by Lisa Lutz
ALSO BY LISA LUTZ
Curse of the Spellmans
The Spellman Files
SIMON & SCHUSTER
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Spellman Enterprises, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-9711-7
ISBN-10: 1-4165-9711-5
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http://www.SimonSays.com
Contents
THERAPY SESSION #19
Part I UNRESOLVED ISSUES
THE PHILOSOPHER’S CLUB
THERAPY SESSION #10
HOW I ENDED UP IN THERAPY
THERAPY SESSION #1
WHERE WAS I?
THE END OF THE ROAD
CASE #0011
1 This was in fact my first case as an independent contractor.
CHAPTER 1
JUDAS
RAE’S WAR
NO GOOD DEED
PEACE TALKS
THE NEGOTIATION
CASE #001CHAPTER 2
DAVID’S SECRET
“DO NOT THROW ANY PARTIES…”
GOOD-BYE, DR. IRA
CASE #001CHAPTER 3
THE RAE/MAGGIE/HENRY STONE SITUATION
SPELLMAN TROUBLES
CASE #001CHAPTER 4
Part II REGRESSION
WRONG TURNS
KILLING TIME
THE PSAT PROBLEM
THE DISCOVERY
SQUATTING 101
CASE #001CHAPTER 5
NEW DAVID
HELLO, DR. RUSH
LUNCH WITH DAD
MORE MAGGIE
THE YIDDISH PATIENT
GABE “DATE” #2
JOB INTERVIEW #1
JOB INTERVIEW #2
DAVID’S SECRET
MAGGIE’S SECOND MYSTERY
CASE #001CHAPTER 6
THERAPY SESSION #14
Part III PROGRESS
THE RANSOMPART I
THE MORTY PROBLEM
MY NEW JOBDAY 2
INVISIBLE ISABEL
THERAPY SESSION #15
CASE #001CHAPTER 7
THE RANSOMPART II
CASE #001CHAPTER 8
CLOSE WINDOWS BEFORE WASHING
THERAPY SESSION #17
MAN TROUBLE
SOMEWHERE ELSE
NEW INFORMATION
THE RANSOMPART III
THE RANSOM AND OTHER STUFF
CASE #001CHAPTER 9
DISAPPEARANCE #4
DATE, INTERRUPTED
CASE #001CHAPTER 10
THE GUY AT THE BAR
THE LAST LUNCH
THE PHILOSOPHER’S CLUB
CULTURE 101
THERAPY SESSION #19
Part IV EVEN MORE PROGRESS
CASE #001CHAPTER 11
MOM’S CONFESSION
STUNG
RAE ARREST #1
GOOD-BYE, MORTY
GOOD-BYE, MILO
HELLO, BED
THERAPY SESSION #20
TWO CAR CHASES AND A BUDDHIST TEMPLE
ARE YOU MY BLACKMAILER?
CASE #001CHAPTER 12
CASE CLOSED
LOOSE THREADS
FOILED LUNCH
FAMILY THERAPY SESSION #1
EPILOGUE
APPENDIX
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For David Hayward
REVENGE OF THE SPELLMANS
THERAPY SESSION #19
[Partial transcript reads as follows:]
DR. RUSH: 1 Two weeks ago you mentioned that you were being blackmailed.
ISABEL: Did I?
DR. RUSH: Yes.
ISABEL: Must have slipped my mind.
DR. RUSH: Would you like to talk about it?
ISABEL: Nah.
DR. RUSH: Well, I’d like to talk about it.
ISABEL: It’s really not that big a deal.
DR. RUSH: Do you know your blackmailer?
ISABEL: I’m in the process of narrowing down the list of suspects.
DR. RUSH: How does your blackmailer communicate with you?
ISABEL: Anonymous notes.
DR. RUSH: What do they say?
ISABEL: I really don’t want to talk about it.
DR. RUSH: If these sessions went according to your plan, you’d sit here in silence for an hour eating your lunch.
ISABEL: One time I asked you if I could eat lunch. One time.
DR. RUSH: Tell me what the gist of the notes is and then we can move on.
ISABEL: “I know your secret. If you want to keep it you will meet my demands.”
DR. RUSH: So, what’s your secret?
ISABEL: I thought we were moving on.
DR. RUSH: We are. To what your secret is.
ISABEL: [sigh] My blackmailer knows where I live. At least I think that’s the secret he or she is referring to.
DR. RUSH: Where do you live?
ISABEL: I don’t want to lie to you, Dr. Rush.
DR. RUSH: I’m flattered.
ISABEL: I don’t want to tell you the truth, either.
DR. RUSH: Are you being serious, Isabel?
ISABEL: I sense judgment in your tone, Doctor.
DR. RUSH: Right now I’m just confused. The judgment part will come later.
ISABEL: You’re funnier than Dr. Ira. 2
DR. RUSH: My couch is funnier than Dr. Ira.
ISABEL: See?
DR. RUSH: You really aren’t going to tell me where you live?
ISABEL: If it makes you feel any better, most people don’t know where I live.
DR. RUSH: My feelings don’t come into play here.
ISABEL: It’s nice to have one person I don’t have to worry about.
DR. RUSH:
Are you getting enough sleep?
ISABEL: No. But I drink a lot of coffee and take the bus, so things even out.
DR. RUSH: Why can’t you sleep?
ISABEL: I’ve got a lot on my mind.
DR. RUSH: [impatiently] For instance?
[Long pause.] 3
ISABEL: Something strange is going on with my brother.
DR. RUSH: We’re not talking about your brother.
ISABEL: It’s my therapy. I thought I got to choose the topics.
DR. RUSH: Let me ask you a question: Have you been hired to investigate your brother?
