Page 10 of King of Hollywood

Felix relaxed fractionally.

It was a small change, but I was adept at reading body language so I noticed anyway. It was a skill that was necessary for a man as socially challenged as I was. I had many strengths, but this was not one that came naturally. I had been forced to learn through trial and error and it had taken me many years to recognize the reactions that I did not instinctively understand.

I’d had a lot of mishaps in my youth.

Mishaps I was reluctant to repeat.

Obviously grateful for the reprieve I’d offered, Felix led the way down the hallway toward the staircase that sat at the end. When he stepped beneath the overhead light, I could make out his pajamas a little more clearly, amused to find that the silk was covered in a myriad of different constellations.

Does he like stars?

It seemed a very specific choice to make. I’d never worn patterned pajamas. At least—not without being forced.

I shuddered when I remembered the horrific matching plaid monstrosities that our parents put us in for Christmas pictures throughout my childhood. That was one thing I was glad had ended when my mother died. And people thought I was sadistic. I, at least, had never forced children to wear matching pajamas. When I’d told Winnie that, she’d cried—and I’d never brought it up again.

Felix led me up the stairs, hopping one graceful step at a time—no longer bumbling when he wasn’t self-conscious of what he was doing. “Do we have to talk about how I killed him?” he fretted, voice hushed. “Can you just…believe me when I say it was an accident?”

I grunted noncommittally as I followed after him, trying not to judge him for the dust that lined the ancient wood.

I’d ask him whatever I damn well wanted.

As if he could read my mind, Felix pleaded, “Marshall, please?”

He whirled around at the top of the first landing, effectively cutting me off from the rest of the cluttered house. This floor was somehow worse than the one below it. Was that a gramophone?

Felix’s hands were on his hips, frustration evident in his eyes as he leveled me with a pleading look. “Please, just…drop it?”

“You want me to drop the fact that you killed someone?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“Even though I spent all night helping you dispose of the body?”

“Yes.”

“And I am here, to help you make sure there is no evidence left behind?”

“Yes.”

It was a ridiculous request. And one I would’ve never in a million years expected. Which was why…huh.

Which was why I was going to respect it.

Clutter and cobwebs be damned.

“Fine.” Life was monotonous. There were very few things that brought me joy. And though I loved Beach Town and the members of The Club, I had no true friends here. I kept my coworkers at arm’s length. I fraternized with the neighbors, if only to keep up appearances. The only proper social time I had was when my elder sister Winnifred (Winnie) came to visit once a month.

It wasn’t like my social schedule was all that packed.

So really…was it such a bad thing to let this continue? If I didn’t get answers now, the curiosity would eat at me. Which meant I may possibly get weeks, maybe even months more of entertainment out of this whole situation. I could visit Felix. Poke at him. Prod him. Enjoy the way he dodged my questions until the day he inevitably didn’t and I lost interest.

I’d find out eventually, so what was the harm in making him think he’d won?

“Really?” Felix perked up, his concerned expression melting away as he beamed down at me. Ah. There was the idiot that had waved at me while walking his cats at night.

“Really,” I confirmed, amused.

“Wow! Okay. Gosh, I did not expect that to be so easy. Thank you, Marshall.”