Page 58 of Murder on Charity Lane

“I don’t know what that is,” the detective said.

“A busybody,” Ocean murmured.

“Also a matchmaker!” Mrs. B peered at Enible. “Speaking of which, are you married? You look married, but you don’t act married.”

“Uh,” the detective said.

“Oh! There’s your ring. Your wife’s not dead, is she? No? You’re too young to be a widow. Or do I mean a widower? Do we still say widower? Language keeps changing, doesn’t it? That’s one thing I love about it. I’ve been speaking English my whole life and there’s still so much to learn. I suppose that’s true of culture. What’s that phrase you use, Ocean? ‘Culture is upwind of language’? That’s not it! It’s close, though—”

As she continued to babble, Ocean felt a sort of glee bubbling in her chest. Of course, Mrs. B couldn’t not speak to the cops. She couldn’t not speak to anyone. But damn could she bury the detective in an absolute avalanche of charming bullshit.

Enible caught on a minute later, when Mrs. B paused for a breath. “Well, that clears it right up,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go knock on Nicholas’s door.”

He’d barely vanished around the corner before Pax appeared from the courtyard, looking gorgeously mussed from moving furniture. Ocean cringed at the close call: if the detective had met another one of the DeYoungs’ party guests at Marigold Cottages, he’d suspect them all of pushing the old man down the stairs.

She needed to keep Pax away from the cop, so she grabbed his arm and dragged him inside Mrs. B’s cottage, saying, “Let me get you the mailbox key.”

“Oh, sure.”

When she was sure the detective was gone, she released him. “Sorry about that.”

Pax gave an inquisitive smile. “You didn’t want the cop to see me?”

“CJ’s got enough problems, she doesn’t need the police investigation to zoom in on her new home.”

“Yeah, she can’t catch a break. First losing Frank, then losing her room. We aren’t close, but it looked like she needed a friend.” He shrugged one muscular shoulder. “It’s like Krishnamurti said, ‘The worst of times is always better with a friend.’”

Ocean was 90 percent sure that was a Winnie-the-Pooh quote, but she said, “Very wise.”

“So is the cop here to arrest her?”

“Not if we can help it,” Ocean said, then texted the Murder Collective.

29

NICHOLAS

Financial projections blurred in Nicholas’s vision. He rubbed his eyes and stretched in his office chair, trying not to fixate on the State Street revamp. Turning eleven blocks into a pedestrian arcade, giving Santa Barbara more of a “European” appeal to tourists, made some sense. But so had Paseo Nuevo, decades ago. Now, without any anchor stores, it was becoming a dead mall. Another problem to deal with.

What annoyed him most about the State Street project was that he didn’t have a strong preference either way. He wasn’t sure what to push for, what to support, so he just glowered at the screen until his phone dinged.

Ocean

We need to meet

Hamilton

Yes! I have news.

Well, we have news.

Miles helped, he joined a party

raiding into the voidlands.

Ocean

That detective is sniffing around