Felix shrugs. “Anything for you, Snookums.”
CHAPTER THREETHE BODY IN THE DINING ROOM
Once upon a time, there was a mid-budget hotel that had fallen into disrepair. After Claude convinced his nearest and dearest—including Grandma Lainey and, apparently, Felix’s grandpa—to join him in converting it to a condo, they knocked down a bunch of interior walls to make separate apartments and painted the outside to match Claude’s favorite bird, the roseate spoonbill (picture a smaller flamingo).
I don’t want to get too deep in the weeds about things like wallpaper and curtains, because we’re here for the reading of a will, not Interior Design 101. On the other hand, the stylings at Castle Claude are more like Advanced Decorating for the Dramatically Inclined, so they deserve an introduction.
In Florida, the faux chateaux aesthetic is almost as iconic as flip-flops, and since none of the residents had what my grandmother calls “vanilla tastes,” they kept the turrets and murals and ornate stone doodads designed to trick tourists into thinking they were at the Magic Kingdom. As a kid I thought it wasthe fanciest building in the world, a place that made me glamorous by extension. No one else I knew had a grandparent with an indoor fountain in their foyer, complete with larger-than-life peacock statue. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I learned the difference between real antiques and what Grandma Lainey describes as “bordello-meets-JCPenney” knockoffs.
I still love it, even if the aesthetic is the opposite of subtle. It fits with my grandmother’s commitment to what she calls “a life lessboredinary,” one of the many areas in which she and my mom don’t see eye to eye.
Once you get past the revolving door, the general layout of the ground floor is: lobby (with fountain); a front desk and small office, mostly used as a mail station; library; billiards room (more for style points than actually playing pool); music room; a communal dining room that doubles as an event space; and a kitchen with a full butler’s pantry. Out back there’s a pool, but we’ll talk more about that later.
There’s no sign of Sports Car Guy inside the building. I quickly forget his existence when I see my grandmother. She’s wearing one of her Pucci scarves, a kaleidoscopic swirl of pink and purple, and her short spiky hair looks like it’s been freshly dyed to match. It clashes beautifully with her bright red pantsuit.
“My darling girl,” she says, folding me into a hug. “That dress was made for you.”
This is the kind of thing my grandmother knows. Which features to play up, what clothes to wear, when a sequined evening bag is appropriate for the occasion. I suck in a lungful of her perfume (Shalimar, because of course she has a signature scent), holding on a little longer than usual. I’m comforting her about losing one of her best friends but also reassuring myself.Claude was older than Grandma Lainey, but his death is a reminder that people don’t live forever.
Sensing someone hovering behind us, I pull away. Felix is watching our reunion like it’s on his favorite YouTube channel.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“I should have guessed.” He’s totally casual, like I didn’t bust him staring.
“Guessed what?”
“That Mrs. Tillis is your grandmother.” He waves hello at Grandma Lainey.
Whether he means it as a compliment or not, I’ve always wanted to be like my grandmother, so the joke’s on him.
“How astute of you to notice,” she says, adjusting the enamel brooch on her lapel. “I’ve always felt that Virginia takes after me in the je ne sais quoi department.”
“Claro que si,” Felix replies with a head dip that reads like a bow. “I better go find my grandpa.”
“Alejandro is in the dining room.” There’s something different about the way she says Mr. Gutierrez’s first name. It’s not one of those exaggeratedI know a foreign languagepronunciations, but I get the feeling she enjoys the play of syllables. Even if I were the type of person who called adults by their first name, I would never be able to do it like that.
Grandma Lainey watchesAlejandro’sgrandson depart, humming under his breath. “He’s grown up a lot. Especially since that unfortunate school picture.”
I make a noncommittalhmph, like I haven’t given Felix’s appearance any thought whatsoever.
When we reach the dining room, Grandma Lainey veers right, saying she needs to have a quick word with someone. Her across-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Applebaum, better known as Mrs.A, waves at me, pointing to the seats she’s saved in the front row. The space is configured differently today, the round dining tables pushed to the sides and the upholstered chairs arranged in two columns. At the front, an easel draped in a sheet stands in front of a long buffet table stacked with gift-wrapped packages.
I suspect that last detail is a Claude-ism, because they don’t do it like this in movies and TV shows. The reading of a will is always ultra serious, with everyone listening solemnly until the shocking twist is revealed. A secret love child, or a millionaire leaving her entire estate to her purse dog. Definitely no ribbons and bows.
“Nice dress,” says a voice to my left. It’s the guy from the red sports car, staring at my legs so intently I wish I’d clanked in here wearing the suit of armor from the lobby.
“Your manners are as bad as your driving,” Sofia snaps, appearing at my side. “What a creep.”
“Hey, don’t I know you?” the creep calls out as we walk away. “Were you a Chi Omega girl?”
“How long do you think it’ll take him to realize we’re not having a conversation?” Sofia asks me as we take our seats.
Felix leans forward from the row behind us. “A frat bro. Who would have guessed?”
I glance back, keeping my face impassive. Admitting he’s funny is too big a risk until I know where we stand in the hierarchy of favorite grandkids.
Sports Car Guy winks at me, and my face must be a mask of YUCK because the woman next to him narrows her eyes. She’s dressed all in black, like she’s the most important mourner—though if that were the case, she would have gotten Claude’s memo about wearing color. Shaking her head, she turns her attention to the painted ceiling, which—judging byher expression—also fails to meet with her approval. Maybe she thinks the cherubs should be showing less skin.
