Chapter Thirteen. The Body in The Resale Store
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE BODY IN THE RESALE STORE
“Go knock on his door already.” Grandma Lainey is watching me from the breakfast table.
I’ve been back and forth to the kitchen four times, trying to decide what I want to eat.
“There’s no reason you can’t make the first move.
Just don’t let Mrs. A see you. She’s gone full Harlequin on this situation. ”
I open my mouth to deny everything, but she’s already looking down at her crossword. “He’s gotten quite handsome, hasn’t he? Looks more and more like his grandfather.” She sighs, probably thinking I won’t notice, but I’m onto her.
“What’s the deal with the two of you?” I pull out the chair opposite hers, grabbing a banana from the bowl in the center of the table.
“Alejandro?” She sets down her pencil before sliding off her reading glasses. “There is no deal. We circled each other a few times over the years, but the timing was never right. Which is why I’m telling you to strike while the iron is hot, if you don’t want to miss your chance.”
Is Mr. Gutierrez—aka Felix’s grandfather—the one who got away? Because it sure sounds like it. I’m dying to hear more about their missed connection, but sharing time appears to be over.
“You’ll need a better excuse than the pool, I’m afraid. They’re cleaning it this morning. Why don’t you ask if he wants to go shopping?”
“And what, get a Frappuccino after? I’m not sure we’re at that stage in our relationship.” Especially considering that train just left Bitter Rivals station.
“You both need something black. For the funeral,” she adds when I look at her blankly.
“We’re going to the funeral?”
“Mervyn thinks it would be a good idea. To calm the waters.” She checks off another clue before filling in the word.
I try to picture myself making polite conversation with a bunch of sad strangers who will inevitably ask how I knew Bradley.
I found his body, actually! Does Felix know about this?
I’m itching to tell him, partly to see his reaction but also so we can commiserate—preferably without an audience.
If only I could text him, like a normal person from this century instead of hopping down the hall like a human carrier pigeon.
It hits me like a thunderclap that I do have his number. Assuming I can find the scrap of paper Felix gave me at the airport.
“I’ve always felt jewel tones suited your complexion,” Grandma Lainey calls after me as I head for the bedroom. I guess that means I should change, once I finish digging through the mound of unwashed clothing spilling from my suitcase. Bingo. Note in hand, I return to the living room for my phone.
What are you doing right now? I type.
When he doesn’t respond, I realize I may have gotten ahead of myself. This is Virginia, by the way.
Now the dots are dancing. And dancing some more. Is he writing a novel or deleting and retyping twenty times?
Tell me something only Virginia would know.
You read depressing books on vacation.
Inconclusive.
He’s left me no choice.
I have a unique suitcase.
I wondered when you were going to start blowing up my phone, Space Cats.
I roll my eyes.
You want to run an errand with me?
More than life itself. Lobby in 10?
When I look up from double tapping a Like, my grandmother raises an eyebrow. “How’s Felix?”
I hesitate, trying to figure out whether the heat in my face has manifested as a blush. Rookie mistake. “I could have been texting anyone.”
It’s the definition of too little, too late, and we both know it. Grandma Lainey’s bangle bracelets clink as she waves off this transparent evasion. “I think not. You were trying too hard not to smile.”
The only retail option in walking distance is the St. Vincent de Paul where I often hunt for missing props.
Since I don’t live here year-round, I’m okay asking the employees if they perchance have any taxidermy or “nautical paraphernalia” in stock, to name a few of the things that have appeared on my shopping list.
Felix peels himself off one of the faux marble columns when I step into the lobby. He looks so happy to see me, I wonder how much of our Ultimate Grandkid Smackdown has been one-sided. It’s humbling to think I’ve been an unreliable narrator of my own life.
“Hi,” I say, like we’re meeting for the first time. It’s sort of true, in the sense that I’m turning over a new and less competitive leaf. “Thanks for meeting me.”
He gives me a funny look. “It was a short trip. Since we live in the same building.”
“Right.” I force a smile. “Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
“After you.” I indicate the revolving door with one arm.
Felix doesn’t move. “Am I being Parent Trapped?”
“Very funny.” I permit myself a small eye roll, to take the edge off.
“It is you.” He clutches the front of his shirt, like he’s having palpitations.
“I can be pleasant.” It sounds a little testy.
Felix watches me with his brows lifted, like he’s waiting for the inevitable but.
“I’m serious. People think I’m nice.”
“Nice,” he echoes, without inflection.
