Page 140 of Murder on Charity Lane

In Realm of Rangers, every horizon beckoned to Hamilton. How ironic that he embraced danger in this treacherous imaginary world while the mundane town outside his door terrified him.

Maybe more pathetic than ironic.

Yet, he’d built a life despite his limitations. Surely, that counted for something. He held a steady job, doing IT and database management. He managed an online guild of a thousand people who shared a hobby and a passion. And for the first time in decades, he was part of a friend group in real life, too. A community. Nicholas texted him from grocery stores, asking if he needed anything. Miles burst inside after school, to play games and get homework help. Sophie and Lily-Ann competed with him on the New York Times puzzles, while Mrs. B brought rugelach and told him in painful detail the plots of TV series she’d watched. Ocean scolded and encouraged him in equal measure, and he enjoyed that, too.

At the moment Anthony was in the other room listening to a book on tape. Choosing to spend time in Hamilton’s space. Hamilton rarely clicked with other men, and never with guys like Anthony. Until now. He felt a flush of gratification as he opened a chat window in his game.

There was still nothing from PB Cyntria, the “player behind” the Realm of Rangers character, the cop he’d asked for information about Sunny Wheeler’s murder. Nothing yet, but once he secured the map from the Elf Queen’s alchemist, Cyntria would send him every scrap of evidence from the police servers. Hamilton was doing everything he could to help.

67

LILY-ANN

Every one of Lily-Ann’s therapists had agreed that scouring the house was a coping mechanism. Of course it was, she knew that; it’s why she did it. Coping mechanisms helped her cope, hence the name. Also, she ended up with a cleaner house.

She knelt in the shower, sprinkling baking soda on a rust stain she’d dampened with vinegar. When she started scrubbing, a lock of her hair dangled in front of her face, and she felt a too-sharp stab of annoyance. She took a slow breath. Her irritation wasn’t about her hair. Her irritation wasn’t even about CJ’s disappearance. What infuriated her was that she’d spent weeks sketching mental pictures of this shifting, cluttered puzzle of a crime. Then Sunny Wheeler showed up dead and CJ stepped completely off the board, leaving everything newly unresolved.

“Fine,” she said.

When she finished wiping down the baseboards, she poured herself a glass of local rosé from Cote of Paint, then settled on the couch and opened her laptop. Better to focus on the possible. She didn’t know how to track a missing person, and she expected that was one of the few things the police did well. So instead, she’d put together the edges of the puzzle by disentangling the deaths of Frank DeYoung and Sunny Wheeler.

From there she’d work her way inward.

She’d keep the others busy, too, so they’d stop focusing on Mrs. B losing the Marigold Cottages. Once the puzzle’s full picture took shape, she’d know why CJ had fled.

And that would reveal how to find her.

68

VERNON

The police station seemed to quiet around Vernon as he gazed in horror at his phone. He couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. He’d mentioned to his wife that he “knew someone” at the New Vic Theatre Company, and now found himself tasked with buying tickets and attending a play.

Goddamn, the Marigold mob was really getting under his skin. He “knew someone” because Sophie Gilman worked there? Sure, maybe he’d ask her for front-row seats.

He slumped at his desk, gazing absently at his houseplant as he focused on the murder investigation. Okay, now he had a second body that didn’t fit anywhere. And CJ Moore had gone missing, yet there was no physical evidence that she’d killed Sunny Wheeler. Hell, there was barely any evidence that she’d killed Frank DeYoung.

So what did he have? An eyewitness claimed CJ had pushed Frank DeYoung, a second witness—now murdered—submitted a signed statement making the same claim. And the fact that she’d jumped bail implicated her almost as well as a confession.

Except had she run? If she’d taken off for good, would she have left everything behind? If she was savvy, yes, but he didn’t see CJ Moore as a competent criminal.

Vernon poured a sip of water at his houseplant’s roots. There was a killer running around with a knife. Most murders, you knew the killer immediately because they “loved” the victim, and weepingly admitted everything when you asked. Most murders, despite the Hollywood nonsense, were one-offs. Crimes of passion and stupidity. But this felt different.

This felt planned.

This didn’t feel like the end of something.

And that was exactly why Vernon needed to ensure it went no further. Okay, so assume the two deaths were related. CJ had killed Frank DeYoung, but she hadn’t killed Sunny Wheeler. A young woman dating Ocean Mistral? No. Mistral had more sense than to fall for a killer. Plus, nobody with a big sweet smile and silly eyeliner had sliced into a guy’s neck like that.

Who did? A killer with some knowledge of anatomy, judging by the cuts. So who, in all this mess, also understood the human body at that level?

Artists studied anatomy. Ocean Mistral had found the body, and Vernon didn’t doubt that she would kill for her family. On the other hand, she wouldn’t kill a man like slaughtering a pig. She had too much respect for human life. Hell, she wouldn’t kill a pig like slaughtering a pig.

What about George Kagant? He’d worked for a medical instruments company as an engineer. He probably knew his way around an anatomical drawing. As did Jane Sheffield, who’d spent half her time moving surgical equipment to disaster zones.

None of that called out to Vernon, so he needed to assume the cases were completely unrelated. Except that struck him as wildly coincidental. Still, the most bizarre coincidence of all would be if strange flukes never happened. So was there another killer, an unrelated killer, stalking the foothills of Santa Barbara?

He thought about that as he shuffled through the paperwork on his desk. Nah. The murders were definitely connected. And if CJ Moore had killed Frank DeYoung, then she must’ve arranged Sunny Wheeler’s death, too, if only to lose the second witness.