“With a twist,” Felix says, and I follow up like we’ve rehearsed this bit:
“Because you’ll be investigating a real crime.”
Mervyn blinks, taking that in. “I take it you’re referring to Bradley Odell’s death.”
“We think there’s something going on,” I tell him. “With Bernie.”
“Besides the building stuff,” Felix adds.
We go back and forth like that, eventually cobbling together the main point: there’s a chance Claude’s sister knows more than she’s letting on—and we want to find out what it is.
Mervyn is quiet for a long time after we finish. I have a sinking feeling he’s going to say something patronizing like,That’s sweet of you, but we should leave this to the authorities, because of legal reasons x, y, and z.
When he finally lifts his head to look me in the eye, I hold my breath.
“How can I be of service?”
Beside me, Felix exhales like he’s blowing into a noisemaker.
“Mervyn, you’re wonderful,” Grandma Lainey says, which is when we realize she’s been lurking in the doorway.
The praise makes him squirm, ducking his head to hide his face while he fiddles with his bow tie.
“There are two parts to the plan,” I tell him. “First you need to convince her to meet with you, and it has to be in this room.”
“Why not my office? She might be more at ease there.” He catches me glancing at the painting, and I see it hit him. “Ah. You’re going to watch.”
“And record it,” Felix says. “That’s phase two, once you lure her down here.”
Mervyn’s smile is wistful. “Claude would be delighted to know you were using the portrait to save his building.”
It’s my turn to squirm. No pressure! “We had a few ideas for your cover story—”
“Leave that to me,” Mervyn interrupts. “Why don’t I call her right now?”
Grandma Lainey raises an eyebrow as he steps outside.
“What?” I ask.
“I think you’ve unleashed something in Mervyn. He’s not usually that decisive.”
“He’s rising to the occasion,” Mrs. A agrees, wandering in with a bowl of red grapes. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”
“Indeed.” My grandmother helps herself to a few grapes, chewing with a thoughtful expression.
Mervyn returns holding his phone in front of him like a trophy. “She agreed to meet tomorrow at two.”
“And so it begins,” Grandma Lainey intones, as if she’s standing onstage.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWOTHE BODY IN THE MIRROR
Mervyn arrives a little before eleven the next morning. It’s not exactly early, even by my standards. I was almost convinced he’d chickened out, despite Felix’s assurance that true love would conquer all.
“I had some loose ends to tie up first,” Mervyn explains. “But I’m all yours now.”
“Do you have any interest in a facial scar?” Mrs. A asks when she has him in her chair, facing the dressing room mirror. Although he is essentially playing himself, the Castle Claude crew felt he deserved the full experience—and they are ready to deliver. “Not to toot my own horn, but I also do very realistic warts. Just for fun,” she adds when Mervyn looks uncertain. “Or maybe an eye patch?”
“Does she do peg legs, though?” Felix murmurs.
