The Claude kind,I think.
“I was about to read out the bequests,” Mervyn informs her. That quiets her down.
“Firstly, to my family here at our Castle, a tasteful reminder ofmoi.” Mervyn tugs on the edge of the sheet until it slides off the easel, revealing a massive portrait of Claude in a smoking jacket and pocket square, with his Himalayan cat cradled in his arms.
There’s something odd about the eye area, but I don’t realize what it is until Mervyn grabs a small object from the table, pressing it with his thumb. We all gasp when the eyeballs slide from side to side, haunted-house style.
“The title of the painting isI’ll Be Watching You,” Mervyn informs us. “That way he can still be part of the game.”
“Well done, Claude.” Grandma Lainey leads a brief round of applause.
“So thoughtful,” Mrs. A murmurs.
“Is this a joke?” the woman in black demands.
“No, that’s the real name,” Mervyn assures her, after checking his notes. “This next item is too big for a gift bag.” He nods at someone in the doorway, and two women in white gloves wheel a massive harp into the room, stopping beside Malia.
“Is that what I think it is?” It sounds like a rhetorical question, but she also has a hand over her eyes, so maybe not. Malia is unpredictable like that. I was a teensy bit afraid of her when I was young, because of her towering height, witchy white hair, and tendency to erupt in sudden atonal shrieks.Later I learned those were her vocal warm-ups, and she was actually a classically trained singer, so we’re cool now.
“I’ve always wanted a floor harp.” After approaching the instrument like it’s a skittish pony, Malia runs a reverent hand across the strings. “Thank you, Claudie,” she bellows, throwing her head back.
Mervyn clears his throat. “There’s a letter too. And he left you one of his kimonos. For each of you, actually.”
“Is that sanitary?” the guy with the red car asks the peeved-looking lady in black. He’s a bigger tool than I thought if he doesn’t want one of Claude’s fabulous dressing gowns. Even Felix is shaking his head at such a blatant lack of taste.
The next gift is a set of extremely fancy knives for Mr. Namura, the resident chef, who clutches them to his chest like a starlet holding her first curtain-call bouquet. Mrs. A coos over a new latex make-up and prosthetics kit, which she assures all of us will take her stage wounds to the next level. For Mr. Gutierrez, Claude has arranged for the publication of a monograph about his art.
Each time Mervyn calls another name, the lady in black makes a noise of impatience, or possibly disgust, like we’re trespassing on her lawn. Heated whispering breaks out between her and the creep when Mervyn hands my grandmother a spangled baton, representing Claude’s faith in her leadership as his designated heir to the chairmanship of the condo board.
“For Virginia,” Mervyn reads, and I jolt upright. “It’s been my honor to watch her blossom into a young woman with the panache to carry off a killer accessory.”
Skeezy frat bro does an eyebrow dance, like he’s a little too excited about my flowering womanhood.
“Looks Victorian,” Grandma Lainey says, peering into thevelvet box that was inside the package Mervyn pressed into my limp hands.
I take her word for it, nodding without looking away from the amazing ring Claude left me. It’s yellow gold, the sides filled with intricate scrollwork. The face is a circle of black enamel with a raised yellow stone in the center.
“That better be costume,” the lady in black says, like that would make it less awesome—or any of her business. I also get a tan trench coat that will be, according to my grandmother, a wardrobe staple. Though possibly not while I’m in high school.
“To Felix,” Mervyn continues, “a reminder that the pen can be mightier than the sword in carving out your own story.”
It’s a fancy pen, all opalescent on the outside, but it’s safe to say nowhere near as awesome as my ring. Also they called my name first, so there. Felix gets a jacket too, though his is dark and velvet. He strokes the fabric with his palm before holding it up by the shoulders.
“Is that the one Claude’s wearing in the painting?” I ask, glancing between the canvas and Felix.
“I believe so,” Mrs. A agrees, smiling at my observational skills.
Felix looks less excited to learn he’s holding a dead man’s coat. “Maybe he had several.”
His grandfather pats him on the shoulder.
After that, Sofia, Carmen, and Elena receive a stipend to cover rides for the residents of Castle Claude for at least the next year, along with a premium satellite radio subscription.
“And where exactly is that money coming from?” the woman in black demands, like someone has been digging through her purse.
“From Claude,” my grandmother claps back.
“And finally,” Mervyn says, raising his voice to be heard above the buzz of hostility in the air, “to my sister Berniece.”
