“She needs a lot of therapy?” Felix guesses.
“Maybe.” Sofia shrugs. “But it seemed like something you might want to look into.”
“Right.” The impulse to agree with Sofia, who is cool and smart and older, is powerful. As soon as it fades, I realize I have no idea what she’s talking about. “How?”
“Wherever you think she might be hiding stuff,” she says, super casual. Before I can respond, she plugs her ears. “I don’t need to know.”
Felix elbows me, like he’s itching to tell me something.
“I have to go,” Sofia informs us. “I’m scheduled to give Bernie a ride to Bradley Odell’s funeral.” She pauses to let that sink in. It feels like overkill, considering she’s been speaking like a kindergarten teacher, enunciating each word as if we’re hooked on phonics. Then again, I did manage to forget about the funeral until this morning, when Grandma Lainey informed us that the Castle Claude crew would no longer be attending. Mervyn decided our presence would be “counterproductive” in light of recent developments, which is apparently lawyer speak for “One of you just got hauled down to the station for questioning in connection with the suspicious circumstances of Bradley’s death.”
I can see how that might strike a sour note. On the plus side, it sounds like not going has opened up a window of opportunity, if I’m reading Sofia right.
“OneP.M.pickup,” she says, stressing the time. “Should last at least an hour, longer if she stays for the reception.” At the door, Sofia pauses to show us her phone. “I’ll text you if anything changes.”
As soon as we’re alone, Felix turns to face me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That depends,” I hedge.
He steps closer, even though there’s no one else around. “We’re breaking into her apartment.” It’s right on the line between a statement and a question.
I shake my head. “No need.”
“But you heard what Sofia said—”
“I have a key.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONETHE BODY WITH THEBADBRILLIANT IDEA
It takes some of the shine off my moment of glory when I explain that my reason for having access to a master key is that I like to play post office, and sometimes a package needs to be taken inside one of the units, especially if the contents require refrigeration. Still, I won’t forget the look of admiration on Felix’s face anytime soon.
“Here I was thinking we’d have to google ‘how to pick a lock,’” he says as we detour to the mail room. “And I don’t even have a credit card. I was going to have to bust out my library card. But no, I have the ultimate partner in crime.”
That reminds me I haven’t filled him in on the latest.
“There’s a new wrinkle in the case. About Bradley.” As opposed to the private investigation Felix and I are conducting, in our own unique fashion.
“What is it?”
“They didn’t tell my grandmother that part. But I guess the EpiPen must have been a red herring”—look at me, busting outthe detective novel slang—“because they don’t seem to care about it anymore. Unless they’re saying that to get someone to let their guard down and incriminate themselves?”
Felix nods as if this is a reasonable possibility. I try to picture floating that theory to my friend Sam and realize it would never happen, because her skepticism is a foregone conclusion. Does that mean Felix is my friend?
And why is that thought vaguely disappointing?
Maybe it’s my competitive side. It feels like Felix and I are playing a new game, and the stakes have something to do with who likes who more. Ithinkthe winner is the one who gets the other person to show their cards first, but it’s like the police always say: I can’t comment further about an ongoing investigation.
The second Sofia confirms via text that she has Bernie in the van, we spring into action.
Felix heads straight for the door of the penthouse. There used to be a Venetian scene painted on the front, courtesy of his grandfather, but all that remains is the ghostly outline of a gondola under a bridge, peeking through a layer of chalky white.
I’m on lookout duty, stationed near the elevator to listen for the sound of someone heading for the top floor. On the slim chance that anyone shows up, our excuse for being here is that Felix wanted to look out the window at the end of the hall for an aerial sketch he’s allegedly doing. And I came with him to… hand him pencils like I’m a nurse and this is an operating room.
Whatever. If any of the residents caught us together, they’d assume we snuck up here for “privacy.” We’d swallow the humiliation and try again later.
I’m so focused on watching the light-up display above the elevator that it takes me a second to wonder why I’m hearing an owl hoot in broad daylight. Inside the building.
When I glance at Felix, he jerks his head at the door, which is now ajar.
