Page 70 of Murder on Charity Lane

“No. Have you heard about Frank DeYoung? Of course you have, there are no secrets in the Marigold Cottages.”

“There’s Hamilton’s buttermilk recipe.”

Vernon let out a huff of laughter despite himself. He was comfortable with Anthony. He respected him in a way. They played by the same rules. “All right. Over the last few months, Frank DeYoung withdrew a small fortune in cash. Fifty thousand dollars. There’s no trace of that money, unless you’ve got something to tell me.”

“I don’t,” Anthony said.

“Damn. I didn’t think so.” He felt the weight of the avocado in his palm. “Do you know CJ Moore? The DeYoung’s housekeeper?”

“I’ve heard the name.”

“Your new neighbor. She knows Mrs. B from the Y, so say she mentions that her boss needs some under-the-table help. Mrs. B happens to know a guy who is not too encumbered by the law.”

Anthony just looked at him.

“That’s you.”

“I figured.”

“Yeah, but you’re not dumb enough to take the risk. That would make my life too easy. Okay, I’ll come clean. Marigold Cottages is involved somehow. I know that. Two of you were there when the old guy died, and my only suspect now lives across the courtyard. So I have to investigate, right?”

“I can see that.”

“However, I’d rather not waste my time. So how about this? If there’s anything I should know, you’ll tell me. And in exchange, I’ll keep other cops from stomping around your private paradise.”

“I’ll pass that along,” Anthony said.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Vernon showed him the avocado. “You mind if I take this with me? It’s taco night and my wife makes the worst guacamole.”

“It’s all yours.”

“The secret is adding too much salt and eating it right away.”

Anthony nodded stonily. “Salty and fresh, huh?”

“Ha. Yeah, just like the Marigold Cottages.”

34

LILY-ANN

Lily-Ann was the first to show up at Hamilton’s cottage that evening, as usual. She wanted to ensure everything looked okay while meeting the suspect. Though she should probably think of her as “CJ.” She wasn’t sure how to deal with Ocean dating the suspect, so she decided to ignore it.

Anthony stepped inside wearing the Loro Piana polo she’d given him, and Hamilton cornered him with questions about installing a cat door. Ocean arrived next, with her kids and Mrs. B. After saying a vague hello, Riley slumped onto the couch with her phone, while Miles went into Hamilton’s office to enjoy his three-monitor computer setup.

Nicholas came in with a plate of Sophie’s shortbread cookies and a box of buñuelos from a bakery on the Lower Eastside. Sophie followed, chatting with CJ, who was wearing a prettily cut but all-too-gray top and black pants. She looked drab, at least from the neck down: her elaborate makeup was on point, as ever. Lily-Ann wanted to suggest that she wear bolder colors. Maybe once they knew each other better. Or when CJ wasn’t mourning her dead boss.

“There you are!” Mrs. B glided across the room toward CJ, arms wide, the sleeves of her royal blue caftan billowing. “Give me a hug! You met everyone, I think, except this is Hamilton, he wants to get a cat, and Ocean’s children, Riley and—where’s Miles? Oh, he’s in the other room, on the computer.”

“I met him, already. He told me about Montevideo.”

“He does love his computer games!”

CJ nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you again. I was two weeks away from living in my car.”

“Don’t be silly!” Mrs. B waved a bangled wrist, then addressed everyone. “CJ’s been such a big help at the Y. You can tell so much about a person, can’t you, from what they do for no reason? Or for no reward, I should say. I suppose there’s always a reason, isn’t there? What smells so delicious?”

“Eggplant rollatini,” Hamilton told her. “Which are like marinara rollups. Every food should have a rollup variety. Chili con carne, pizza. Everything.”