Murder in the Cake: Cozy Murder Mystery (Harley Hill Mysteries Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

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    “I’m not so sure I did a good job with these,” said Chloe, eyeing up the sloppy mess in the pan and on the cooker and the table. “Mum wasn’t much of a cook, and I never really got the hang of it, never had much in to cook with, truth be told.” She looked downcast. “I just wanted to make you breakfast, to say thanks.”
    “Where are Cordi and Mike?” I asked. I was starting to feel vaguely human.
    “They went to the shops to get a newspaper and some more milk.”
    I nodded. Go for a sneaky walk through the park more like. The thought made me smile. I downed the first coffee and swiftly followed it up with a second, or the ‘heart starter’, as I like to think of it. “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” I said now that I felt able to string a sentence together. “Why don’t we go out for breakfast? My treat.” I smiled.
    “But what about these?” she said, pointing to the mangled pancakes.  
    “You know, I think I fancy a big fat blueberry muffin for breakfast.” I took the pan from her and turned off the cooker. “But I do know a couple of characters who would simply love some pancake… stuff.”
    We both laughed and then fed Max and Monty the pancake ‘stuff’. They loved it.
    As soon as we were dressed, primped and preened, we headed into town and down Pembridge Road, which was bustling and alive, delivery vans shoulder to shoulder with red buses, bike couriers, and million-pound pimped-up Lamborghinis, one of which went past us that was encrusted with millions of black crystals.
    “Look at that!” Chloe gasped. The driver, a tanned muscular blond guy, grinned at her as he slowly drove down the road, which made us both giggle.  
    We peeled off the main road and down a side street. I loved the back streets of London, some of which had remained unchanged since Elizabethan times and were often crammed with really cool shops and boutiques, and of course, purveyors of fine cake for the weary shopper.  
    We turned onto Hillgate Street, where I knew there were several cafés.  
    The first one we came to, a nice little place called ‘H’, was closed. Undeterred, we carried on down the road until we came to one I’d been in a few times. It was called the Reluctant Snail, which was a bit pretentious, but this was Notting Hill.
    We snugged ourselves in a seat by the window, and a gorgeous Russian waiter came over and took our orders. I went for a mocha with extra cream, because I just wasn’t buzzing enough yet. To cut the caffeine, I also chose a blueberry muffin. Chloe went for a hot chocolate and a slice of chocolate fudge cake, which was pricey, but the slice she got was as big as her head with a side of fresh cream.
    “Breakfast of champions,” I said, and we both laughed as we tucked in. It was then that I looked up, as you do, with a mouthful of gorgeous muffin, and I noticed people were staring at me. I chewed quickly and swallowed my cake. “Do I have a thing?” I asked Chloe while pointing at my face.
    She gave me the once-over, but shook her head. “No, you’re good. How about me?”
    “You’re fine.”
    “Oh, good. It’s just that—”
    “People are staring at us.”
    She nodded, whispering, “Actually, I think they’re staring at you.”
    She was right. I looked round the busy café. People were staring and whispering. One even had her phone out and was taking my picture. Which was just awful because as she did, I managed to miss my mouth with my drink and spill mocha down my tee. Thank goodness I wear a lot of black.
    “What is her problem?” Chloe whispered.
    “I have no idea. Anyway, let’s ignore them. Tell me what you know about your father.”
    She stirred her drink thoughtfully. “Not much, I’m afraid. My mum didn’t mention him much. Said he left when I was two. Said he was a jerk, which was rich coming from her.”
    “Did he ever get in touch with you?”
    “No, not that I know of, but then we moved around so much—Mum got into a lot of