Page 165 of Murder on Charity Lane

“True, but I’m not sure he deserved—”

The front door banged open before she finished, and Ocean’s kids burst inside. Miles swept his hand grandly toward his sister and said, “Introducing the newest member of the family! The one, the only…”

Riley revealed a white kitten in her arms. “Mr. Betty!”

“We’re changing his name to Mr. Marigold,” Miles declared.

“We are not,” Riley said.

Ocean laughed. “Maybe we should let Hamilton name his own cat?”

“He’s not just his,” Miles insisted. “He’s all of ours.”

Hamilton gazed at the cat, his eyes misty with delight. For the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t seem to know what to say. He looked for a long moment at the cat, then he looked around his crowded living room and blinked a few times and whispered, “He’s perfect.”

“He came with regards from Helene and George,” Nicholas told him.

“We could call him Beluga,” Miles said, peering at Anthony. “Like the whale.”

“Or Moby ’cause he’s white!” Riley said.

“Not Montevideo?” Anthony asked.

Everyone started suggesting names, though to my surprise Mrs. B didn’t say anything. She simply watched, a happy glimmer in her warm brown eyes.

So I asked, “What do you think, Mrs. B?”

“I think Miles is right,” she said. “He’s not just Hamilton’s, he’s all of ours. We all belong to all of us.”

And that was the end of that.

Except not really.

I LEFT WORK early again, though this time with a spring in my step. I’d signed my very first Platinum Patron donor, which covered the cost of an entire production, from set design to bathroom soap. And I’d officially earned the theatre ten times my salary, which felt pretty good. I reported my triumph to the Givemore Girls as I walked home, then made self-deprecatory comments as I strolled along.

When I reached the courtyard, I paused to study my old cottage. It looked lonely now, with CJ gone.

Poor Ocean. She was taking CJ’s departure as a personal romantic failure, even though Riley had reported that CJ left her with a long handwritten letter and a big bouquet of flowers. So naturally we were all rallying around Ocean. Well, Lily-Ann and I had taken her out a few times, Anthony brought six-packs to her studio, Nicholas talked to her about galleries in LA, Hamilton shared kitty videos, and Mrs. B cornered Detective Enible to ask if “that adorable policewoman” was perhaps single.

As I stood there, a breeze wafted across the property, bringing the sound of Miles chattering at Anthony and the whine of Ocean grinding marble behind her cottage. For a moment, the courtyard felt like a stage to me, with all these wonderful characters waiting in the wings. I smiled and thought about the new play I was working on, very loosely based on the death of Frank DeYoung. I was making Helene and George the villains—because they’d insisted. George even demanded that I switch his beard for what he called “a glossy and luxuriant” mustache.

However, in real life, villains were a little harder to identify. And I found myself mentally drafting scenes that would never see the light of day:

ACT III

SCENE IV

Curtain opens on the same lovely deck overlooking the same shimmering ocean. Lily-Ann, Ocean, Mrs. B, Sophie, Nicholas, Pax, and Karina are frozen in place until …

PAX

(to Karina)

Frank had nothing to live for.

KARINA

(springing to her feet)