This early in the morning campus is silent, as soundless as a ghost town, and as he aimlessly paces the little curve of crumbling road outside the baseball stadium Percy can pretend he's alone.
It's only pretending. His older brother will be here at any moment, and in the mean time a dial tone trills in his ear, background noise as he paces up and down the walk: the soles of his tennis shoes, wet from the morning dew, leaving dark prints like the rubbings of fossils behind in the concrete.
Percy hates making phone calls, especially to strangers. He dreads it, will spend every second of the phone's ringing praying that the other person doesn't pick up. This is one of the rare times where he needs a response, where his heart pinches a little every time the ringer bwwrrs and then goes silent again.
There's a click. Percy stands up straighter, squints; the sun is in his eyes.
"Detective Ethan Kelso."
"Detective? This is Percy Mitchell. I believe we met the other day on campus?"
A pause, but it's brief, and then the man is laughing heartily. "Of course, of course! Good to hear from you, Percy. Is everything going okay? Is there something I can help you with? How are your folks?"
"Fine. I'm going home to see them this weekend, actually. I justâI have a question I was wondering if you could help me with?"
"Oh, is it something for class?"
Percy hesitates, kicking at a loose pebble. "I...something like that. I'm helping a friend with a project. It has to do with the Elizabeth Dobbs case, if you're familiar?"
On the other side of the phone, there's a squeaking noise like the slow readjusting of a chair. Kelso's voice sounds more staticky, and lower. "There seems to be a lot of interest in that one lately."
Tread carefully, Percy. His name only gives him an advantage in getting his foot in the door. How he crosses the rest of the distance is up to his own skill, and he can't afford to stumble now. "It's compelling, isn't it? Why a maintenance guy would just suddenly snap like that. But it's just a project, sir. I'm really just interested in getting enough information to fill the word count, if you know what I mean."
"You probably know the same amount I do. It's an old case, Percy, and evidence collection wasn't like what it is now."
He's losing him. Percy can hear the doubt creeping into his voice, and he can't afford it. "Just tell me this. Is there a record of what Lamar Pine was there for? A copy of an invoice from the HVAC company, or something? There has to be."
Please. If he has this, maybe it will at least quell the fire in Indy's eyes for a moment. If he has this, maybe it'll slow down the speeding train carrying her to distraction, to destruction. If he has this, maybe this weekend doesn't have to happen at all.
Kelso heaves out a long, old man sigh. "I'll take a look, but I'll tell you straight. It's been long enough that if it is still down there in evidence somewhere, it's probably near illegible. I wouldn't count on it."
"Please, Detective," Percy says. Tires rumble against the asphalt; he looks up and sees Harvey's car rounding the corner. The weekend's beginning. He wishes it was over. "I need this."
"I'll see what I can do, kid." Kelso hangs up.
Tina and Lawrence Mitchell have several superpowers. Mind control. An infinitely refilling bank account. The ability to multitask, or at least convince themselves they are multitasking, especially if the multiple tasks are working and everything else. Perhaps the most aggravating of their superpowers, however, is their ability to make an event out of everything.
It should just be breakfast. Coffee with free refills and three-dollar pancake stacks and suspiciously symmetrical sausage links filled with even more suspicious ingredientsâthis is how Percy has come to define breakfast, and it's what he expected when Harvey told him that morning, Breakfast in twenty. I'm picking you up. Yet instead of a charming diner, Harvey pulls the car up in front of a white tablecloth French bistro with a name Percy can't even begin to pronounce, the awnings hanging over the long windows a deep ruby red trimmed with gold tassels. His brother, who he has only just now noticed is wearing a pinstriped suit and oxfords for some reason, hops out of the car and tosses the keys to a sleepy-eyed valet.
"Percival," Harvey says when Percy doesn't immediately follow him. He leans in view of the window, tapping the car's top. "What are you doing?"
"Thinking about running into traffic," Percy answers. Still, he gets out of the car, nearly stumbling. An emotional piano ballad swells over the outdoor speakers, though he can't find actually any speakers in sight.
Harvey laughs, clapping Percy's shoulder, pretending not to notice him jolt. "It won't be that bad, Perce."
"You say that every time, Harvey," Percy says, giving him a pointed look, "and so far you've always been wrong."
When they enter the bistro, Percy discovers the piano ballad is coming, in fact, from a live pianist. She sits right beneath the glittering crystal chandelier, in the middle of the restaurant's arrangement of square tables, each of them with votive candles and miniature orchids in the center. The place smells somehow both sweet and spicy at once: honey and rosemary, pepper and sugar. Tina has noticed her sons walk in the door. She lifts an arm, her wrist shackled in rose gold bangles, and waves them over to where she and Lawrence sit at a table by a large bay window.
