I wish I were a lawyer, or a millionaire, or a detective, so I could fix this for them.
“I know I promised you ice cream, but would you settlefor frozen yogurt?” Felix points at a neon sign in the next strip mall over.
“I thought that was a ploy.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” He waggles his brows.
It feels like I should instinctively know if he’s referring to the fake dating or the frozen dessert, but the odds strike me as about fifty-fifty, so I shake my head. “What do you think he was going to say? About Castle Claude. He imagined himself living there one day?”
“That was my guess. Kind of awkward to admit you’re waiting for one of your dear friends to kick it so you can have their apartment.”
“Maybe he was hoping he could get the penthouse? Or buy it from Bernie.”
“How old do you think our guy Merv is?” Felix asks as we traverse the scrubby median between parking lots.
“Sixty-something, maybe?” I’m a little hazy in the forty-to-seventy range.
“And how old is your grandmother?”
“In her seventies. Why?”
“Just trying to picture it. Your grandmother is a woman of the world, he’s young and desperate to impress, possibly already wearing a bow tie—unless that came later.” He steps around a clump of spiky weeds. “And even beyond the age difference, she runs a theater company and he’s a critic. They’re basically sworn enemies.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’swhyhe decided to become a lawyer. He knew they could never be together as long as he was in the news biz. It was a conflict of interest.”
“They’re still not together,” I point out.
“I know. I wonder what happened. Maybe lawyers aren’t supposed to date their clients, either. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? In a sad way.”
I tap him on the shoulder. When Felix turns, I bring my palms together in front of his face, until there’s a gap just wider than his forehead. “Focus, Nicholas Sparks.”
“You’re right.” He holds the door open for me to enter first. “We’ll eat fast.”
I guess this is what passes for Felix in business mode. It’s also true that Sofia doesn’t like open containers of food in the van, and my cognitive functioning always improves with soft serve.
Besides, an extra twenty minutes is hardly going to be enough to make thingsweirderat Castle Claude.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTHE BODY IN THE RITUAL
My mother once told me that the secret to babysitting little kids is that it isn’t the loud times you have to worry about. The real mischief happens when they get quiet.
Apparently the same rule applies to older people. When Felix and I return to a silent building, we fool ourselves into thinking everything is fine.
“You know what we should do?” From the look in his eye, I’m guessing Felix is about to propose we cannonball into the deep end of the pool. “Search for Bradley’s EpiPen.”
“If it’s even here.”
“Where should we start?” he asks, like I’ve just agreed with him.
“Why don’t we divide and conquer?”
“No way. Have you ever seen a horror movie?”
He makes a valid point. As we approach the closed door of the billiards room, a low hum catches my ear. It’s not quite a ghostly moan, but I stop breathing anyway. Beside me, Felix has gone pale.
We stare at each other, silently debating whether to investigate or flee. The noise is faint but rhythmic, like the hiss of waves over sand. I angle my head toward the door; Felix points to himself, a silent question. It’s tempting to let him go first, but pride makes me reach for the knob, turning it with agonizing slowness so it doesn’t creak. I take one deep breath before carefully pushing the door open and peeking through the crack.
