Page 114 of Murder on Charity Lane

“No, I haven’t searched ways to get rid of Mrs. B,” Ocean said, giving her arm a squeeze, “but only because I already ordered an anvil from Acme.”

The joke eased the tension more than Lily-Ann liked, so she said, “And I’m not the only one with a problematic search history. Hamilton searched for commercially available drones able to deliver a package of C4 and a detonator.”

“What on earth?” Mrs. B sputtered.

“You did not!” Sophie said.

“I’m interested in the future of asymmetrical warfare,” Hamilton lied, surprisingly adept, considering that Lily-Ann had just invented that.

“Then there’s Nicholas,” Lily-Ann said. “However, in the interest of decorum, I won’t share the contents of a young man’s search history.”

“I like big toes and I cannot lie,” Nicholas said, at which Sophie tucked her feet more tightly beneath her on the couch.

“So you searched for ways to painlessly kill Frank,” Lily-Ann told CJ. “So what? That’s normal curiosity. We’re a morbid species.”

CJ fiddled with the cuffs of her overlarge sweater. She looked at Ocean, closed her eyes, then finally said, “Six or seven months ago, Frank started getting worse again. Tired and unhappy. Just … terribly unhappy. There was nothing acute, it was the combination of everything.”

“Getting old isn’t easy,” Mrs. B said.

“Yeah. His joints ached, he struggled to dress himself. He was getting brain fog. He took no joy in anything. Just discomfort. For a few months, things looked pretty dire.”

“That’s so tough,” Nicholas said.

“He was uncomfortable and confused,” CJ continued, “but not so confused that he didn’t know he was confused, which made it so much worse. The good news was, they adjusted his medications, his potassium … and he bounced back.” She smiled wistfully. “Frank was full of surprises.”

“Which leads us to the laptop?” Ocean prompted, her voice gentle.

CJ spoke so softly that Lily-Ann barely heard. “Frank didn’t want to linger. He told me a hundred times that nothing scared him more than spending the end of his life bedridden and confused. And with his money, they’d never let him die. They’d keep him alive even when there was no him left.”

“You wanted to help him.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t want to help him, not with that. But I owed him.”

Mrs. B reached out from her seat to pat Ocean’s knee. “We all need someone in our life who we can trust to do terrible things.”

“So you searched online for ways to help,” Lily-Ann said. “Doing your job for him, as always.”

“Exactly, yes,” CJ said, as if surprised that Lily-Ann understood. “That’s it exactly.”

Lily-Ann let her gaze skim the whiteboard as the conversation focused on Frank’s health and CJ’s emotions. She was starting to suspect that she understood the basics of the murder. However, she still struggled to link the facts she knew, the connections she suspected, and the as-yet-unresolved questions. Primarily Sunny Wheeler, but also the money, the liquor bottle. Still, nothing was tidy about human lives: even if she solved the primary riddles, she’d end up with pieces left over, with edges that didn’t quite fit together.

Her attention returned to the group when Ocean asked, “CJ, do you think you’re being framed?”

53

SOPHIE

CJ blinked at Ocean. “Framed by Karina?”

“Her and Sunny,” Ocean said, “but mostly her.”

“No,” she said. “No.”

To my playwright’s ear, she sounded too confident. Like she was trying to convince us of Karina’s innocence—or trying to convince herself. There were just too many oddities floating around. The secret cash, the fact that only Karina “saw” the push—until Sunny Wheeler suddenly jumped on the bandwagon. The ice cubes! Even though no one but me thought they were important.

As CJ wiped her tears away, Ocean asked her, “So you admit you’re responsible for those web searches?”

“Yeah. Yes, but not—”