Lisa Lutz Spellman Series E-Book Box Set: The Spellman Files, Curse of the Spellmans, Revenge of the Spellmans, The Spellmans Strike Again

by Lutz, Lisa

  “You put the tracking device on Subject’s car?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “You can put my payment in the outside pocket of my backpack.”

  “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”

  “Shhh.”

  “Have you told your boyfriend yet that the jig is up?”

  “Shhh.”

  “Are you planning on confessing to Mrs. Chandler or will I do that for you?”

  “Shhh.”

  Rae was clearly done talking. Only “Can I get you a snack?” elicited any response.

  “There are some Cheetos stashed behind the five-pound bag of brown rice in the pantry. And I’ll take a glass of orange juice.”

  Three episodes and two hours and fifteen minutes later, Henry arrived home. Rae ignored him, staring at the credits on the screen. Remember, Henry told Mom that Rae had a boyfriend—a fact that was conveyed in confidence. Rae’s cold shoulder put a frost on the entire room.

  Henry sat down on the couch next to Rae. She didn’t even try to hide the bag of Cheetos or the bright orange dust that was settling on his couch and coffee table. Their brief conversation went like this.

  “Rae.”

  “Henry.”

  “I can see you’re upset.”

  “You betrayed my trust,” Rae said, finally looking him in the eye.

  “You ran me over,” Henry replied.

  “Oh, right,” Rae said. “Clean slate?”

  “Deal,” said Henry, and then they shook on it.

  Later, Henry explained to Rae that there were certain kinds of information of which he was uncomfortable being the sole recipient. In the future, he would give her the heads-up if he planned on revealing any confidence.

  The simplicity of their settlement struck me as beautiful. I counted all the relationships in my life and none were quite as perfect as this one. Henry loosened his already-loosened watch/read rule and Rae spent the evening finishing the second season of Dr. Who.

  “If you could time travel, where would you go?” Rae asked me.

  “I’d go into the future and find out what Subject was up to. Then I’d go back in time and stop him.”

  “You’re so predictable,” Rae said.

  “I know,” I replied.

  On the drive back to the Spellman residence, Rae confirmed that our father had finally revealed his medical condition to Mom.

  “How’d she take it?” I asked.

  “She said if he even looked at a French fry the wrong way she’d file for divorce.”

  With that incident settled to my satisfaction, I decided to pump Rae for information that was not as easy to come by.

  “Remember when you were giving Henry his space?”

  “Oh, I remember,” Rae said, as if it was a traumatic event she did not wish to revisit.

  “Right before I told you to leave him alone, I caught him in my bar one night. He was upset about something but wouldn’t tell me what it was. Do you know?”

  “Yes,” Rae replied.

  “So spill it.”

  “I’m going to need some incentive,” Rae replied.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Free reign on Henry’s DVD collection…”

  “Done.”

  “And,” Rae continued, “make sure I’ve got some snacks around for my after-school visits. You can hide them on the bottom shelf in the linen closet. He won’t look there.”

  “He will if he starts getting ants.”

  “Those are my terms,” Rae replied as I pulled up in front of the Spellman home.

  Rae and I shook on the deal and then Rae revealed her information: “This is what happened. Henry’s wife left him about two years ago. She moved to Boston or something. A couple months ago she came back hoping to reconcile. Henry needed some space to make the decision. Anyway, he decided he wanted a divorce. Which is a really good thing, because I hate her.”

  “Have you met her?”

  “No.”

  “Henry told you all this?”

  “Of course not,” Rae replied. “Henry doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “So how did you acquire this information?” I asked.

  “Through my keen powers of deduction and a thorough search of his residence,” was Rae’s cagey reply. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Dad exited the house as Rae got out of the car. He approached the driver’s-side window, looking a little too serious for my liking.

  “Isabel.”

  “Dad.”

  “I got John Brown to drop the B&E charge.”

  “How?”

  “I told him to file a restraining order instead.”

  “Brilliant idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “This gives you a second chance. Do not disappoint me.”

  Dad handed me an envelope. “You’ve been served,” he said.

  THE DOT

  Tuesday, April 18

  Without a doubt the restraining order put a cramp in my investigation of Subject. I was reduced to surveillance from afar, following a dot on my computer screen. For four days, I tracked Subject’s whereabouts, hoping to find a break in his pattern that might lead me to the truth. But his pattern remained predictable. Other than his galaxy of community gardens and landscaping clients, Subject stayed within his usual stomping grounds. There was, however, one address across the Golden Gate Bridge that I found suspect. When I arrived at the site the day after observing the Dot, it seemed obvious that it was the home of a client, based on the quality of its surrounding garden.

  That afternoon, I returned to Henry’s house and tried a reverse directory search on the address. The chain of ownership was hard to follow and the records appeared to have been set up purely to confuse. My cell phone rang, interrupting my internal deliberation.

  “Isabel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why haven’t you RSVP’d to my wedding invitation?”

