Mervyn arrives in time to hear the last part, and I’m relieved there’s a lawyer on the scene, because surely someone official will magically make sense of the impossible circumstances.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” my grandmother says so fervently that Mervyn puts a hand to his bow tie, flustered.
“I came to see how everyone was getting along,” he explains.
In the resounding silence that follows, his gaze travels to Grandma Lainey and then beyond, to where Bradley’s body lies unmoving under the pool table. I watch the shock play out on his face and wonder if I went that pale and rigid when it hit me what I was seeing.
“Bradley?”
I know Mervyn is asking,Is that Bradley?But for a second it sounds like he’s calling out with the expectation that Bradley will answer. It makes me shudder, like when your fingernail bends the wrong way.
“By God, I knew this place was evil!Bradley,” Bernie moans. “My sweet baby nephew! How could they do this to you?”
“You’ve had a terrible shock,” my grandmother says in a gentler tone than I’ve ever heard her use with Claude’s sister. “Why don’t you come sit down? This calls for a stiff drink.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you people. I don’t feel safe.” Bernie clenches both hands to her chest, staring at us as if we’re a pack of knife-wielding assassins.
“No one is out to—that is, no one wants to… you’re fine,” Grandma Lainey concludes after another unfortunate pause. She probably should have left the consolation to Mrs. A.
Bernie rounds on Mervyn. “Don’t just stand there. Do something!”
It sounds like she expects him to start making arrests. Mervyn clears his throat. “Has anyone checked on the, uh—”
“It’sBradley,” his aunt wails. “The least you could do is call him by his name!”
Mr. Namura catches Mervyn’s eye and shakes his head, letting him know there’s no point attempting CPR. He musthave taken a closer look while the rest of us were distracted by Bernie.
The lawyer’s eyes close briefly.
“I’ll call the police,” he says through a heavy sigh. “Why don’t the rest of you wait in the dining room?” Mervyn starts to close the door to the billiards room before checking himself. “We’d better not disturb the scene.”
Every one of us hears the word he didn’t say, lurking in the slight hesitation beforescene. I’ve been so overwhelmed by the fact that someone I talked to a few days ago is… not alive, it hasn’t occurred to me until now that we might be looking at acrime.
Felix falls in beside me as we shuffle out of the room. “He’s not… you don’t think somebodydidthat? To him?”
It’s a small comfort to realize he’s in the same boat. For us, murder is fake—something you stage with props and makeup. A real death feels totally different. My grandmother’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder.
“I’m sure it was an accident.” Either she’s psychic, or we’re enough alike that Grandma Lainey can generally guess what’s going through my mind.
“It could have been his heart,” Mrs. A theorizes as we file into the dining room. “An undiagnosed congenital issue.”
Mr. Namura taps his bicep. “Steroids can cause cardiovascular damage.”
“What about cocaine?” Malia turns down the eagerness a few notches at Bernie’s glare. “Fentanyl,” she whispers. “In the drugs.”
With a huff of disgust, Claude’s sister moves to a table at the far end of the room. It’s hard to say how much time passes after that, because I’m not really seeing the screen of my phoneon the table in front of me. The wail of sirens breaks through the fog, followed by the clank of equipment and squawking radios as emergency personnel flood the lobby. I catch myself thinking,This is just like TV.Except the people don’t talk as fast or have square jaws and blowouts.
At one point Grandma Lainey gets up, earning a sharp glance from Bernie. A few minutes later, my grandmother deposits two glasses of orange juice in front of me and Felix, staring at us until we gulp them down. The sugar helps, though I have to breathe through my nose until my stomach settles.
“You’ll be okay,” Grandma Lainey promises, plucking the glass from my unresisting fingers.
“But your feelings are entirely valid,” Mrs. A adds. “If you want to talk through anything.” To her credit, it doesn’t feel like fishing. “Death casts a long shadow.”
Several of my grandmother’s neighbors nod. Have all of them encountered dead bodies before? Under what circumstances? Maybe it’s one of those unavoidable grown-up experiences, like worrying about interest rates and cholesterol.
Before I can ask, Mervyn appears in the doorway with a man in a rumpled suit. I don’t know the technical definition of “middle-aged,” but I’d guess from the silver at his temples he’s somewhere between me and Felix and our grandparents, which probably qualifies.
“This is Detective Ortiz,” Mervyn informs us.
