Like a good little caffeine zombie short on brain fuel, I dutifully followed her down to the kitchen, where we were greeted with enthusiastic leg rubbing from Monty.  
    “Pancakes or waffles or a nice full English?” Cordi asked.
    “All of the above, please.” I sat at the table and put my head in my hands. The file Alex had given me was sitting on the table, a reminder of last night’s conversation.
    Cordi put her hands on her hips. “Really? Everything?”
    “I suppose I shouldn’t be a total pig. Just the pancakes, then, please.”
    “One stack of pancakes with maple syrup coming up.”
    Just then, the doorbell rang. Max loped past the kitchen,