Chapter Sixteen. The Body at The Strip Mall
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE BODY AT THE STRIP MALL
The lawyer’s offices I’ve seen on TV are in corporate towers with gleaming marble lobbies and uniformed security guards, so I’m not expecting the strip mall storefront with a simple glass door. It reminds me of my optometrist’s office.
A bell rings as we enter, and a receptionist in a patchwork smock looks up from the origami paper she’s folding at her desk.
Her earrings resemble bird nests, adding to the impression that she’s sitting in the boughs of a tree, thanks to the number of plants hanging from the ceiling or sprouting from massive ceramic pots.
“Can I help you?” she asks as we hesitantly cross the few feet of industrial carpet.
“We’re here to see Mr. Preszler.” I expect a follow-up question about whether he’s expecting us or why two teenagers need a lawyer, but no.
“Let me see if he’s at his desk. He was in the bathroom a minute ago.
I told him not to have the peppers on his sandwich, but some people learn the hard way.
” She picks up the chunky phone shoved to one side of her desk.
“Hey Merv. I have a couple of kids here to see you. Hold on.” Placing a hand over the receiver, she looks up at us. “What are your names?”
“Felix Gutierrez and Virginia Tillis,” I inform her. “From Castle Claude.”
She relays the information through the phone, and a few seconds later a door opens on the rear wall.
“Come in, come in.” Mervyn holds the door for us. Today’s bow tie sports orange flowers on a yellow background. “What can I do for you two?”
He waves us toward a pair of chairs on the other side of an antique wooden desk.
The office feels like an overstuffed attic.
Instead of diplomas, the walls are covered in art.
Paintings, bits of weaving, some carved wood …
it’s sending a message that Mr. Preszler is not like other lawyers.
He’s a cool lawyer. There are more plants in here, lining the windowsills and filling an entire metal shelving unit.
I’m tempted to ask if he has a side hustle running a garden center on weekends.
It’s an interesting contrast with his buttoned-up personal style.
Felix waits for me to sit before taking the other chair. He shoots me a your turn look, since apparently we’re tag teaming this expedition.
“We had some questions we were hoping you could answer. About wills. And inheritances. And condos.” My attempt to sound mature lands closer to word salad, but oh well.
“I see.” Mervyn steeples his fingers. “You want to know if you’re the beneficiaries of your grandparents’ wills?”
“No,” I splutter. “It’s about Claude—and his sister. That will.”
“Ah.” He swivels in his chair, staring out the window. “You’re wondering why he left her his share of the building?”
Felix catches my eye, shrugging slightly. This wasn’t in our top three questions, but it feels like useful information to have.
“Yes,” he says with his best choirboy smile. “Definitely.”
Is it weird that I can tell Felix’s real smile from the fake one?
“The short answer is that Claude didn’t know his sister well. They hadn’t spoken in years. She never approved of his lifestyle.”
“Because he was gay or she thought Castle Claude was weird?” I ask.
“Both, I suppose. Claude told me his sister had always aspired to be part of the local high society, such as it is. The country club set. She didn’t marry until later in life, when she finally found someone who fit her ideal—the right kind of person, with the right kind of money.
And then she threw herself into her husband’s family with both feet. ”
“Bradley’s family,” Felix translates.
Mervyn nods. “When her husband died a few years later, Claude wanted to go to the funeral, but she refused. I doubt any of them knew she had a brother, until there was something to be gained from him.”
I’m surprised by the bitterness in his voice, but not because I blame him for disliking Claude’s sister. It’s unusual to hear one adult talk like that about another. As if he’s realized the same thing, Mervyn sighs.
“To answer your original question, Claude was a dreamer. He believed his sister would come around. Learn to love his home and his friends, and vice versa—which is why he wanted her to give it at least three months.” He smiles at me.
“Your grandmother would have set him straight. I’m sure that’s why he didn’t tell her what he had planned. ”
That tracks. Grandma Lainey is nothing if not persuasive, in a bulldozing way.
“I did what I could,” Mervyn continues, “encouraging Claude to include several express conditions precedent to her inheritance.”
“Like what?” Felix asks.
“Protections for the things he valued. She can’t take Zenobia to an animal shelter, for example.
Or interfere with any of the other bequests.
Still, I regret not letting your grandmother know about the terms of the will while there was time to change Claude’s mind,” Mervyn muses, tapping a pen against his palm.
