“And how long ago was that?” Felix’s snark flies right over Bradley’s excessively groomed head.
“What do you mean?”
“Good talk, Hugh Hefner.”
Bradley points at him like they’re playing a guessing game. “Playboy Mansion!”
Felix and I look at each other blankly.
“That’s another thing this place reminds me of,” Bradley says, like we’re the slow ones. “Not as high-class, obviously, but you have to start somewhere. It could be the down-market version. Then maybe you expand to a whole chain of party houses. You see what I’m saying?”
I shake my head. As awesome as Castle Claude is, I’m not sure it has franchise potential. The uniqueness is the point.And the only thing that would induce people here to dress in bunny costumes is a woodland creatures installment of Killing Me Softly.
“You’re not actually going anywhere with this guy?” Felix asks me, and while I appreciate the concern, and am weirdly grateful he came back outside, it’s still offensive that he thinks I’m that gullible.
“Uh-oh.” Bradley crosses his arms, making his biceps pop. It looks like a practiced pose. “I wouldn’t tell her what to do. Ladies hate that.”
Wow. He really used feminism to peddle his sleaze. This “lady” has had enough, but I’m not sure how to exit gracefully while wearing a bathing suit. What would Grandma Lainey do in this situation?
The answer comes to me as clearly as if she’s standing beside me: exactly what she wants—and nothing more. Grabbing my towel, I toga myself before standing.
“Thanks,” I tell Felix, plucking the bowl from his hands in passing.
The door into the building closes behind me with a bang that pierces the thick air like a gunshot. A clean getaway and a free lunch? I’m calling this a win.
CHAPTER SEVENTHE BODY IN THE LOBBY
I’m waiting for the elevator when the sound of agitated voices catches my attention. After a quick bite of beans and rice to tide me over, I decide to investigate.
The source of the commotion is Claude’s sister Bernie, standing in the lobby between a pair of mismatched suitcases that Mervyn the lawyer is attempting to load onto a luggage cart. Her contribution to the process appears to be hefting the same insulated tumbler she brought to the reading of the will, from which she takes an angry sip. There’s a design on the side, but I can’t make it out from here—and have no desire to get closer.
My grandmother and Mrs. A are watching from behind the front desk. I sidle over to join them.
“What’s going on?” I ask, forking up more beans and rice. Since Felix isn’t here to see my face, there’s no need to pretend it isn’t delicious.
“She’s moving in.” Grandma Lainey sounds like she’s relaying news of a natural disaster.
“Where’s Bradley?” the unwelcome guest barks. “He’s supposed to be helping.”
Too bad she didn’t track him down ten minutes ago.
“Do you think she knows about the cat?” Mrs. A wonders out loud.
In all the commotion yesterday, I forgot to ask who was taking care of Claude’s beloved cat, Zenobia.
“It seems there was a codicil in the will,” Grandma Lainey says in response to my questioning look. “She gets the apartmentandZenobia. Claude was afraid she’d be lonely.”
“His cat or his sister?”
My grandmother purses her lips, considering. “Hard to say.”
We watch Bernie turn from side to side, scowling at the floor, the fountain, the chandelier, and finally me in my towel.
“How am I supposed to live like this?” she demands. “You don’t even have a concierge.”
“Bummer,” my grandmother says insincerely. I choke on a mouthful of rice.
Claude’s sister ignores us, cradling her massive cup in the crook of one elbow so she can access her phone. Of course she has it on speaker, volume cranked so we can all hear it ring and ring. At last there’s a beep, followed by a recorded message:
