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give an opinion on the authorship of the note, a thorough examination of many handwriting samples would be required. Because the handwriting on the alleged suicide note was block printed, she would need to see a selection of block printed samples of Lindsey’s true, known handwriting for comparison.
    Once she was in possession of those comparison samples, Claudia would measure the size and proportion of the letters, the angle of slant, the amount of space between letters and words. Her stereo microscope would reveal some important pieces of the puzzle. A special piece of equipment called a Handwriting Comparator would add more.
    Only after the handwriting had yielded all its secrets would Claudia know whether or not the samples had sufficient similar characteristics to qualify as a match.
    If she were unable to make an identification—if she reached the conclusion that Ivan was correct and the note was written by someone other than Lindsey—Ivan would take her report to the police and attempt to persuade them to reopen the investigation.
    Kelly was right, Lindsey had made more than her share of enemies. But was that simply the price of a trip up the Hollywood ladder? Or had someone hated her enough to kill her and arrange her death to look like suicide?
    Claudia considered the other option. What if the samples were authored by the same hand? If she determined that the suicide note was indeed genuine, Ivan would have to accept that, for whatever reason, Lindsey had found her life too unbearable to live.
    She focused her gaze one the hand-printed note, now encased in a protective plastic sleeve, mulling over the reasons why people kill themselves.
    Money worries, being jilted by a lover, fear of damaging information being exposed, terminal illness. Hopelessness that life will ever improve.
    Lindsey had been one of the top PR agents in the country and usually appeared in the company of some gorgeous male. Judging from the luxury of her penthouse apartment, money appeared to have flowed freely, but was it possible that things were not as rosy they appeared to be? Could she have made unwise investments or otherwise be struggling for money? Or had she been jilted by a lover? In Claudia’s memory, Lindsey had never allowed herself to care enough about a man to be annihilated by a breakup.
    Yet another possibility came to mind. What if Lindsey had authored the note under duress? Had someone forced her to write her own death sentence and then carried it out?
    Claudia kicked herself for agreeing to get involved with anything to do with Lindsey Alexander. What the hell had she been thinking?
    She took Ivan’s retainer check from her purse and studied the little string of zeroes following the number he had insisted on. The plain truth was, work had been slow for the past couple of months and she couldn’t afford to turn down such a healthy retainer. The same reason she had accepted a few recent handwriting analysis assignments from Lindsey herself.
    Claudia scowled at the mail lying in an untidy heap on her desk, daring her to attack it. She considered giving Kelly a call and asking her about what she’d said at the cemetery, but enough time had been spent on matters concerning Lindsey for one day. She rummaged in the pen cup for the letter opener.
    Twenty minutes later, she turned to the computer, where a string of spam and unsolicited porn e-mails filled the screen, a stubborn leftover from the last guy she had dated oh-so-briefly. After deleting a half-dozen e-mails with subject lines like, “Here I cum,” “Barnyard Beauties,” and “I’m lying here waiting for you,” she clicked open a message from her brother.
    Pete was in his second year as a widower, still making the adjustment to single-parenting a teenage daughter. His e-mail pleaded for her help with Monica. As if Claudia knew anything about raising kids. She’d given up trying to get pregnant after the third miscarriage, unable to face another bitter