Chapter 58
OCEAN
“Anybody home?” Mrs. B asked, opening the front door of Ocean’s cottage.
“In the kitchen!” Ocean called back.
With a jingle of silver bracelets, Mrs. B appeared in the doorway. “So, nu?”
“Nu what?” she asked, scrubbing the clay from under her fingernails at the sink. She’d spent twenty years thinking that Mrs. B was saying “new” before she realized she was saying the Yiddish “nu,” which she still couldn’t quite translate. Something like what’s up?
“I heard the detective talking to you,” Mrs. B said.
“Where were you?”
“In your living room. The window was open.”
Ocean didn’t bother asking why she was in her cottage. “What did you hear?”
“That he asked for our help.”
“He’s afraid he’s missed something that will bite him on the ass.”
“He said he wants to know what I’m feeling in my old bones!”
“He did not say that.”
Mrs. B straightened one of Miles’s paintings on the fridge. “Close enough. So now that we’ve been deputized, I need a favor.”
Ocean threw her rag aside. “Is that right?”
“A lift to Hope Ranch.”
“You want to talk to Karina DeYoung?”
“I’m an old lady,” Mrs. B said, in a dramatically wavering voice. “I don’t understand. Why is she so mean to my friend CJ?”
“That’ll never work.”
“It never fails,” Mrs. B announced, and Ocean belatedly realized that she was wearing one of her more elegant caftans, a minimalist design of red silk that highlighted her silver-blond pixie cut.
“Is that what you’re dressed up for? Hope Ranch?”
“These are my Karina-friendly clothes. I came over before I knew the detective was here. Because Lily-Ann can’t drive me.”
“You asked her first?” Ocean asked, not at all sulkily.
“I thought they could bond about wealth. It’s why I’m so glamorous. Speaking of which, you look like you’ve been mud-wrestling again.”
Ocean changed into dark jeans, a black tank, and the linen blazer she wore to gallery openings.
She ran product through her hair, which she’d started doing after CJ had called Jane a “knockout.” That had shaken her so badly she’d almost considered wearing lipstick.
Instead, she started using the hair serum Lily-Ann gave her.
Not that she was trying to appeal to CJ anymore.
At least, not now. When this was all over, she might try again.
Ten minutes later, she found herself driving Mrs. B to Hope Ranch. She hadn’t even agreed to give the meddlesome old woman a lift. Well, she’d always had a hard time saying no to Mrs. B. And she hated to admit it, but the detective’s request actually flattered her.
“What did Lily-Ann say about visiting Karina?” she asked.
“That I shouldn’t expect her to answer any of the really important questions. About the cash, or being desperate to remodel, or how she convinced Sunny Wheeler to back up her testimony.”
“So what are you going to ask her?”
“All of that!” Mrs. B said, cheerily. “Lily-Ann is good at logic, but I’m better at—”
“Getting under people’s skin?”
“Emotion. Though we both agree that Anthony is one big slab of cheesecake.”
Ocean slammed the brakes at a stoplight. “Please don’t spy on my models.”
“I don’t spy,” Mrs. B informed her. “I merely ogle. Are you sure this is the way?”
“Yes,” she said.
She’d spent a good amount of time in Hope Ranch over the years.
First when a high school friend hosted parties in his fancy house, then after college she’d offered art classes to Hope Ranch women who, despite their wealth, she’d found charming and down to earth.
Still, she’d never been to a mansion like the DeYoungs’.
The manicured lawns unfurled around rose gardens and outbuildings, stretching to the wildflower-embossed cliff top.
Then the earth vanished and the ocean began, the gently rolling Pacific tossing glimmers of sunlight around like Mother Earth’s own disco ball.
She parked in the drive and trotted around the car to open the door for Mrs. B. She offered her arm, because Mrs. B sometimes struggled to stand from low chairs, and said, “So what’s our game plan?”
“You know what they say about plans,” Mrs. B told her, as they headed for the front door.
“What do they say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought you did.”
“Hoo boy,” Ocean muttered, before she pressed the bell. “We could tell her a version of the truth—you spent all your money bailing out CJ, and now you’re worried she’ll run.”
Mrs. B scrunched up her nose. “The truth is so drab.”
“This is going to go super well,” Ocean said.
To her surprise Karina DeYoung opened the door herself.
She was prettier than Ocean had expected, with short hair, a strong nose, striking light brown eyes, and the build of a sixty-year-old woman who played tennis three times a week.
On the other hand, she was dressed fairly sloppily, in an oversized T-shirt and leggings, though Ocean could hardly throw stones.
“You must be Karina DeYoung,” Mrs. B said, offering a jangling hand to shake. “I’m Golda, I called a little earlier?”
“Of course,” Karina said, with a quick smile. “Please come in.”
“And this is my driver and dogsbody.” Mrs. B nodded to Ocean as she swanned into the big foyer. “Oh, goodness! What a beautiful home.”
“It could be,” Karina said, her smile fading. “With a little love and a lot of effort.”
