“My God, she’s slow,” Grandma Lainey hisses. Beside her, Mrs. A facepalms.
“It used to grow here,” Mervyn says. “A climbing vine. I kept a cutting when they tore it down. It does very well as a houseplant, if you’re careful.”
The words seem to be directed mostly at his hidden audience, though Bernie is finally catching up.
“You… tried to kill me?” She casts a terrified glance at her teacup, covering her mouth with one hand.
“No.” Mervyn sighs. “I tried to make you ill enough to need medical attention, so you’d leave the building and void your claim to Claude’s apartment.”
“That’s evil!”
“You tried to coerce me into hurting my friends. I was desperate. And it’s not as if your hands are clean.” Mervyn is done playing nice. “Why didn’t you call for help when Bradley was dying?”
“It happened too fast! And there was no one here I trusted.”
“Or maybe you were thinking about yourself, and how much easier your life would be if Bradley and his plan went away?”
“I’m not going to sit here and be judged by a filthy murderer.” She stands and starts for the door.
“You’re right,” Mervyn says.
Bernie stops where she is, head cocked.
“I did something morally reprehensible,” Mervyn continues. “It was my mistake, and I own it.”
At that, she turns around to stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“Taking responsibility for my actions.”
“I thought you had to be smart to go to law school. Why would you admit that? I could take that straight to the police.”
“Because I believe in justice, and there should be consequences for breaking the law.”
In the utility closet, there are nods of approval—either of the words themselves or Mervyn’s stirring delivery. Grandma Lainey sighs. I think we all recognize that this scene has come to an end.
Until Detective Ortiz strides into the dining room. Mr. Namura grabs the message board to write:DUN DUN DUN!
“That was fast.” Mervyn glances at the painting, and I don’t think it’s my imagination that he looks hurt. As if we’d sell him down the river without so much as a farewell debrief.
“I’m looking for Alejandro Gutierrez,” the detective says, ignoring the unconventional greeting.
“You’re not here for me?” Mervyn is too startled to be careful.
“Not unless you’re an art thief,” Detective Ortiz replies, deadpan as always.
Mervyn frowns. “I don’t follow.”
“We found the missing paintings,” the detective explains. “I need him to confirm we recovered all of them.”
“Missing—” Mervyn breaks off to glare at Bernie. “You tried to sell Claude’s paintings?” Another thought strikes him. “Is that what you asked Bradley to handle for you?”
“You tried to murder me!” she fires back, pointing at him.
Detective Ortiz opens his mouth, but they talk over him.
“Those paintings weren’t yours to sell,” Mervyn tells her. “As I clearly informed you. Claude stipulated that his art collection was to remain the property of the building in perpetuity, andyou—” He falters before continuing, as if he can’t quite believe it. “You violated the terms of the will.”
Her mouth hangs open.
