“My grandpa might be losing his sight.” Felix shoots me a pleading look, but he doesn’t have to ask me to keep this betweenthe two of us. “That’s what the appointment was about, the other day.”
“And he’s an artist.” It’s not the most tactful response, but Felix nods like that was his first thought too.
“We don’t know how much longer he’ll be able to paint. At some point, the work he’s already done—that’s going to be it. I guess that’s why I lost it when I saw his painting at the thrift store. Like it was a worthless piece of junk.”
“Your grandfather’s art is amazing. If somebody did that to my grandmother, it would be my villain origin story.”
Felix smiles a little, like he’s relieved to know we’re both ready to throw down for our grandparents. “He can’t lose this place, on top of everything else,” he says quietly, tracing the rim of the plate with his thumb.
I nudge it toward him, silently encouraging him to have the last pastelito. “Then we need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I guess we could chain ourselves to the front doors.”
That suggestion immediately gets filed underFelix is in his feelings. “Or,” I counter, “we could find out what’s really going on.”
“How?”
“It all comes back to the building, right?”
He nods.
“So maybe we should talk to someone in the business. Thebuildingbusiness,” I add, when he doesn’t respond.
“Please don’t judge me, but all I can hear right now is theBob the Buildersong.”
I grit my teeth to keep from humming along. “I’m talking about Bradley’s dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTHE BODY IN THE CORNER OFFICE
Our cover story is simple: We are high school students who want to do an informational interview with Mr. Odell due to our burning interest in property development.
Technically it’s the truth, though not in the career-day sense I imply while talking to his executive assistant, a sweet woman named Carlie who calls me “hon.” Right now, Felix and Iarefascinated by the process of buying land and knocking down buildings in order to replace them with newer, more expensive buildings, at least in this specific patch of Florida.
It’s also true that we are—or were—acquainted with Bradley, a fact I unintentionally blurt out when Carlie asks how we heard about Mr. Odell. I mumble something about guest speakers and a fictional Intro to Business class.
“I tell you what, hon. Let me see what I can do. Mr. Odell’s schedule is light the rest of this week, since we weren’t sure he’d be in at all. Sometimes keeping busy is the best thing for a broken heart.”
I make a noise that sounds like agreement, drawing on the deep well of life experience gained during my sixteen years on the planet.
“Hold on a sec.” There’s a click and then the hold music starts. Felix widens his eyes in a silent question. I hold up crossed fingers.
“Katie?” Carlie says, since that’s the name I gave her. “He can see you at two o’clock. I told him you were friends of Bradley’s,” she reports, dropping her voice like that part is our little secret.
Mr. Odell doesn’t look like his son. I don’t realize I’ve been expecting a salt-and-pepper version of Bradley until his father stands up from behind his desk to shake our hands. At least we won’t be interviewing the older model of a person I last saw dead.
It’s not only that Bradley’s dad is shorter and less muscular. His face has a completely different shape, his features broader and sort of mushy, though his eyes are sharp. I’m guessing Bradley must have taken after his mother, until Mr. Odell says, “Carlie tells me you knew my stepson.”
“We’re sorry for your loss.” It comes out in a single rushed breath. Felix nods as if to say,Ditto. I suspect we’re both working through the same chain of thought: stepson, but they have the same last name. He must have adopted Bradley.
Mr. Odell lowers his chin, a manly acknowledgement of our condolences. “That’s why I agreed to see you. This one’s for Bradley.” He points an index finger at the ceiling.
At first I think he’s telling us we get one question and then we’re out on our asses, but then I realize he’s indicating theheavenly realm, where perhaps he imagines Bradley looking down on us with a fond smile.
“Thank you.” My throat is bone dry. I should have taken Carlie up on her offer of bottled water.
“That’s big of you,” Felix adds.
Mr. Odell spins his chair to face him. “What are your interests?”
