Page 20 of Murder on Charity Lane

I nodded, thinking about Nicholas. “More than he should.”

“Good. Here’s my secret. All I ever really did for my artists was pretend to be in a position to validate their art. Take them seriously. The only person who could truly validate them was themselves, but creatives live in a fun house. They need other people to see them straight.”

“Huh. I think of art as being solitary.”

“That’s a hard road. Artists need people, often fairly desperately. And they need to connect their self-image to the work itself, not the reception it gets. That’s the win, right there.”

“So follow your passion and the money will follow?” I asked.

“Hah! No, for money you need to get lucky. Look at me. Luck is what paid for this view. The point is, you’re already an artist. A playwright. You crossed that threshold. At your age, you think you have forever, but I promise you, it’s over in a heartbeat. And that’s okay, as long as you stick to your art. Spend your life writing jingles for radio ads, that’s fine. There is no small art. You want to be a playwright? You are one. I’m sorry to tell you, but you’ve already won.”

“Well,” I said. “That’s a new way to look at it.”

He gave me a twinkling look. “Now, then. You’re raising money for who again?”

12

NICHOLAS

When Nicholas found Sophie standing alone on the deck, she turned and gave him a smile that made his breath catch. It was embarrassing how much he loved her. He almost didn’t notice the spectacular grounds unspooling toward the cliffs and the sea. There was an elegant pool, lined with old-world Spanish tiles, and scattered plantings of garden roses, lavender, and parsley.

“You just missed Frank,” she said.

“Did you ask him about your play?”

“A little,” she said. “But guess what? He’s going to become a Gateway Donor at the theatre!”

“That’s amazing! That’s like six figures! You actually asked him?”

“Well, he sort of dragged it out of me.”

“Even better. But don’t forget to promote my favorite young playwright, too. You need to be a little selfish.”

“What I need,” she said, “is to meditate on Frank’s wisdom. Let’s do the maze.”

She took his hand and led him past the bocce court. Happy party noise spilled from an open window as they approached the box hedges that formed a swirling labyrinth. With the walls at calf height, Nicholas could easily see over the curving lanes and dead ends.

“This is like a maze for toddlers. Hm. Does Frank have kids who are going to inherit all this?”

“Nope. My friend Angela told me that’s why he’s such a beloved … Well, she said ‘target.’ But, you know, donor. He’s got nobody to leave his wealth to except his wife, Karina.”

When Nicholas tried to step over the hedge, she stopped him, claiming it was bad luck. So they walked around until they reached the exit on the ocean side of the maze. There was a gazebo at the edge of the bluffs, and they paused and watched glimmers where waves caught the moonlight. The wind played with Sophie’s new bangs, and he brushed them into place just for the excuse to touch her.

“You know who else is beloved?” he asked, before telling her about Sunny’s funeral party.

She laughed tipsily, and gave a shiver, so he held her closer.

“Thanks for coming tonight.” She snuggled against him. “Everything is easy when you’re here.”

“I wanted to come,” he told her.

She drew back a few inches. “Wait, you weren’t pushing my play in there, were you?”

“No! No.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Not pushing.”