Felix looks at me for permission before answering. “It would be more accurate to say it wound up in the trash.”
“Did someone find it there?” Mervyn looks like he’s waiting for one of us to pull it out of a hat.
I shake my head. “It’s probably at the bottom of a landfill by now. But the fact that we can place it downstairs the day of the murder suggests Bernie was there too, so it could still be a clue.”
“Ah.” Mervyn looks down, and I get the feeling he’s underwhelmed by our logic. I understand where he’s coming from, but also: This is our first time running the show. We’re operating on instinct here.
“If you can help clarify the sequence of events, maybe we’ll learn something useful,” Felix says.
Mervyn sets down his coffee with a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“The main thing is getting her to admit she was with Bradley that morning,” I remind him. “Hopefully that will help us figure out what really happened.”
“The million-dollar question.” Mervyn’s smile is tight with tension.
I worry he’s having second thoughts when he pushes away his plate after barely touching the quiche (which I know for a fact is delicious, having already stress-eaten two pieces).
“I’ll save this for after,” he says. “If I could have a moment alone?”
“Of course. We’ll go check on—”
“All the things,” Felix supplies, when I falter.
“You think he’s okay?” I ask as soon as we’re out of earshot.
“This is his first gig. A little stage fright is natural.”
It’s a reasonable assumption. And yet I can’t help thinking that for such a big fan of all things Castle Claude, Mervyn doesn’t seem eager for the curtain to go up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREETHE BODY IN THE SECRET HIDING PLACE
The utility closet is roomier now that Felix and I have temporarily transferred most of the cleaning supplies to the pantry, but it’s still a tight squeeze with all of us inside. The smell remains ammonia-forward, because Malia’s offer to light some incense sticks seemed incompatible with the “stealth” agenda, considering there’s an open patch of wall between our hiding place and the dining room.
Felix is stationed behind one of the painting’s eyes, and we have a phone duct-taped to the other, so we can get a video recording, which will also play on my laptop, so no one will be tempted to ask him to narrate. Meanwhile, I’ll be on a voice call to Mervyn’s hidden phone. We downloaded an app that will let us record it on my phone, though the odds that I have also installed spyware seem high. We’re not exactly the NSA, but it was the best we could do with the technology at hand.
“No talking,” Grandma Lainey reminds everyone. She scribbles something on the dry-erase board we’ll be using for silent communication, then holds it up so Malia can read the message:AND NO SINGING.
Malia gives a solemn nod of agreement.
We all freeze at the familiar groan of the elevator descending. I hit the button to call Mervyn, flashing a thumbs-up when it beeps to connect. Both phones are on speaker but mine is muted, a setting I double-check yet again, because the last thing we need is for someone to sneeze in the utility room and cause Mervyn to utter a random “Gesundheit.”
Judging by the background static, his phone is sliding into the vase of dried flowers we placed on the table for this purpose, next to a tea service and plate of cookies. Setting the table was the easy part. It took a solid hour of rearranging before we all agreed on the orientation of the furniture relative to the painting, with Mrs. A and Mr. Namura standing in for Bernie and Mervyn. Here’s hoping she doesn’t go rogue and decide to sit somewhere outside the range of the camera because we are rolling.
I nod at Felix to let him know the image from the phone’s camera is also showing up on the screen of my laptop. He holds up both hands to show his crossed fingers. My stomach lurches. Maybe we should have kept one of the buckets back here, just in case.
Mervyn is muttering what might be a prayer or a vocal warm-up or lines he’s trying to memorize. The actual words are unintelligible.
There’s a flicker of movement on the screen of the phone; a second later, Mervyn clears his throat.
“Thank you for joining me.” His voice is reassuringly steady. He pulls out a chair for Bernie, who hesitates like she wasn’t expecting such a chivalrous gesture.
Nice, I silently commend Mervyn. He got her in the right chair and flattered her vanity.
“I was curious,” she says as she sits. “Why would you want to meet after stonewalling me for so long?”
“I’ve been thinking about your offer.”
“Really?”
