“I’m still glad we got out of there before we accidentally fessed up to breaking and entering.”
“Can you imagine that phone call to Mervyn? ‘Hey, I know you’re busy trying to save Castle Claude, but could you come down to the station and help us make bail?’”
I stop walking. “You think they would have arrested us?”
“If he called Bernie, she would have for sure pressed charges.”
My heart is beating too fast. I rub a hand over the left side of my chest, trying to manually slow it down. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a real-life detective.
“Let’s go home,” Felix says, like he can smell the panic wafting off me. “I’ll make you lunch. We need to figure out our next move.”
“Are we allowed to use the kitchen or is it still a potential crime scene?”
“We can go to my grandad’s.” His brow furrows as if he too has suddenly been struck by the question of whether this constitutes a forward step in our relationship. “Do you like a grilled ham and cheese? I make it with extra pickles.”
Or not.
CHAPTER THIRTYTHE BODY WITH THE PANINI
It’s been a while since I saw the inside of Mr. Gutierrez’s place, so the first thing I do is check to see what’s changed.
“New school picture?” I ask, spotting the eight-by-ten frame from across the living room.
“That’s not for public consumption.” He tries to dart ahead of me, but I lean to the right to block him before he can hide the evidence.
“It can’t be worse than the old one.” The clip-on tie and transition lenses combo would have been hard for a movie star to pull off, much less your average middle schooler.
“You’d be surprised. That photographer is evil.”
On closer inspection, I’m sorry to report that it’s not an embarrassing picture, if you overlook the background. “Do they have a lot of red barns in Atlanta?”
“I wanted the lasers,” Felix grumbles. “They vetoed me.”
I assume “they” means his mother and stepfather. “This way you’ll always remember those happy days on the farm.”
“I should wear overalls next year. That would show them.” He takes the frame out of my hand and sets it face down on the coffee table.
“At least now you know the old picture wasn’t my final form.” It sounds like a joke, if you overlook the faint blush.
Taking mercy on him, I walk over to the breakfast nook, where a series of mismatched round and oval frames lines the wall behind the table. “I don’t remember these.”
“Grandpa got inspired after Claude asked him to paint his going-away picture.” Felix joins me in inspecting a small portrait of Mr. Namura. “It was mostly landscapes and animals before.”
I make a show of looking at all of them, but of course I’m most interested in Grandma Lainey’s. The lines are loose and a little dreamy, so it’s hard to say whether it’s from a month ago or a decade. What I can tell is that it was painted by someone who thinks my grandmother is pretty great.
It’s tempting to press Felix to see what he knows about their history, but that would be a delicate operation. Me (super casual):Was your grandpa into my grandma? And while we’re on the subject, what exactly are your feelings about me?
“Is your grandfather home?” Even that sounds strange now that I’ve said it. Why do I care if we’re here alone? “In case he’s taking a nap or something,” I add, making it 20 percent more awkward.
“Let me check.” Felix disappears down the hall. I hear a light knock, followed by the sound of a door creaking open. “Nope,” he says, rejoining me. “He’s probably at the pool doing his exercises. The doctor gave him a hard time about not being active enough.”
“Did he tell him about Killing Me Softly?”
“You know, I’m not sure he did mention to his doctor that he’s a murder LARPer. That would have been a fascinating conversation.”
I pull up a barstool as Felix heads into the kitchen to make our lunch. “So,” I say, watching him sling cold cuts and mustard onto the counter.
“So,” he echoes, dragging a skillet out of the drawer under the stove.
