Felix clears his throat. “I was going to ask Virginia if she wanted to go out. With me.”
The temperature in the room warms by at least ten degrees. Everyone gazes at Felix with hearts in their eyes, like he’s holding a plate of just-baked chocolate chip cookies. Something nudges my foot under the table. From the way he’s deliberately not looking at me, I surmise that it’s Felix’s shoe.
He kicks me again, like I’m missing a cue, but how am I supposed to decipher his sneaker Morse code? Is he for real right now, or is this a ploy to get us out the door? I feel myself blushing, which will do nothing to silence the rumors of our burgeoning romance.
“For ice cream,” Felix says, dialing it down slightly.
Too late for that. They’ll be doing hand calligraphy on our wedding invitations the second our backs are turned.
“Why not?” I stand and push in my chair, beyond ready to get this show on the road. I’m sure Felix will catch up.
“Feeee-virrr,” Malia warbles, throwing her head back.
“Sorry about that,” Felix says once there’s a door between us and our fan club. “I couldn’t think how else to get you out of there.”
“You mean you’re not taking me out for an ice cream sundae?” I widen my eyes in pretend hurt, hoping the sarcasm covers the 10 percent of me that almost believed he was for real.
“We can get ice cream after we talk to Mervyn. Sofia’s picking us up in ten minutes.”
“You called her?” I don’t know why that bugs me. Probably because we’re supposed to be an investigative duo, not wander off on our own side quests.
“It would have been a long walk.”
“Right.” Of course he and Sofia aren’t secret lovers.
Not that it’s any of my business.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTHE BODY AT THE STRIP MALL
The lawyer’s offices I’ve seen on TV are in corporate towers with gleaming marble lobbies and uniformed security guards, so I’m not expecting the strip mall storefront with a simple glass door. It reminds me of my optometrist’s office.
A bell rings as we enter, and a receptionist in a patchwork smock looks up from the origami paper she’s folding at her desk. Her earrings resemble bird nests, adding to the impression that she’s sitting in the boughs of a tree, thanks to the number of plants hanging from the ceiling or sprouting from massive ceramic pots.
“Can I help you?” she asks as we hesitantly cross the few feet of industrial carpet.
“We’re here to see Mr. Preszler.” I expect a follow-up question about whether he’s expecting us or why two teenagers need a lawyer, but no.
“Let me see if he’s at his desk. He was in the bathroom a minute ago. I told him not to have the peppers on his sandwich,but some people learn the hard way.” She picks up the chunky phone shoved to one side of her desk. “Hey Merv. I have a couple of kids here to see you. Hold on.” Placing a hand over the receiver, she looks up at us. “What are your names?”
“Felix Gutierrez and Virginia Tillis,” I inform her. “From Castle Claude.”
She relays the information through the phone, and a few seconds later a door opens on the rear wall.
“Come in, come in.” Mervyn holds the door for us. Today’s bow tie sports orange flowers on a yellow background. “What can I do for you two?”
He waves us toward a pair of chairs on the other side of an antique wooden desk. The office feels like an overstuffed attic. Instead of diplomas, the walls are covered in art. Paintings, bits of weaving, some carved wood… it’s sending a message that Mr. Preszler is not like other lawyers. He’s a cool lawyer. There are more plants in here, lining the windowsills and filling an entire metal shelving unit. I’m tempted to ask if he has a side hustle running a garden center on weekends. It’s an interesting contrast with his buttoned-up personal style.
Felix waits for me to sit before taking the other chair. He shoots me ayour turnlook, since apparently we’re tag teaming this expedition.
“We had some questions we were hoping you could answer. About wills. And inheritances. And condos.” My attempt to sound mature lands closer to word salad, but oh well.
“I see.” Mervyn steeples his fingers. “You want to know if you’re the beneficiaries of your grandparents’ wills?”
“No,” I splutter. “It’s about Claude—and his sister.Thatwill.”
“Ah.” He swivels in his chair, staring out the window. “You’re wondering why he left her his share of the building?”
Felix catches my eye, shrugging slightly. This wasn’t in our top three questions, but it feels like useful information to have.
