Page 110 of Murder on Charity Lane

“The wound is too raw. Maybe in a few months I can speak of it.”

“C’mon, spill.”

“You know you want to,” Hamilton said.

“Fine.” Ocean took a breath. “Mrs. B’s been going to the same dermatologist for ten years, okay? She loves him. She says he’s gay and married and lovely. I didn’t want her driving herself, so I went in with her for her scan.” Ocean took a slug of beer, then stared at the bottle in horror. “What the heck, Hamilton, why can’t you buy normal beer?”

“It’s hickory-flavored,” Hamilton told her.

Ocean plopped the beer bottle on the table. “Ugh, the aftertaste.”

“Back to the derm,” I said. “Please.”

“Right, so I’m with her in the office. She asks about the doctor’s family and he says, ‘Oooh, we’re pregnant!’ And Mrs. B says, ‘Mazel tov.’”

“So far so good,” Nicholas said.

“Right. Now guess what she asked next.”

“Uh, when’s the due date?” I asked.

“If they chose a name,” Hamilton suggested.

Ocean spread her arms as if to appeal to the group. “Both good questions, the kinds of things a human might ask. But no. No, that’s not what she said.”

“What’d she say?” I asked.

“She said, and I am not making this up, ‘Mazel tov! Did you use your sperm?’”

Hamilton barked a laugh and Nicholas groaned but Lily-Ann tilted her head. “In a marriage with two men, surely that’s not an entirely incomprehensible question.”

“Sperm is never a polite subject, Lily-Ann,” Nicholas said.

“I’m not done!” Ocean said. “So she said, did you use your sperm? Now guess how the doctor answered.”

“Yes?” I said, while Nicholas said, “No?”

Ocean exhaled deeply. “After a pause that lasted way too long, he said, and I quote, ‘Yes, and my wife’s egg.’”

“No!” I said.

“What?” Lily-Ann asked.

“He’s not gay,” Ocean explained.

“He’s not gay,” I repeated, to Lily-Ann. “So what happened was, this straight doctor told an old lady that his wife was pregnant and she said, ‘With whose sperm?’”

Hamilton drained his beer. “Wow.”

“Very wow,” Ocean agreed. “Now guess why she thought he was—”

The door to Hamilton’s cottage opened and CJ helped Mrs. B inside. Not that she needed help, but I knew her tricks now: she was helping CJ by pretending that she needed help. Vintage Mrs. B.

“Welcome back,” I told CJ. “I’m so glad you’re, um…”

“Free,” Lily-Ann said.

“Free as a bird!” Mrs. B said.