“The circumstances might have been different then.”
Felix side-eyes me, and I suspect we’re both wondering if this elderly lawyer is lost in a romantic daydream. I guess it’s up to me to pour cold water on him.
“So she can’t actually take over the whole building, right? Claude’s sister.”
Mervyn sits up sharply. “Why do you ask?”
“Just how she talks, and acts.” I break off, not sure how to support my claim. A lot of it is gut feeling, slapped together with some overbearing remarks about window treatments.
“Oh, that,” Mervyn says, polite but dismissive. “I’m afraid it’s her personality. Claude got all the people skills in that family.”
“Speaking of family,” Felix jumps in. “She’s not the only one who was nosing around. There’s also her nephew. Was, I mean.” He flushes. “Bradley seemed suspiciously interested in Castle Claude. And not because his aunt lived there.”
“You think he was serious?” I ask Felix, wishing he’d mentioned this before our meeting with Mervyn. “Not just trying to act like Mr. Big Shot with his condo fantasies?”
“I think he’s the kind of guy who believed every half-baked idea that passed through his head was solid gold.”
It looks like the peppers from lunch are repeating on Mervyn. “That’s much more concerning.”
“Really?” I glance at Felix to see if he’s picked up on something I missed. “Even though he’s, you know, deceased?”
“His wealthy father, however, is very much alive and known to be litigious. He likes suing people,” Mervyn explains, when we look at him blankly.
“Claude’s sister doesn’t have the resources to be a real threat.
I wouldn’t worry about her. No, it’s the Odells we need to watch.
I should put in a call to that detective. ”
Our expressions must betray us, because Mervyn sends me a questioning look.
“Detective Ortiz came by the building the other day,” I explain. “The police are looking for Bradley’s EpiPen.”
Mervyn makes a considering sound. “Then it was an allergic reaction.”
“Is that … unexpected?” I wonder what he knows that we don’t. “I mean, was there another possibility?”
“As a lawyer, it’s my job to worry about all eventualities.”
It’s an ambiguous response. I glance at Felix, who shrugs. “Is that good or bad? For us.” Obviously it was very bad for Bradley.
“A preexisting condition is preferable to the alternative, but it’s a question of degrees of legal jeopardy. We’re not in the clear yet.”
“If he died of an allergy attack, that’s not anybody’s fault,” Felix prompts. “Right?”
“They could still allege some form of criminal negligence.” Mervyn makes a note on his yellow pad.
“Any basic safety protocols that weren’t followed, or a failure to maintain the property according to building codes, resulting in gross bodily injury—or worse.
It’s more common in cases where someone tripped and hit their head or fell into a puddle of noxious chemicals. Things like that.”
“But our grandparents must have insurance? That’s like basic adult skills.” I lean forward, so the reassurance will reach me that much faster. “They have to know about that stuff from running a business.”
There is a pause, during which I sense we’re all reflecting on that crew’s aversion to anything smacking of admin.
“I want you to know that I care deeply for—everyone at Castle Claude,” Mervyn says, after a telling pause.
“They had a formative influence on my life. Claude was the one who encouraged me to go to law school. I was working at the daily paper, a lowly general assignment reporter, when they sent me to review a show at this murder mystery dinner theater across town.” He lapses into a reverie, smiling softly to himself.
“I was enchanted. It was hard to believe people like that wanted to bother with someone like me. And the chicken was outstanding.”
I nod, trying not to be impatient with this trip down memory lane.
“And then it all came full circle. By the time I graduated, Claude needed a lawyer to help with the contracts and tenancy agreements for their new home. Playing even a small role in bringing Castle Claude to life remains one of my proudest achievements. It’s easy to become cynical in this field, but Castle Claude is an oasis of beauty and fellowship in a cold hard world.
I’d even imagined that one day I might have a chance to …
well, that’s neither here nor there.” He glances around his office, but I’m not sure he’s seeing the cluttered walls.
“If you’ll permit an old man to speak from the heart, there are far more important things in life than money and status.
Art, for one. And love.” His mouth softens as he looks from me to Felix. “As I suspect you two already know.”
I’m frozen for a second, the mortification surrounding me like a block of ice. “We’re not together,” I manage to choke out.
“But I have hopes.” Felix reaches for my hand. I yank my arm out of range.