Ocean missed a few words of their conversation, too busy contending with “dogsbody.”
“—glad you could come on such short notice,” Karina was saying.
“Think nothing of it,” Mrs. B assured her. “Now, as I mentioned on the phone, my stepson works for the city. Nicholas Perez, did you goggle him as I suggested?”
Ocean gritted her teeth. First dogsbody and now goggle. Mrs. B absolutely knew the word was “google,” which meant she was amusing herself by acting like a dotty old woman. But for what nefarious reason had she called ahead and roped Nicholas into her lies?
“I did, yes,” Karina said. “Would you like a drink? Iced tea?”
“Please,” Mrs. B said. “And a light beer for Ocean, if you have one.”
She didn’t bother saying she didn’t like light beer—or any beer, this early. Instead, she studied the bottom of the wide staircase leading to the second floor. So that was where Frank DeYoung had died. There was no sign now, of course. She didn’t know what she’d expected, a chalk outline?
Karina didn’t seem to notice her inspection of the floor. She just led them to a sparsely furnished room on the far side of the house, with French doors and brown carpeting and chunky built-in bookshelves, then gestured unhappily. “As you can see, nothing’s been updated in thirty years.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. B said.
“Just passing through,” Karina assured her, then opened the doors to the patio.
Sunlight poured into the drab room, which made it look even drabber. Karina narrowed her lips as she gestured for them to step outside. Ocean followed Mrs. B onto a flagstone patio where two round tables stood in the shade of fancy market umbrellas, and flowers ruffled in the ocean breeze.
Karina invited them to sit, then returned inside for the drinks.
“A dogsbody?” Ocean asked, flopping into a wrought iron chair.
“I meant to say factotum,” Mrs. B confided.
She wasn’t sure what that was, either, so she said, “You told her Nicholas would help with her building permits?”
“Well, I mean—a little, yes.”
“Did you ask him about this?”
Mrs. B scoffed. “And incriminate him? What do you take me for?”
“A Ferris wheel in human form.”
“You know I don’t like heights,” Mrs. B told her.
Karina reappeared with the drinks. She set them on the table, then sat opposite Mrs. B and said, “So you mentioned that Nicholas has been in his current job for seven years?”
“Almost eight now. He didn’t mention his work when you met?”
Karina blinked her. “We met?”
“Oh, yes! I didn’t know if I should say anything, but I am twice-widowed myself.”
Ocean almost snorted in disbelief. Now the old lady was inventing a dead husband? She’d seen her get this way before, reveling in her own outrageousness, but it still took her by surprise.
“Don’t choke, darling!” Mrs. B patted her arm before telling Karina, “Nicholas was here on the night of your husband’s death. That’s how I know about the potential of the property.”
Karina frowned. “I don’t remember. Oh, he came with the pretty Asian girl?”
“Sophie, yes.”
“So … so he knows CJ? She invited him?”
“CJ?” Mrs. B asked. “Your husband’s secretary? Well, I suppose—”
“Wait!” Karina’s mouth turned down. “One second.”
“Yes, dear?”
Karina didn’t speak for a moment. The muscles in her neck strained and she clenched one of her fists, then she stood abruptly from her chair. “You’re the old woman from the YMCA.”
“Why, thank you!” Mrs. B pressed her hand to her chest as if thrilled. “I am, indeed!”
“What are you doing here?”
“Well! Nicholas tells me that zoning permission isn’t—”
“You’re CJ’s friend,” Karina spat.
“I’m everyone’s friend, dear. And it sounds like you need one. Also, I may have accidentally used my home as collateral for CJ’s release from jail.” Mrs. B blinked as if suddenly teary-eyed. “Now I’m afraid she’ll flee and leave me homeless, so please, really, we’re on the same side—”
Karina pointed toward the driveway. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“I’m so sorry!” Mrs. B wailed. “But won’t you just listen for a moment, I’m sure we—”
“Get off my property this instant.”
“C’mon.” Ocean tugged Mrs. B up from her chair. “We’re leaving.”
Mrs. B stopped wailing and glared at Karina. “Why aren’t you honoring Frank’s last wishes?”
“What?”
“You cut off his donations. He trusted you with his legacy, and you betrayed him.”
“Screw you.”
“That’s a good point, dear, but I’m worried you’ll regret not supporting his—”
Karina took a sharp breath. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“And why blame CJ?” Mrs. B asked.
“Because she fucking pushed him!”
“You know they weren’t sleeping together or any such nonsense.”
“Out!” she screamed. “Get out!”
Ocean made placating noises as she ushered Mrs. B around the side of the house. She opened the passenger door for her, then took her place behind the wheel and said, “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“Well, of course. Though I’m not sure we learned anything.”
“You think?” she said.
“Except that it’s terribly easy to upset her.” Mrs. B clicked her seat belt. “Which means she might blurt an uncomfortable truth the next time we chat.”
Ocean didn’t bother responding to “the next time.” Too busy checking for the flash of police lights on the road ahead.