Page 149 of Murder on Charity Lane

“It’s thyme.”

“That’s a lot of garlic. Oma says you can’t have too much garlic but Riley says that depends on your breath. She once told me a story about a dragon with garlic breath instead of fire breath.”

He didn’t stop chattering as she shepherded him into her Volvo and then merged onto 101 north. His voice receded into white noise while she considered the investigation. Sometimes you needed to look at the big picture without focusing on individual pieces. Miles was describing cat videos and she was considering George Kagant’s background in medical equipment when she finally parked at the cat shelter.

She escorted Miles inside. The shelter smelled of disinfectant, which Lily-Ann found reassuring. She signed in, sanitized her hands, sanitized Miles’s hands, then stepped into a warm room with rows of neat wire cages and the occasional meow.

Miles swept his phone along the cages as he FaceTimed Hamilton, showing him the cats. “How about a kitten? Oh, there are two in this one. The lady said you should think about adopting two; it’s no more work than one and it’s a … What does Mrs. B call it, when you do something good?”

“A good deed?” Hamilton asked from the phone.

“No, like a matzoh.” Miles panned to the next cage. “Ooh, look at these two gray girls!”

As Lily-Ann trailed after him, a volunteer with long, untidy hair pointed her to another cage. “That’s Cali Berry. She’s nine, I’d love to find her a home.”

Lily-Ann considered the skinny tabby half-covered by a fleece baby blanket. “What happens if you don’t?”

“We’ll keep her until we do.”

“You never resort to euthanasia?”

“We’re a no-kill shelter. We only put a cat to sleep if they’re in distress.” The volunteer adjusted her glasses. “And they know when it’s time. I like to think that they tell us. When there’s nothing left for them but discomfort, we—”

Miles popped around the corner and asked the volunteer, “Are the gray girls sisters?”

“Hm? Oh, no, they’re not. They do look like twins, though, don’t they?”

“Identical twins!” Miles said. “What do you think, Lily-Ann?”

“I’d expect cats of the same color to look similar.”

“No, I mean do you think one of them is right for Hamilton?”

Lily-Ann’s breath caught. Ideas slotted together like figures in a spreadsheet and she said, “I know who killed them—and why.”

“Not the cats!” Miles assured the volunteer. “She doesn’t mean the cats.” He resolutely ushered Lily-Ann toward the door. “We’ll come back another time, thanks.”

72

ANTHONY

Anthony set his audiobook aside. He watched Lil pace in her living room while she spoke on the phone, barefoot in a white knit dress that highlighted her red toenails and all those curves. She’d been on the phone for an hour, searching local obituaries and calling strangers.

He liked her voice. Smooth and steady as she contacted the family of the deceased, expressed her condolences, then asked intrusive questions, which, to Anthony’s surprise, most of the people answered.

When she ended her latest call, she turned to him with a flush of success in her cheeks. “Ashley!”

“Who’s she?” he asked.

“She’s not a she.” Lily-Ann plopped onto the couch. “Okay, that’s one. Not a pattern, but still a confirmation.”

“Of what, Lil?”

“Shh,” she said, and stared at him.

Or maybe she stared through him, her mind working on a problem he didn’t understand. She didn’t move, so he didn’t move either. He didn’t mind stillness. Time passed, then her phone dinged. She didn’t look at the screen, so when his dinged a moment later, he read the message aloud. “Ocean says Sunny Wheeler’s scandal was an off-the-books blood transfusion operation at VivX.”

Lily-Ann’s gaze didn’t falter. “Mm.”