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

side?”
    “Yeah, just a bit. But the signature is handwritten rather than printed. The signature was written across the bottom third of the page at an angle.
    “Why go to the effort of using a word processor to write a suicide note? If you’re not thinking straight, wouldn’t you just dash it off?” Cordi said.
    “Hmm. That’s an interesting point. But who knows what goes through people’s minds when they’re about to kill themselves? And yet…”
    “What is it?”
    “He’s not very specific about why he’s killing himself, is he?” I said. Monty hopped up onto the table, rubbed his cheek against my arm, and made a merping noise as though he agreed with my current line of thinking.  
    I knew something wasn’t right about the note, not just the way it was written, but what he’d written. It was too vague. I went to put the note back in the file when I remembered that Alex said there was a bonus prize. I fished around inside, and taped to the inside of the file was a CD and a business card. Written on the CD was ‘Att: Sherlock Hill’. I had to smile.  
    “Something amusing?” asked Cordi as she reached for the business card.  
    “Just a joke, what does the card say?”
    “Farquar’s Emporium of Delights —High-class jazz club and cabaret. It’s in Notting Hill.” Cordi turned the card over; it was blank. “I fail to see the relevance of this.”  
    “Yeah. Me too, but it bears further investigation, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Oh, yes, dear.”
    Monty meowed his agreement, which was always a good sign.
    Cordi looked worried.
    “What’s wrong?”
    She bit her lip. “I just don’t want you going back to Renholm’s on your own, but I told Michael I’d meet him for brunch after he’d finished his run.”
    “Aw. Cordi.” I gave her a hug. “I’ll be fine. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we both meet Mike and swing by Renholm’s place at the same time. What could be safer than going there with my partner and my big bro?”
    Cordi brightened immediately. “Sounds like a plan.”

    ***

    We called Michael and arranged to meet him outside Café H. When we got there, he was just stretching after what must have been a pretty intense run if the sweat was anything to go by. I thought he looked pretty gross, but Cordi clearly didn’t.
    “He’s so trim, don’t you think, Harley? Just look at those muscles.”
    “To be honest, I try not to think of my brother as ‘trim’. But yeah, he looks good… for an old guy.” I winked at her and playfully dug her in the ribs. Cordi made a tutting sound and swatted me away, giggling.
    She might be straight-laced, but she had a sense of humour as well as style. Speaking of which, she’d come dressed for the occasion—not. She was wearing a 1950s-inspired green skirt suit with matching purse and shoes and one of those funny tiny little hat things.  
    I was wearing skinny black jeans, one of Cordi’s old Sisters of Mercy T-shirts, a black hoodie under my leather jacket, and my biker boots.
    When we met up, Michael and Cordi had eyes only for each other and kissed like teenagers. I had to cough to remind them I was there. So much for being a long-lost sibling!
    “Oh, good morning, Sam… I mean, Harley.” My brother blushed. He’d almost called me Samantha, which was my real name. I let it go, everyone makes mistakes, especially when they were in the first flush of love.
    “Good morning, Mike. Sleep well?” I grinned.
    “Er… Yes. I… er…” He was really blushing now. “Shall we go in?”
    “Yes, let’s. Come on, Harley, open the door, dear. It’s quite chilly out here,” Cordi said.
    I laughed at the two of them, who were acting like naughty school kids, and unlocked the door. The place was a bit of a mess after the police had gone through it. There were patches of grey dust everywhere from where the fingerprint team had been. Torn pieces of yellow tape littered the floor and drawers were left half open. It looked like the place had