“Easygoing. Ask anyone back home, they’ll tell you.”
“Huh.”
“Huh what?”
“You save it all up for when you’re here.”
I cross my arms, waiting for him to expound on this theory.
“The feistiness. Sass. Whatever you call it.” He points his elbows, like he’s jabbing his way through a crowd.
I’m too surprised to do anything but stand there blinking at him.
Do I hide the sharp parts of myself when I’m at home?
I’ve always thought of it as who I am around Grandma Lainey vs.
the version of me my mom can handle. Am I acting a part even when we’re not playing at murder, or is this the real me, and the daughter who doesn’t make waves is a total phony?
Do I even know myself?
It’s a heavy load for a trip to the thrift store. Thanks a lot, Felix.
“What about you?” I ask, throwing it back on him. It’s a deflection, but I’m also curious. Is he the same person here that he is in real life, or am I seeing the Castle Claude edition?
He drums his chin as he considers. “I think I’m more obnoxious at home.”
“Interesting.”
“Is it?”
“Nah. I’m being polite.”
He grins like I just performed a cute yo-yo trick.
If that’s how he likes it, far be it from me to go easy on him. “Stepmom or stepdad?” I ask, leading the way outside.
“Stepfather.” His tone says I am holding in a lot of negative emotions.
I wait for him to fall in beside me, both of us squinting against the blazing brightness of early afternoon. It’s almost enough to make me wish I’d gotten up earlier. “Has he been in the picture long?”
“Coming up on their one-year anniversary.”
I scramble for a less gloomy response than Good to know it doesn’t get better! “At least you get to leave for college soon.”
“In two more years, you mean?” He turns his head, daring me to spin that.
“It could be worse?” I suck at being Mary Sunshine.
“I think I read that on a poster once.” His tone is thoughtful, like he’s trying to unearth the memory. “There was a kitten, stuck in a tree.”
“At least he wasn’t your algebra teacher, okay?”
That shuts him up. Briefly. “Your mom married your math teacher?”
I shrug, pressing the button for the walk signal with more force than it probably requires. I’m not going to say it twice.
“That’s … wow.”
“Pretty much.” I hope he appreciates the gift I’ve handed him. As far as I’m concerned, the scales are balanced. Was I rude? Oh, I’m sorry. Have these nuclear codes!
He doesn’t speak as we cross the street, maneuvering around a car pulled halfway into the intersection. My guess is he’s cooking up some math jokes. Either that or offering a silent prayer of thanks that he isn’t me.
“It’s always a competition with you, isn’t it?” he finally says, surprising me into a laugh.
I flick my hair off my shoulder. “Checkmate.”
“So is that it, then? All your embarrassing secrets?”
“Why?” I hope he doesn’t hear the undercurrent of What have you heard?
“The rule of three. I wanted to get the whole trifecta of Virginia intel.”
My hesitation is a fraction of a second too long. “Just the suitcase and the stepdad.”
“So far.” He grins, and it gets awkward real quick, like Who even are we right now? Not to mention the risk of walking into traffic with all this eye contact. When I force myself to look away, my gaze lands on a massive sign hanging from the chain link fence to our right.
“Is that Odell as in Bradley Odell?” I raise my arm to point, in case Felix somehow misses the gigantic Odell Property Development logo claiming ownership of this empty lot.
“Whoa.”
“I guess that’s why he introduced himself like that.” I’m playing back my memory of that day at the pool, and the slight emphasis Bradley placed on his last name. Maybe he was used to people recognizing the “Odell” part, and that was my cue to be starstruck.
“Kind of puts it in a different light,” Felix says.
I shake my head, not following.
“What if he wasn’t talking out of his ass? About his Frat Bro Dream Palace. If his family is in property development, he could have been serious.”
“There’s no way. My grandmother would never sell. And I don’t see Bernie giving him her penthouse to be his bachelor pad.”
Felix acknowledges the point with a shrug, without looking remotely convinced.
“But?” I prompt.
“The timing feels suspicious. He talks about wanting the building and then he’s dead.” He snaps his fingers.
“Yeah, but from an allergy attack.”
He holds open the door of the thrift shop and I lunge past him, desperate for a hit of air conditioning.
“Allegedly,” Felix says when we’re both inside.
Is the chill coursing across my skin a premonition, or rapidly drying sweat? It’s too soon to tell.
I follow him to the nearest rack of clothing, though I doubt any of these old T-shirts are funeral appropriate.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Felix says as he flicks through the hangers.