  “Who is this?” I said, even though the caller ID told me exactly who it was. I said it to buy time.

  “Daniel.”

  “Oh, Daniel. Right. Well, it’s just that I’ve gotten so many wedding invitations this month. It’s hard to keep track of them all.”

  “Sophia thinks you’re short on manners.”

  “I am, aren’t I?”

  “Yes,” Daniel replied. “But there’s no reason for her to know that. Please send back the card. Will you be bringing a date?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “If you’re not, then I have a few friends I’d like to introduce you to—”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” Daniel said.

  “Yes. I’ll be bringing a date.”

  DISAPPEARANCE #3

  Even after my sister’s e-mail deceptions were exposed, she did not give up on pushing her disappearance agenda on my parents. Rather than play each side of the coin, she brought the two sides together and suggested they try something simpler. Rae went online and found a four-star spa resort in Big Sur, California. No planes, boats, or extended car rides required. They could arrive at their destination within two hours and live in the lap of luxury for three days. My parents agreed and Rae booked the rooms for that weekend.

  My parents, not to be outwitted by their almost-sixteen-year-old daughter, made certain that their disappearance did not have the beneficial by-product of an adult-free weekend for Rae. My mother, after discovering David’s return to the city, insisted that he stay at the house for the weekend with his youngest sibling. David, still tormented by whatever he had done, welcomed the escape from his own home.

  I phoned Petra yet again, and two days later the call was still unreturned. I then sent her another e-mail, which received an auto-reply that she would be out of communication for the next week. Had there been no other mysteries on my agenda, I would have flown to Arizona to track her down. When I questioned David on the subject, he claimed he had no idea of her whereabouts.
His direct but depressed eye contact indicated that he was telling the truth.

  MORE DIGGING

  Thursday, April 20

  1730 hrs

  Perhaps it was all the dead ends that prompted the next phase of my investigation, but it occurred to me that Subject’s profession might have provided him the ultimate cover-up. With dozens of gardens, soil, shovels, and acres of land in his evil but capable hands, how hard would it be to dispose of the bodies? Did I truly believe Subject was a murderer? I wasn’t sure of anything, but I did know that women had disappeared. They had to be somewhere.

  During the past week, I had shadowed Subject after the fact, arriving at his gardens late at night with a flashlight and a shovel. I searched for areas of fresh soil that somehow appeared out of place in the landscape. Had I any actual knowledge of gardening, it probably would have been easier for me to spot the incongruities. That said, I probably dug at least a dozen holes in half as many gardens that week.

  When I returned to Henry’s place, I would change clothes in the backseat of my car, which is something I’m oddly adept at. If Henry saw the dirt, he would be suspicious. Unfortunately, one night, Henry was returning home as I was in the middle of a car change. He approached the window as I was buttoning up my pants. I opened the door, just a crack.

  “Can I have some privacy, please?” I shouted.

  Henry backed away. I could tell from his expression that he was going to require an explanation. Sometimes in cases such as this, the simplest answer is the best, even if it doesn’t make any sense.

  “What were you doing in your backseat?” Henry asked, after I exited the vehicle.

  “Changing my clothes.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t like what I was wearing.”

  A sigh, followed by silence. Henry unlocked the front door.

  “Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I replied, glad to have him off the subject of my clothes.

  “Please stop telling the neighbors that you’re my life coach.”

  “I had to tell them something. They were looking at me funny.”

  “Now they’re looking at me funny,” Henry said. “Why don’t you just tell them you’re my friend?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I replied. Sometimes the simplest truths escape me. Like the phone call that happened the following day. If I had really been paying attention, I would have realized it was not a friendly invitation.

  Friday, April 21

  1800 hrs

  “Hello,” I answered on the third ring.

  “Meet me at Twin Peaks in forty minutes.”

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “I think you know,” Subject replied.

  Thirty minutes later, I was winding up the foggy road to the highest point in the city. I stood where one can usually see the most spectacular view of San Francisco and the bay on a clear night. However, it was not a clear night. The fog had rolled in early and heavily and the visibility from the lookout point was no more than twenty feet.

  I was alone in the dark. I could see green hills behind me and gray matter in front of me, blocking any view at all of the city lights. The sound of life was faraway. When Subject appeared out of what looked like a cloud, a rush of fear came through me.

  “I’ve got a lot of unhappy customers,” Subject said. His tone was casual. Too casual to be followed up by, say, murder, so my nerves eased.

  “Why are they unhappy?” I asked.

  “Someone’s digging up their gardens in the middle of the night.”

  “Sure it’s not raccoons?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Maybe some other kind of wildlife. I’m not really an expert on that sort of thing.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The bodies,” I said.

  “Isabel, you are making a huge mistake.”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied.

  “What will it take?”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “What will it take to get you to leave me alone?”

  I heard the engine of a car pulling into a nearby parking space. The lights broke through the fog. I welcomed the company, whoever it was.

