Page 38 of Murder on Charity Lane

Mrs. B gave me a prim look. “Somehow that never came up in the YMCA locker room.”

“As if you wouldn’t have asked!” Ocean chimed in. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the dermatologist! And you ask complete strangers how much they paid for their house!”

“That’s different, everyone cares about property values. In any case, what motivations should we look for? I mean, other than money?”

“Love, hate, fear, guilt,” Lily-Ann said.

Anthony grunted. “If Frank DeYoung spilled his drink on someone’s shoe.”

“I don’t follow,” Nicholas told him.

“People kill for small reasons,” Anthony said. “So small you can’t see them.”

“So motivation is too vague to focus on?” I asked.

Lily-Ann gazed at Anthony for a moment, then said, “Where does that leave us?”

“I’ll talk to my cop friend,” Hamilton said.

“The one from your online game? Will he help again?”

“He will if Miles asks him.”

“Miles, my son?” Ocean asked. “My son, Miles?”

“Yeah, Miles plays a healer in Realm of Rangers, and those are rare. They’re excluded from a lot of experience points, which is bad game design unless the player understands how to leverage their rarity into access to more powerful parties. Miles is happy to help anyone, so he gets invited to everything. There are a few late-game raids that require a healer.”

Nicholas drew the nerd-face emoji on the whiteboard.

“I’ll talk to my friend Angela,” I said. “She’s a fiend for gossip, and she’s got an in with Jane Sheffield, who’s her mentor.”

“I’ll pretend you’re all normal,” Nicholas said.

Ocean huffed a laugh. “I’d like to help with that, but I won’t be able to pull it off.”

“I’ll talk to CJ!” Mrs. B said.

“Please don’t,” Ocean said.

“You can come along.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Can you talk to your artsy friends, Ocean?” Lily-Ann asked. “It’s a small town and art galleries rely on wealthy philanthropists. Someone might have a connection to the DeYoungs.”

“Sure,” Ocean told her. “And what’re you going to do?”

“Puzzle it all out,” Lily-Ann said.

20

OCEAN

Ocean was surprised by how much she’d enjoyed the Marigold murder investigation. She found the whole thing laughable, of course. She knew how ridiculous they were, playing detectives. Still, Mrs. B seemed to shed years as they walked back together across the courtyard. Her eyes were bright and her stride was strong. Her caftan flowed behind her like Batman’s cape and Ocean couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

“Are you free tonight?” Mrs. B asked. “For dinner with CJ? Will you yell at me if I invite her on such short notice? Should I make goulash? I don’t have mushrooms. Why don’t I have mushrooms?”

“You’re happy,” Ocean said, at the door to Mrs. B’s cottage.