“What’s the best-case scenario here?” My tone is brisk, as if the last few seconds never happened.
Mervyn thinks for a minute. “Claude’s sister wins the lottery and moves to Palm Beach, and the Odell family spontaneously forgets your grandparents’ building exists.”
“I guess she can’t sell until the three months are up?” It’s one of the many thoughts that have been scrabbling at the back of my brain, waiting for their chance to worry me. “She already hated it, and then her nephew died there.” Even I’ve been spooked, and I adore every inch of Castle Claude.
“Correct,” Mervyn agrees. “And she doesn’t have the funds to buy into another development.”
“Wasn’t she married to someone rich?” I ask.
“There was a strong prenup. Most of his estate—including the family home—went to the children from his first marriage. And then she made some unwise investments. No, she’ll be looking to profit as much as possible from her brother’s passing.”
As if that wasn’t enough of a downer, Felix decides to ask a follow-up. “So what’s the worst-case scenario?”
“A protracted lawsuit that drags on until Castle Claude is bankrupt, at which point they’ll be forced to sell the building to pay their taxes.” Mervyn softens the words with a sigh.
I swallow, but my voice still comes out scratchy. “Could that happen?”
“It’s a tactic that’s been used before,” he admits. “Among the more predatory style of developers.”
“Like Bradley’s family?” Felix asks.
“We won’t let it come to that,” Mervyn assures us, once again sidestepping a direct answer.
“But if it did, they could lose the whole building?” I press.
Mervyn leans forward. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” I get the feeling he’s picturing himself riding up to Castle Claude on a white horse to joust with Grandma Lainey’s enemies.
I don’t want to crush his dreams, so I box up my freaked-out feelings for now. “What can we do to help?”
To my relief, he doesn’t give us the standard Leave it to the grown-ups.
“Encourage everyone at the Castle to keep their heads down. Their behavior needs to be above suspicion. They are but a humble group of retired actors, quoting Shakespeare. Going on garden tours. That sort of thing.”
“You want them to pretend to be normal,” Felix clarifies.
Mervyn nods. “A harmless community living quietly in an out-of-the-way building. Nothing to see there.” He smiles as I imagine a grandfather would, crinkly and comforting. “Remember you can call on me at any time. I’m here to help.”
When we leave Mervyn’s office, neither of us speaks right away. It’s a lot to take in—danger on all sides, but hey! It might turn out fine.
I wish I were a lawyer, or a millionaire, or a detective, so I could fix this for them.
“I know I promised you ice cream, but would you settle for frozen yogurt?” Felix points at a neon sign in the next strip mall over.
“I thought that was a ploy.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” He waggles his brows.
It feels like I should instinctively know if he’s referring to the fake dating or the frozen dessert, but the odds strike me as about fifty-fifty, so I shake my head. “What do you think he was going to say? About Castle Claude. He imagined himself living there one day?”
“That was my guess. Kind of awkward to admit you’re waiting for one of your dear friends to kick it so you can have their apartment.”
“Maybe he was hoping he could get the penthouse? Or buy it from Bernie.”
“How old do you think our guy Merv is?” Felix asks as we traverse the scrubby median between parking lots.
“Sixty-something, maybe?” I’m a little hazy in the forty-to-seventy range.
“And how old is your grandmother?”
“In her seventies. Why?”
“Just trying to picture it. Your grandmother is a woman of the world, he’s young and desperate to impress, possibly already wearing a bow tie—unless that came later.
” He steps around a clump of spiky weeds.
“And even beyond the age difference, she runs a theater company and he’s a critic. They’re basically sworn enemies.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why he decided to become a lawyer. He knew they could never be together as long as he was in the news biz. It was a conflict of interest.”
“They’re still not together,” I point out.
“I know. I wonder what happened. Maybe lawyers aren’t supposed to date their clients, either. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? In a sad way.”
I tap him on the shoulder. When Felix turns, I bring my palms together in front of his face, until there’s a gap just wider than his forehead. “Focus, Nicholas Sparks.”
“You’re right.” He holds the door open for me to enter first. “We’ll eat fast.”
I guess this is what passes for Felix in business mode. It’s also true that Sofia doesn’t like open containers of food in the van, and my cognitive functioning always improves with soft serve.
Besides, an extra twenty minutes is hardly going to be enough to make things weirder at Castle Claude.