"My boys, my beautiful boys," she greets as always, standing to exchange kisses on the cheek. "Thanks for coming out. I just wanted us all to get a chance to talk before this weekend."
Percy settles in the seat directly across from her, between Harvey and their father, whose greeting is a pat on Percy's shoulder. "Talk about what?" he asks, tipping the flask of mineral water against his glass. "Events like this are routine for you and Dad by now, aren't they?"
"It's not often that all of us get to get together anymore," Tina says. She raises an eyebrow at Percy over the rim of her bright orange mimosa, matching the vibrant clementine dress she's wearing. "I justâI just hope you both understand the weight of this. This could be really important for your father."
"The constituents like to see that they voted for a man both conscious of the arts, and of his family," Lawrence explains. Blandly, like he's reciting a basic briefing his PR team's given him. Which he probably is. "They'll equate my family's success with my success in the office. And rightly so. I do well when you guys are doing well."
Percy sips his water in silence.
Tina says after a moment, "It's Harvey I'm worried about, really."
Percy almost spits up his water.
"Mom," Harvey says, not without a subtle glare at his younger brother. Harvey tosses an anxious glance around the restaurant like the paparazzi will swarm him at any second. "Seriously?"
"You've been claiming your startup is taking off for the last two years, baby," Tina says, reaching out to close a comforting hand over his wrist. She lowers her voice as she adds, "I know people. I could find you a new position. It's okay to move on, you know."
Harvey's start-up is a vague project that seems to be a mystery even to him. All Percy knows is that it's based out in California with the rest, and has something to do with a new video editing app, and also cat videos, if Percy remembers correctly. Five years ago, fresh out of college, Harvey moved to Silicon Valley with his friend to get it started. At first, every update was exciting. Now, every update's pretty much the same.
"We really are getting somewhere," Harvey grumbles. "Our sales have never been higher."
"Good," Lawrence says. "As long as that's what you say if anyone at the auction asks."
Percy doesn't realize their parents already ordered for them until the waiter arrives. Without breaking the pleasant smile on his face even once, the waiter steadily fills the table with biscuits and herb butter, smoked salmon laid atop a salad that looks like actual grass, chorizo, grits, hard-boiled eggs in golden egg holders, avocado toast. It's way more than necessary, and not all of it makes cohesive sense together. Percy's eyes search the table. No pancake stack. He mourns.
"Percy, tell us," Tina says, slicing toast into triangles, knife clinking against the porcelain. "How's school? How are your friends?"
"Fine, I guess," Percy says. He preferred it when the attention was on Harvey. So he directs it elsewhere again: "They're actually planning to be at the auction. I know Gatz wants to see some of the art, at least. Indy, too. Sylvia probably just wants an excuse to get away from Proudley for a day or two."
"Perfect," Tina says. "I'll have them set up the guest rooms, then."
"Oh." This was not the plan. Not the plan at all. "Gatz and Sylvia were just gonna book a hotel, and I'm sure Indy was just going to stay with her own familyâ"
"Nonsense. They can all stay with us. The house is far too empty these days anyway, isn't it, Lawrence?"
Lawrence adjusts the fit of his glasses, making eye contact with his wife. "Only because you won't let me replace these two with dogs."
Harvey says to Percy, "Hear that, Perce? Maybe she does love us after all."
"You wanted pitbulls," Tina says. "It makes no sense. Do you want people to feel threatened by you?"
Percy says to Harvey, "Are you sure about that?"
Lawrence bristles like he's been personally offended, and not the pitbulls. "They make excellent guard dogs. We'd be well-protected!"
With a lingering, butter-soft note, the pianist drops off into silence then, and Percy can hear the low murmur of voices and clinking of plates with new fervor. A weekend full of noise stretches ahead of him now. He is already craving silence.
"Percy," Tina says.
It's something in her voice. In the way she stops everything she's doing just to look at him. He wishes she wouldn't say it, but he already knows she's going to.
"I know it's been hard for you to come back home since we lost Mathilde. I'm glad you're visiting now, love. I think it'd make her happy."
He has gone so long without hearing her name, even thinking of it. Weeks, months, years. Every day further from any thought of her was a victory. And now here she is: a scar freshly cut and bleeding. Healed and now healing, again. When does he get to stop?
Percy thinks he's going to throw up. Instead, he takes a sip of water, swallows it slowly. His voice still comes out hoarse. "I don't want to talk about her."
Tina and Lawrence exchange a concerned look, as if they have ever cared to understand. The pianist smiles and straightens her back and begins to play a new song.
The Mitchells' abode is an hour away from Proudley in a gated community with a flourishing, backlit sign at the front reading Venice Springs. By the time they get there, the sun has set and the crickets are loud. Tomorrow, there will be lines of souped-up SUVs and Teslas and little European cars all the way down the road, trying to make their way through these gates and into the auction. For now, Indy watches as Percy merely waves a hand at the operator standing in the booth, and the gate beeps as it swings open.