  “The truth. That’s all I need. And, of course, you would have to go to prison to answer for your crimes.”

  “Isabel, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m not doing anything. I’m just trying to find out what you’re doing.”

  “Your father said you’d stop if I filed the restraining order.”

  “My father doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”

  “What do you want from me?” Subject asked.

  “Your social security number.”

  Subject picked up his cell phone and dialed. “Okay,” he said into the receiver.

  I watched him for a moment, trying to figure out the hand he was playing. But it was too late. Two men in suits also appeared out of thin air. Plain clothes, my ass. You can always spot a police officer.

  “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done,” I said as I was handcuffed for the fourth time in two months.

  “Isabel Spellman, you are under arrest for violating the TRO filed by Mr. John Brown.”

  “That’s not his name.”

  Subject thanked the officers and departed without another word. The cuffs were cold from the night air. The plumper cop Mirandized me as he guided me over to the unmarked vehicle.

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

  IN THE MIDDLE…

  Arrest #2 (or 4)

  MOM: We’re already on the road, dear. I’m not canceling our disappearance to bail you out of jail.

  ME: Oh, I forgot about the disappearance.

  MOM: You’re on your own, sweetie.

  ME: No, Mom! You’ve got to call someone to get me out of here. I don’t want to spend the night in this place.

  MOM: That might be a good idea. Remember Scared Straight!?

  ME: Of course I remember it. You made me watch it at least ten times in high school.

  MOM: A lot of good it did.

  ME: Listen, call Morty again. Call until he picks up the phone. He’s home. He just can’t hear it.

  MOM: I don’t think he should be driving at night.

  ME: Mom, please.

  MOM: Or during the day, for that matter.

  OFFICER LINDLEY: Spellman, can you hurry this up?

  ME: I got to go. Just make sure someone gets me out of here.

  MOM: I’ll do my best. See you on Monday, Isabel.

  ME: Have a nice disappearance.

  2300 hrs

  Morty drove me to Henry’s house, where I assumed I was no longer welcome. We had a deal and I broke it. I also correctly assumed that my mother had already broken the news to him about my fourth arrest.

  I reminded Morty to drive safely and we arranged to meet at the courthouse on Monday for my arraignment. As I got out of the car, Morty said, “Izzele, let’s make this your final arrest of the year.”

  “Why not?” I replied unconvincingly.

  I knocked on Henry’s door, bracing myself for an onslaught of insults and reprimands. He stepped outside when he saw me and mumbled in my ear, “Let me do the talking.”

  “Okay,” I replied.

  Henry took my arm and lightly shoved me into his house.

  “Isabel, where have you been?” he said, sounding like an actor on a sitcom.

  “In jail,” I replied, and then I saw her. My complete opposite sitting on Henry’s couch, drinking what had to be herbal tea.

  She was well groomed and pretty in that way that being excessively well groomed can make you pretty. She had figured out precisely what she had to do to herself to be attractive. Based on the highlights in her hair and the unmistakable hue of a spray
-on tan, it came with a steep price tag. She smiled unconvincingly, got to her feet, and shook my hand while Henry made his inadequate introduction.

  “Isabel, this is my ex-wife, Helen.”

  “Technically, we’re still married,” she replied.

  “I just signed the papers,” Henry interjected.

  “But they haven’t been filed,” she retorted.

  “Do you two need to talk in private?” I asked.

  “No,” they both replied in unison.

  Helen looked me up and down, an assessment to serve her own ego. It had been a long day, and even a few hours in a holding cell can land a week’s worth of grime on your clothes. I’m sure it served her ego very well.

  “So, Isabel, how is it that you and Henry know each other?”

  I remembered Henry’s “let me do the talking” warning, but I ignored it.

  “I’m Henry’s life coach,” I said.

  Henry put his arm around my waist and squeezed, rather hard. “Always such a kidder.”

  It was only then, with Henry’s arm around my waist, that I realized he was trying to pass me off as his girlfriend.

  “I need a drink,” I said, heading over to the refrigerator.

  “Thanks for dropping by, Helen. If you don’t mind, Isabel has had a very busy day and I would really like to hear about it.”

  “Of course, it’s getting late,” Helen replied. She offered me a fake smile and said, “Isabel, it has been a pleasure.”

  “Sure you can’t stay for a drink?” I asked, realizing that her departure would allow Henry to speak freely.

  “No,” Henry interrupted. “She has to go.”

  Helen kissed Henry on the cheek, letting her hand linger suggestively on his.

  “Be well,” she said theatrically. When she was finally out the door, Henry dropped his fake smile and glared at me.

  “What was that, arrest number four?” he asked.

  “I’m not counting two and three.”

  “We had a deal.”

  “Let me finish this beer and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “There’s this bus bench around the corner that I’ve had my eye on.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “No. I might sneak into my parents’ house, since they’re out of town. Keep an eye on Rae.”

  “David is staying there.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied, internally calculating a different plan.