Chapter Thirty-Two. The Body in The Mirror
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE 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.
I lean closer, and he hunches to bring his ear to my level. “I’m holding out for a parrot.”
We’re both a little slaphappy, because it’s hard to believe this is actually happening. At the same time, outlandish scenarios are the norm around here, so there’s a real tug-of-war between “weirded out” and “business as usual.”
“Perhaps a simple evening jacket,” Mervyn tells Mrs. A. “And an ascot.”
“So that’s how you level up a bow tie,” Felix observes.
I give him an ironic once over. “Looks like you have your next picture-day outfit in the bag.”
Grandma Lainey wanders into the dressing room, followed so closely by Mr. Gutierrez that it’s hard not to imagine they were somewhere together, talking about subjects unknown.
“Doesn’t he look wonderful?” Mrs. A gives the ascot a final adjustment.
“Very dashing,” my grandmother agrees, moving closer to the mirror so she can look Mervyn in the eye. “Thank you again.”
“Don’t thank me.” He looks genuinely uncomfortable. “I wish I could do more.”
“I think this qualifies as above and beyond,” my grandmother says.
“It should never have gone this far. I feel responsible for not protecting you—all of you—from a situation like this.”
“Repeat after me,” Grandma Lainey instructs Mervyn. “‘Well, hell, I’ll just have to forgive myself.’”
I can tell from the twitching of his lips that Mervyn is familiar with this saying of my grandmother’s, which loosely translates to Time to suck it up and move on.
“I’ll do my best,” he says.
She gives him a mock-stern nod. “See that you do.”
When I look away from the moment they’re having, I notice that Mr. Gutierrez has also averted his gaze. “I’m going to check the mail,” he says.
“Love triangle?” Felix mouths when his grandfather leaves.
I roll my eyes, like I wasn’t thinking the same thing. A new addition to the list of experiences I didn’t expect to have this summer: being my grandma’s wingwoman.
After Mrs. A drapes a smock over Mervyn to protect his clothes, he accepts a slice of quiche and a cup of coffee from Mr. Namura. I hand Mervyn his character card so he can study while he eats.
“Sorry I didn’t have this for you sooner.” It was almost like the homework curse: The more you know you need to get something done, the harder it is to start. I watch him read the lines Felix and I agonized over last night, the words playing in my head from memory.
Your role: Mervyn Preszler, lawyer/actor
Notable props: Straw hat; dapper neckwear
Objective(s): 1. Find out where Bernie was the day of the murder, so we can report to Detective Ortiz and introduce reasonable doubt about the circumstances of Bradley Odell’s death. 2. Prevent a lawsuit by the Odell family. 3. Save Castle Claude.
PS: Ask her about the cup.
Mervyn studies the card, eyes narrowed in concentration, until he reaches the postscript. “What’s this?” he asks, frowning at the last line.
I feel bad, because we’re already asking him to do so much, and it sounds like that addendum might push him over the edge. On the other hand, we are too curious to let it go.
“You know that big cup she was always carrying?” Felix indicates the size with both hands.
“What about it?” There is the slightest hint of impatience in Mervyn’s voice, as if he suspects us of leading him off on a pointless tangent.
“It went missing that day,” I explain. “In a manner of speaking. Could be a coincidence, but also maybe not?”
“What do you mean it went missing?” he asks.
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.