Sylvia says from the backseat, "You never mentioned that you were fucking royalty, Percy."
"What, because of the gate?" Percy asks, guiding his truck down the winding roads of the neighborhood, up and down a smooth terrain of hills and valleys hugged close by miniature mansionsâItalian Gothic, colonial, Tudor style. Another country within a country. "The gate doesn't mean anything. They say it's for 'safety' but it's just there to make people feel more exclusive."
"Yeah," Gatz says. "Exactly like royalty, Senator Junior."
Percy sighs, a vein in his throat tensing. "Please don't call me that."
Indy wasn't lying to Jude; she has been to Percy's home countless times, though the last time she was here was nearly three years ago, at Percy's graduation party. The Mitchells are many things, but they are especially good entertainers. They stage their home with the finest art and furniture, fill long tables with charcuterie boards and little rolled hors d'oeuvres worth more than Indy's life, hire musicians and magicians to wow the ears and eyes. A Mitchell event is a ritual as much as it is a party. Drink, eat, laugh. Cast a wary eye upon anyone who is not doing enough of any of those.
"You didn't have to stay with us," Percy says then, and Indy blinks, realizing he's talking to her. "I know it seems like my mom won't take no for an answer, but, you know. Don't let her force you."
"Spending the weekend alone with my parents versus all of you guys?" Indy says, amused. "I can stand them in small doses, but without Sterling there as a buffer, I think I would lose my mind."
"Unless this is Senator Junior's polite way of saying he's going to lose his mind this weekend," says Gatz, and though Indy's sure they can see Percy roll his eyes in the rearview, this only makes them smile wider. "In which case, you'd be right. I'm counting on it."
The occupants of the car falter off into stunned silence as the tires roll up Percy's circular driveway. The house resembles a suburban version of the White House, pale brick and a rounded porch, Greek pillars on either side of the fleur-de-lis double doors. The yard is pristine, shrubs shaped into perfect cubes, pink Japanese maples hanging over the fence.
The vein in Percy's neck is especially tense now. Yet Indy asks him, "Percy, are you okay?" And his only response is a smile before he hops out to unload the truck bed.
"Your house," says Sylvia, the last to get out, "is a fucking castle."
"They certainly like to act like it is," Percy grumbles, shouldering his own backpack and handing Sylvia hers.
"Who's they?"
"Percy!" says a loud, theatrical voice, and Indy looks up to find Percy's parents have appeared on the threshold, his mother frantically waving her hands. "There you are!"
"Holy shit," Gatz whispers, though not quiet enough for it to be an actual whisper. "It's Senator Senior."
Percy actually whispers, "Senator Senior is not the one you should be worried about."
Tina Mitchell has barely aged, her hair still in buoyant, retro curls that curve just below her chin, only a strand or two of gray in sight. Her eyes are wide and shimmery, fringed with long, mascara-coated lashes, and she wears a deep blue satin gown that could be made for sleeping but also made for looking casually more expensive than everyone else. Her husband, behind her, has also picked up on this memo. He's in a monogrammed bathrobe and pajama pant set.
"Indy, lovely as ever," Tina greets, pulling her in to kiss each one of her cheeks, European style. Indy pretends not to notice the brief once-over she gives her, no doubt noting her hair, tight coils washed and left in their shrunken state, and the simple sweater and jeans she wore for the trip down. "And this is..."
"Sylvia," Percy introduces, "and Gatz. I've told you about them before."
The smile on Tina's face would be flawless, if not for the fact it is obviously strained. "I love your hair," she says to Sylvia, who's defaulted to her favorite pink wig for the day. To Gatz, she says, "And what a unique name. Is it short for something?"
"Yeah. I started going by my last name in high school, Gatley. Then it just became Gatz. With a z. Because z's are almost always better than s's."
Tina just smiles and nods.
"Tina had them set up s'mores out back," says Lawrence, nodding his head towards the door. "How about we set your stuff down and head that way, yeah?"
Indy plasters on a smile of her own, glad for the relief from this awkward silence. "Sounds like a wonderful idea, Mr. Mitchell."
Mr. Mitchell turns to lead the way back to the house, his arm linked through his wife's. Gatz leans over to Indy and says below their breath, "How can one woman be so terrifying and so hot at the same time?"
"You'd better not be talking about my mother," Percy hisses from behind them.
Indy just chuckles. What she doesn't say is that she very much agrees.
"No idea, but there's plenty of mysteries here," she says with a wink at Percy. She makes a grand gesture with her hand, like a showgirl displaying a car. "Welcome to Castle Mitchell."