ISABEL: He’s family. You don’t need a paycheck to investigate family.
DR. RUSH: I’d like to return to the topic of blackmail.
ISABEL: Why?
DR. RUSH: Because it’s a clearly defined stressor in your life.
ISABEL: It’s not that stressful. I’d really like to switch topics now.
DR. RUSH: If you can come up with a topic as good as blackmail, I’m game. [Long pause while I pretend to think of a worthy subject.]
DR. RUSH: I’m onto you and your long pauses. 4
ISABEL: Okay. I’m being bribed by a political consultant.
DR. RUSH: Seriously?
ISABEL: Yes.
DR. RUSH: Why?
ISABEL: Because he thinks I know something. But I don’t know anything…yet.
DR. RUSH: What does he think you know?
ISABEL: If I knew that, then I’d know.
DR. RUSH: [sigh] Is this bribe incident connected to the blackmail?
ISABEL: Absolutely not.
DR. RUSH: What makes you so sure?
ISABEL: The bribe is serious. The blackmail is child’s play.
DR. RUSH: I need you to be more specific.
ISABEL: My blackmailer is making me wash cars and go to the zoo.
DR. RUSH: Go to the zoo?
ISABEL: It was supposed to be SFMOMA, 5 but I thought I could go to the zoo instead. My mistake. My point is they are entirely unconnected.
[Long, long pause.]
DR. RUSH: [sigh] Bizarre forms of blackmail, bribery, secret residences. The odds of all of this happening to one person, Isabel—
ISABEL: It sounds worse than it is.
DR. RUSH: Let’s look at this from a different perspective. Your imagination has gotten you into trouble in the past. That’s why you’re in therapy. You can’t deny that you tend to put a paranoid slant on most things you observe.
ISABEL: That was the old me.
DR. RUSH: Are you sure?
ISABEL: I’ve made progress, Dr. Rush. Lots of progress.
[Long, long pause.]
ISABEL: Haven’t I?
Part I
UNRESOLVED ISSUES
Two months earlier…
THE PHILOSOPHER’S CLUB
Tuesday
A n unknown male—approximately fifty-five years old, with an almost full head of gray hair, a slight build, an even slighter paunch, and a weathered but friendly face, garbed in a snappy suit and a not-unpleasant tie—walked into the bar. He sat down at the counter and nodded a silent hello.
“What can I get you?” I said.
“Coffee,” Unknown Male replied.
“Irish coffee?” I asked.
“Nope. Just the regular stuff.”
“You know, they got coffee shops, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“It’s three in the afternoon,” Unknown Male replied.
“It’s still a bar,” I responded, and poured a mug of the stale brew. “Cream and sugar?” I asked.
“Black,” he answered. Unknown Male took a sip and grimaced. He pushed the mug back in my direction and said, “Cream and sugar.”
“Thought so.”
Unknown Male put a five-dollar bill on the bar and told me to keep the change. I rang two dollars into the cash register and put the remaining three into the tip jar.
“You Isabel?” Unknown Male asked.
“Who’s asking?” I replied.
“Ernest Black,” the less-unknown male said, stretching out his hand. “My friends call me Ernie.”
I shook it, because that’s what you do, and then picked up a dishrag and began drying some glasses, because that’s what bartenders do.
“I heard you used to be a detective,” Ernie said.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I was in here the other day talking to Milo.”
“You and Milo friends?” I asked.
“We’re not enemies. Anyway, Milo said you used to be a detective.”
“Private investigator,” I corrected him, and dried some more glasses.
There was a long pause while Ernie tried to figure out how to keep the conversation going.
“It looks like you’re a bartender now,” Ernie said.
“So it seems.”
“Is this like a career path or more like a rest stop on a longer journey?” he asked.
“Huh?” I said, even though I understood what Ernie was getting at.
“I’m just wondering, are you planning on doing this bartender thing long-term or do you think you might go back into the PI business somewhere down the line?”
I casually put down the glass and the dishrag. I reached over the bar and grabbed Ernie by the not-unpleasant tie he was wearing and leaned in close enough to smell his stale coffee breath.
“Tell my mother that if she wants to know my plans for the future, she should ask me herself!”
Wednesday
My dad walked into the bar. Albert Spellman 1 is his name. I’d been expecting him. Three o’clock on Wednesday is his usual time. He likes an empty bar so he can speak freely.
“The usual,” Dad said, mostly because he likes feeling like a regular. Dad’s usual is a five-ounce glass of red wine. He’d rather order a beer or whiskey or both, but his heart condition and my mother prohibit all of the above.
I poured the wine, slid the glass in his direction, leaned on top of the bar, and looked my dad in the eye.
“Mom sent some guy into the bar yesterday to pump me for information.”
“No, she didn’t,” Dad said, looking bored.
“Yes, she did,” I replied.
“Isabel, she did that one t
ime two months ago and she never did it again. I promise you.” 2
“You have no idea what she’s doing when you’re not watching her.”
“You could say that about anyone,” Dad said.
“But I’m talking about Mom.”
“I’d like to change the subject, Isabel.”
I sighed, disappointed. I was not interested in the subject my dad had in mind.
“If you’d like to talk about the weather, I’d be alright with that.”
“Not the weather,” said Dad.
“Seen any good movies?” I asked.
“Haven’t been getting out much lately,” Dad said, “what with work and all. Oh yes. Work. That’s what I’d like to talk about.”
“I don’t want to talk about work.”
“You don’t talk. You just listen. Can you do that?”
“I distinctly recall you telling me that I wasn’t a good listener,” I replied. “So, apparently I cannot do that.”
“Isabel!” Dad said far too loudly, but who cares in an empty bar? “We are having this conversation whether you like it or not.”
