Chapter 17
OCEAN
The third time Mrs. B returned from errands with a dent in her Prius, Ocean realized she needed to step in.
She’d geared herself up for a fight. She hadn’t wanted Mrs. B to stop driving completely, just …
mostly. Frankly she hadn’t trusted Mrs. B behind the wheel in years, not since she’d admitted that she didn’t look over her shoulder before switching lanes anymore.
“I listen to the beeps!” she’d said. “That car is always beeping at me for something. I just never know what.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think,” Ocean told her.
She hadn’t taken Mrs. B’s keys, but she’d insisted on driving her anywhere farther than the local co-op.
Everyone else helped, too, including Anthony after he got his license.
Well, except for Hamilton, of course. And to her relief Mrs. B hadn’t felt infantilized; instead she enjoyed the extra time with her favorite people.
Ocean felt like a caricature of “Mom’s Taxi,” though, as she drove Mrs. B around more than her kids.
At least she’d gotten in the habit of handling her emails while waiting in the pickup area outside the YMCA.
At the moment she was rereading CJ’s email for the third time—the reply to the voice message and texts Ocean had left her.
I’m shaken up. I don’t know. He was my rock and now he’s gone.
There’s this empty space. I’m all unbalanced, I don’t know where to put my feet.
Does that make sense? I’m afraid I’m not good for anything right now.
I’m too shaken up. Thank you. Thank you for wanting to take care of me.
You’re wonderful, but I’m a little terrified of becoming …
needy? A burden. You take care of so many already, Ocean.
I don’t want to be one of them. I want to be something else to you.
I don’t know what I’m saying so I’m just going to send this and tell you that you’d better keep texting me and leaving me messages! I love hearing your voice. And please tell me normal things! I just might not be great at replying?
Everything feels off. The house isn’t the house without Frank. Karina hates me. I don’t know. I’m okay, though. Just shaken up.
Ocean sent her a voice message, saying that she understood, then shared her favorite new fact: while doing geographic flash cards with Anthony, Miles had fallen in love with Montevideo, Uruguay.
She said she hoped that was normal enough, because she’d kind of lost track of “normal,” then Mrs. B flung the passenger door open.
“I have news!” she announced, plopping into her seat.
A drop of water splashed Ocean’s face. Mrs. B was wearing her cotton navy sailor-suit maxi-dress, to match the marine theme of the YMCA swim classes. She must’ve raced from the locker room to share the gossip, because her white pixie cut was still soaking wet.
“You set a new record for the over-eighties women’s bench press?”
“Even better.”
Ocean pulled away from the curb. “You managed your bra without CJ?”
“The other women are happy to help.”
“You don’t need help.”
“No, but it’s mitzvah to let them do a mitzvah.”
“How convenient for you.”
“Would you hush?” Mrs. B said. “There’s been a death!”
Well, shit. Apparently someone had told Mrs. B about Frank DeYoung. That didn’t bode well. Still, Ocean played ignorant. “Oh, no. At the Y?”
“In Hope Ranch! At the party Sophie and Nicholas went to! It must’ve happened after they left. I can’t believe CJ didn’t call me. I had to learn about it through the water aerobics grapevine.”
Ocean could imagine how that went. A lot of whisper-yelling and meaningful splashing. “Did anyone know the dead guy?”
“Aha!” Mrs. B stacked her silver bangles on her wrist from the dashboard where she kept them during class. “So you already knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That CJ’s boss tumbled to his death.”
“No, I had no idea.”
“You’re a terrible liar. Did she text you?”
Ocean sighed. “Sophie and Nicholas were still there when it happened.”
“And they didn’t tell me?”
“They wanted to, but I wouldn’t let them. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Worry? Why would I worry. This is wonderful news!”
“What are you talking about, you mad old woman?”
“Well, not for CJ. Poor girl. Have you seen her? You should give her a shoulder to cry on.”
“I offered, but she’s kind of turtling at the moment.”
Mrs. B huffed. “Turtling is for reptiles. Or amphibians, I never could tell the difference. In any case! The good news is that CJ doesn’t like Karina, did you know that?”
“I don’t even know who Karina is.”
“She’s Frank DeYoung’s much-de-younger wife.”
“I see what you did there.”
Mrs. B looked pleased. “So I’m pretty sure that she killed him.”
“You think Frank’s wife killed him because CJ doesn’t like her?”
“No! Because she doesn’t like CJ. What kind of person wouldn’t like CJ? A monster!”
“While I can’t disagree with you there—”
“I know!” Mrs. B crowed. “Another murder is exactly what we need.”
Ocean didn’t answer; she just drove along upper State Street, past the post office and the liquor outlet where Mrs. B bought her Drambuie.
“Because,” Mrs. B continued, after a minute of silence, “we’ve never been closer than when we solved the previous murders.”
“We didn’t exactly solve them,” Ocean reminded her. “We framed Piotr while two of us got away with murder.”
“We handled them,” Mrs. B said, like some kind of old lady mob boss. “We need to convene a meeting. We have to clear CJ’s name.”
“There’s no way she’s a real suspect. The guy just fell.”
“Well, wouldn’t that be convenient.”
Ocean turned left at the Presbyterian church. “Old people fall.”
“Bah!” Mrs. B’s bracelets jingled with accusation. “Did Sophie and Nicholas see it happen?”
“No, they were outside.”
“Hmph. At least they met all the guests, so we’re already a step ahead.”
“Of what?”
“The police! Do you trust them to investigate CJ?”
Ocean frowned at the cross traffic. “Okay, good point.”
“And you know CJ’s innocent. She’s lovely.”
“Sometimes,” Ocean said, giving Mrs. B a quick meaningful look, “the loveliest person you’ve ever met is also completely whackadoo.”
Mrs. B shook her bracelets again. “Tease all you want, Ocean. This is clearly a case for the Marigold Cottages Murder Collective.”