Chapter Thirty-Four. The Body with The Shocking Twist
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE BODY WITH THE SHOCKING TWIST
Silence fills the utility closet like packing peanuts. Did he just say what it sounded like he said?
Mr. Namura grabs the whiteboard from Mrs. A, scribbling on it before holding it up for everyone to see.
WTF …
“You see what he’s doing?” Grandma Lainey whispers.
I shake my head, clinging to a faint hope that the answer will be Telling an outrageous lie to trick Claude’s sister into a confession.
Mrs. A passes the message board to my grandmother, holding a finger to her lips. The marker squeaks as she scrawls, VILLAIN MONOLOGUE.
She’s right, of course. That is what’s happening, which means that … Mervyn is the murderer? Mervyn of the bow ties and hopeless crush on my grandmother? Mervyn who was ready to help us every step of the way, except apparently not?
“What are you talking about?” Bernie snaps on the other side of the wall. “I told you: It was Crystal Light. Nothing else. It’s what I always drink.”
“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, and you—” He falters before continuing, as if he can’t quite believe it. “You violated the terms of the will.”
Her mouth hangs open.
“Technically the paintings weren’t sold,” the detective informs them. “They hadn’t had time to add them to the catalog, so they were still in the storeroom.”
“You see?” Bernie gives Mervyn a triumphant look. “No money changed hands, which means I didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe I was just having them cleaned. Or reframed, to match my decor.”
I tug on Felix’s sleeve. “Thrift store,” I whisper when he looks at me.
His eyes go wide for a split second, and then we’re climbing over and around our grandparents and their friends. It’s not until we stumble into the dining room that I remember we’re not supposed to have any idea what’s happening in here. Luckily Mervyn is quick on the uptake.
“They found your grandfather’s paintings,” he announces.
“That’s great,” Felix says, and I doubt he’s faking the excitement. “All of them?”
“Besides the one we bought at the thrift store after someone matching Bradley’s description tried to sell it,” I add, pretending not to see the detective’s gaze sharpen.
Meanwhile, Mervyn exhales as if a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
“Let’s pause the art talk for now,” Detective Ortiz says with deceptive mildness. “I want to circle back to the murder.”
By now, everyone has vacated the closet to join us in the dining room, so Mervyn has the full Castle Claude audience when he stands up and holds both arms out in front of him.
“Detective, I’d like to confess.” He gives another of those pauses that feel like a drumroll, only silent. “I poisoned Bradley Odell.”
Judging by the single eye twitch that disrupts his otherwise impassive expression, Detective Ortiz did not see that one coming. “Do you want to call a lawyer?”
“Probably a good idea,” Mervyn agrees.
While the detective is on the phone, Grandma Lainey smiles sadly at Mervyn. “Impeccable timing,” she tells him. “A tour de force.”
“Thank you,” he replies.
It sounds a lot like “goodbye.”