Or grieve, I remind myself. Not that Bradley is any more dead than he was before, but this has to be another shock for his family. Probably I should have thought of that sooner, but my head is in a different place.
A murder happened in this building. That’s upsetting enough, but there’s something worse beyond it—a logical conclusion I’m trying my hardest not to reach.
Someone here is a murderer.
I don’t realize I’m waiting for something until my grandmother puts a hand to her temple and I notice the tremor in her fingers. This is the moment Grandma Lainey is supposed to rally everyone with a motivational speech.Courage, friends! We’ll get through this together because we’re a family, and family sticks together!
Except more eloquent.
When I glance around the room at the familiar faces of the Castle Claude crew, I can tell I’m not the only one who needs reassurance. They look not defeated exactly, but somehow… diminished? It’s one of those moments when I’m suddenly reminded that my grandmother and her friends are older, and not just by a few years. There are things I can do that they can’t, like run up and down the stairs or read ingredient labels at the grocery store.
“Migraine?” Mrs. A asks. My grandmother nods.
“I need to take a brief intermission. We’ll reconvene shortly.” Her lips are white, eyes narrowed as if the light hurts them.
Mervyn looks like he wants to rush to her aid, but his attention is needed elsewhere.
“I’ll take you upstairs,” I tell Grandma Lainey, before anyone else can volunteer. When I give her my arm, she leans on me so hard I can tell how much of an effort she’s making to hold it together in front of her friends.
“Do you need help?” Felix asks.
I shake my head. My grandmother wouldn’t want him to see her in a weak moment.
Besides, one of us needs to stay here, in case something else goes horribly wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTHE BODY ON THE LIST OF SUSPECTS
I’m not surprised by the soft tap on the door later that evening, though I am a little disappointed he didn’t bring food.
“Is your grandmother okay?” Felix whispers when I answer.
“She took her migraine medicine and went to bed. Do you want to come in?”
“It won’t bother her?”
“We could sit on the balcony.”
He nods, and I open the door wider. As he steps past, I notice the sketch pad under his arm—the one with all the notes from our previous detective work. Felix waits until we’re on the other side of the sliding glass door to make his case.
“Hear me out. Who has more experience than we do at investigating murders?”
“Uh, presumably the police? Who are definitely more impartial?” Even as I say it, I know the truth is murkier. You don’t act out this many mysteries without understanding that humanbehavior is wildly unpredictable. But that doesn’t mean I want to look at my grandmother and her friends as potential murderers.
“Okay, let me put it another way. Who’s really good at solving crimesanddoesn’t want to see our grandparents kicked out of their home so a rich guy can get richer?”
Maybe all I’ve been waiting for is someone to give me permission, because my objections crumple like a piece of foil. “Where do we start?”
As is so often the case, the answer is online. Literally.
“The top reasons people commit murder are greed, revenge, and fear,” Felix reads from whatever search result he’s decided to click on. “Let’s start by asking ourselves who stood to gain from Bradley’s death.”
It gives me no pleasure to point out the obvious. “Anyone who was going to be kicked out to make way for the overgrown frat zone?”
“Only if they knew about it,” Felix counters. “We need to narrow down the list.” He opens the sketchbook, flipping past our previous entries. It appears he’s drawn portraits for several of the profiles since I saw them last. Which is odd, since we both know what everyone here looks like.
I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “Can I see the pictures?”
“I was just doodling. It’s nothing relevant.” His blush suggests otherwise.
