Page 161 of Murder on Charity Lane

“A short one,” Ocean said, thinking back. “And damn, a massage therapist would know enough about anatomy to slit a throat for maximum bloodiness.”

“Except why would Pax kidnap CJ?” Sophie asked. “Why not just kill her?”

“I didn’t!” Pax said.

Lily-Ann inclined her head to Sophie. “He needed to keep the details vague. The time of death, CJ’s movements. He had to ensure she wouldn’t have an alibi for Sunny’s murder, or everything would fall apart.”

“How’d you even know she was here?” Sophie asked.

“Because of the music studio,” Ocean said, as realization dawned. “It’s soundproofed, private, and makes sense for a faked suicide.”

Lily-Ann nodded. “It fit the bill exactly. We know Pax has access to drugs from his elderly clients. I presume he forced CJ to overdose, then locked her in.”

“So he gave her what he thought was a lethal dose, then left,” Ocean said, still putting the pieces together. “That way he wouldn’t need an alibi for her time of death? He wouldn’t even be sure when it happened.”

“I thought Sophie was the playwright.” Pax appealed to Karina. “You saw what you saw. You saw CJ push him. Don’t let them convince—”

“You left a paper trail,” Lily-Ann interrupted, her voice sharp, like she didn’t want Pax to finish. “How many of your clients withdrew cash shortly before they died? People dying during end-of-life care isn’t a surprise, but the fact that they all withdrew cash?”

“That sounds like damning evidence to me,” Ocean said, to support Lily-Ann. “And I’d bet the cops find a stack of cash when they search your house.”

Pax pressed his palms together. “I didn’t kill Frank.”

“No, but you killed the other ones,” Lily-Ann told him. “The cops will find the evidence. And that gives you motive for killing Sunny.”

“I promise you…” Pax stepped closer to Karina, his voice soft. “Frank asked me to ease his passing, that’s true. That’s the only thing that’s true. This isn’t about the money. Frank asked me, implored me, to guide him to the next stage, to the great beyond, and I—”

“He asked?” Karina blinked up at him. “Frank asked you to … to do this?”

“He approached me, yes. He was ready to move on. I’m sorry, Karina. He was eager to move on. He’d lived a full, wonderful life, but he had nothing left to live for.”

“He had me.” Karina leapt from the bench. “He had me!”

81

VERNON

Paramedics liked to claim that they didn’t diagnose patients; they merely “assessed and treated.” Still, Vernon rattled off a few questions to the ones moving the still-unconscious CJ Moore into the ambulance.

“Looks like an overdose,” the woman told him. “No idea on what. Or when. Plus, severe dehydration.”

“Which takes days?” he asked.

“Right,” she said, and slammed the doors.

He watched the ambulance pull away, then strolled to the patrol car in which Anthony Lambert was cuffed. He opened the rear door and leaned in. “So this keeps happening.”

“Seems like,” Anthony said.

“You must’ve pissed off the officers on scene. What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Yep. That’d do it.” Vernon thumped the car roof with his palm. “Why don’t you head home? I know where to find you.”

“I’d rather wait for Lily-Ann.”

“You really are head over heels for her, aren’t you?”