Page 74 of Murder on Charity Lane

“Not having a website is a flex,” Lily-Ann told him. “It means he’s exclusive.”

CJ brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “He takes clients from word of mouth. He’s got a waiting list. If you know, you know.”

“Dream job,” Riley said.

“You can practice on me, Riley,” Mrs. B told her. “See how much you like raisins.”

Riley tsked. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, Mrs. B. You’re more of a—”

“A prune? Terrible child! Just like your mother!”

“I was going to say ‘a fine wine.’”

“Oh!”

Riley nodded solemnly. “Because you’re always complaining.”

“Zing!” Miles said.

Mrs. B’s laughter rang out so sweetly that everyone else laughed along. After that, the conversation shifted to the downtown revitalization project and—as always—housing prices. Which bored Lily-Ann, so she headed into the kitchen to start rinsing dishes. Hamilton joined her, and twenty minutes later she heard Sophie say, “Welp, you’ve survived your first Marigold Cottages dinner.”

“I can’t remember enjoying a dinner more,” CJ said.

“If you need anything and Ocean’s gone, feel free to knock on anyone’s door,” Nicholas told her. “Lily-Ann usually works from home, and Hamilton is always here. I like to tease, but he’s a solid guy.”

The last few words carried so clearly into the kitchen that Lily-Ann suspected Nicholas had intended for Hamilton to overhear. And sure enough, Hamilton paused at the dishwasher before he placed the dirty knives in the rack. He didn’t say anything but she could tell he was smiling.

35

OCEAN

Early the next morning, Ocean stood in her kitchen, gazing out the window toward CJ’s cottage. Weighing the wisdom of knocking on her door with a couple of lattes or a bouquet of flowers. She understood CJ wanting alone time after the sudden, shocking death of her friend and mentor. She genuinely got that. Before the kids, she’d tended to retreat into the bleak comfort of her own mind at such times.

Yet, as she got older, Ocean valued Mrs. B’s approach more and more. People needed people. On the other hand, their relationship was so new—barely even budding—that she didn’t want to step on any of CJ’s boundaries.

So instead of making lattes or cutting flowers, she stared through the window.

“Oma,” Riley said, behind her. “You’re worse than a middle schooler. Do you want me to pass her a note saying ‘do you like me? Check yes or no.’”

She turned and saw Riley dressed for school in baggy jeans and a halter top she’d upcycled from a black silk blouse Ocean’s ex had left behind. She had a better sense of style than either of her mothers, which pleased Ocean. She’d always nurtured her daughter’s creativity … and of course Riley had inherited her sarcasm.

“Listen, I’m not good at this, okay?”

“You really aren’t.” Riley hugged her. “But you deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So go talk to her.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Fix your hair first,” Riley said, as she left the house for school. “You look like Rocket Raccoon.”

So Ocean went to the bathroom and wrestled with her hair until it looked exactly the same as when she started. She applied lip gloss, then crossed the courtyard. There was no answer when she knocked on CJ’s door so she figured she was still asleep. She’d had a lot to drink last night and nowhere to be this morning, so she didn’t blame her for sleeping in. She’d catch up with her later.

Thinking about last night reminded Ocean that the Marigold Collective needed to prove CJ’s innocence. That was the one way she could help with her grief, to get Karina off her back. So she decided to head downtown to dig for DeYoung-related gossip. She knew a lot of struggling artists, but only a few who might be familiar with philanthropists.

She started at The Spot, located a block from the art museum. The owners, Thomas and Petra, claimed that the gallery name was in honor of pointillism, because they’d met in front of a Seurat painting in Paris, but Ocean knew the truth: they loved dalmatians.