Chapter 30
SOPHIE
I promised the Collective that I’d squeeze more information from my networking friend Angela, so I arranged to meet her for lunch at Leadbetter Beach. To my surprise, Nicholas asked to join us; he wasn’t Angela’s biggest fan.
He picked me up at my office and we chatted happily as he drove to the beach. Well, I chatted happily. I’m more of a talker than Nicholas, but he usually contributed better than this. So as he flicked the turn indicator I said, “You’re worried about Detective Enible, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid of Detective Enible.”
“So you came along to help me pick Angela’s brain?”
Nicholas pulled into the public lot at the beach. “That, plus I can’t think about State Street for another minute.”
“Also for the fish and chips,” I said, “because that’s what we’re splitting.”
We didn’t often see each other midday, even though we both worked downtown.
I liked how he looked in his Santa Barbara business clothes, a forest-green button-down tucked into black trousers that were just the right amount of not skinny.
He asked the restaurant server for a beach table and we waited for Angela to join us.
I kicked off my chunky loafers to run my feet through the warm sand.
The ocean sparkled with midday sun and we watched kite surfers skid across the surface while seagulls squawked on the fence to the parking lot.
“Should I take off my boots?” Nicholas asked.
He was wearing black Red Wings, which I really dug for some reason. “Nah, you’ll only regret it when you have to put them back on.”
“How come you won’t?”
“I’m just that carefree,” I said.
He started to make a teasing reply when he spotted Angela slinking through the tables with her bouncy blond curls, formfitting white suit, and black stiletto sandals. Which was ridiculous. Nobody wore stilettos to work in Santa Barbara.
Nicholas stood to greet her, because he was a gentleman. Specifically, he was my gentleman, so I didn’t love how Angela eyed him. I knew she was hanging out with a guy from Montecito, where Prince Harry and his family lived, so I greeted her with, “Hey. How’s Jasper?”
She gave me a kiss hello, then said, “Zut alors! I need a man who doesn’t think school nurses are giving kids sex change operations.”
“How would that even work?” I asked, wondering if anyone in France ever said “zut alors.”
“I was afraid to ask,” Angela said, folding herself elegantly into a plastic chair. “He probably thinks they’re in league with”—she lowered her voice to a foreboding whisper—“librarians.”
I laughed. “At least tell me he disqualified himself before you slept together.”
Angela shot me a guilty look.
“Oh, Angela.”
“I know! I should be using my hotness for good.”
“I hope at least he donated to Bright California,” Nicholas said.
She winked at him. “That’s how he got a second date.”
The server came and Angela ordered fish tacos and a margarita while Nicholas and I stuck to fish and chips and iced tea. I was okay with wine, but what kind of monster can stop after a single margarita?
“So is World of Goods suffering since Frank’s death?” I asked, scrunching my toes in the sand. “Because of losing such a big donor?”
“The opposite,” Angela told me.
“What, they’re doing better than ever?”
“Yup. Jane’s been meeting her heavy hitters, talking about Frank. Mentioning how life is uncertain, don’t they want to leave a legacy? She’s raking in the cash.”
“Damn, she’s good,” I said.
“Yeah, and driven by incandescent fury at losing the Millerbrandt Award.”
“What’s that?” Nicholas asked.
“Like the highest-status nonprofit fundraising award in the country,” Angela told him, as the waitress started setting our food on the table. “Jane hit the short list but didn’t quite win.”
“The short list is nice though.”
“Not for Jane. She’s one of those people who believes that ‘second place’ just means ‘top loser.’”
I reached for a French fry. “Ha! Well, Karina must be writing a huge check in his memory. The Frank DeYoung Clean Water Initiative or something.”
“That’s exactly what Jane was pushing for,” Angela told me. “But she’s not.”
“She’s not what?” Nicholas asked.
“Karina isn’t writing a huge check. Or a small check. Or any check. Karina is suspending all giving as of now. Jane just told me. World of Goods is getting nothing from the DeYoungs.”
“So much for Frank’s legacy,” I said.
Angela shrugged. “Karina wants to remodel the house. And to buy an Italian yacht to live on half the year. She’s always dreamed of owning one but Frank thought it was too ostentatious.”
Nicholas jingled the ice in his tea. “On the bright side, she can name it The Legacy.”
“Not helping,” I told him, then frowned at a sudden thought. “Wait. Is that, like … motive?”
“What?” Angela asked.
Nicholas gazed at me. “You mean Karina wants an Italian yacht, but can’t get one while he’s alive. But now that he’s gone…”
“Yeah, but she only had to wait a while. She would’ve inherited soon enough.”
“Who wants to wait years and years for their yacht? Not me.”
“What do you mean, motive?” Angela asked.
The tourist family at the next table stood to leave and two seagulls swept in, shrieking over abandoned French fries.
“Just ghoulish curiosity,” Nicholas lied.
I nodded along. “My play needs drama, so we’re looking for angles. Plus, our landlady is friends with CJ. And our friend is friends with her, too. Uh, what does Jane think of her?”
“Not much,” Angela said. “Jane doesn’t talk about the help.”
“Ouch,” Nicholas said.
Angela brushed her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I love her, but she is what she is, you know?”
“What do you think happened with Frank?” I asked.
“He tripped.”
“You don’t think CJ pushed him?”
“Ha! No way. She’s like toxic levels of sweet. So selfless and helpful.” She made a face. “On the other hand, maybe that’s the type who snaps.”
I grabbed another French fry. Yeah, anything was possible, but only one thing was likely. An elderly man stumbled. And Karina, from resentment or grief or wine, or a combination of all three, imagined that she saw CJ shove him.
Angela drained her margarita. “Welp, that should get me through the afternoon of talking to donors.”
“Bonne chasse,” I said.