Lisa Lutz Spellman Series E-Book Box Set: The Spellman Files, Curse of the Spellmans, Revenge of the Spellmans, The Spellmans Strike Again (61 page)

“THE READING RULE AND THE MUCOUS MYSTERY”

The transcript reads as follows:

RAE
: That was so much better than the “classic” episodes [once again with the rude finger quotes]. The special effects in those old episodes are so cheesy.

HENRY
: You’re supposed to use your imagination.

ISABEL
: I want to watch the next episode.
[I reach for the remote.]

RAE
: You can’t.

ISABEL
: I think I can. Just press Play.
[Rae shakes her head in sad disappointment.]

RAE
: You can’t. For every hour of television you watch in Henry’s house, you have to read for one hour.
[Rae walks over to the bookshelf, grabs a copy of Charles Dickens’s
Our Mutual Friend,
and opens it to the bookmark, approximately halfway through.]

ISABEL
: Is this a joke?

RAE
: I thought so at first, but no. You should choose a book on your own, before he decides for you.

ISABEL
: Rae, I’m a grown-up. Henry can’t enforce this rule with me.

HENRY
: Rae, do your parents know you’re here?

RAE
: They’ve probably figured it out by now.

HENRY
: Call them.
[Rae picks up the telephone and makes the call. I press Play on the remote control. Henry removes it from my hands and presses Stop.]

ISABEL
: You can’t be serious.

HENRY
: I understand there are few things that divert an undisciplined mind like yours better than television—

ISABEL
: I think that was an insult.

HENRY
:—but I need to maintain some rules in this house, or she would never leave.
[Henry picks up a copy of Dostoyevsky’s
Crime and Punishment
from his bookshelf and hands it to me.]

HENRY
: It’s just an hour.
[Ten minutes later: Rae is sitting next to me on the couch with her book as Henry prepares dinner.]

RAE
: [whispering] Today, I checked Mr. Peabody’s snot drawer and all the tissues were gone. But then during class, he blew his nose again and put the tissue in the drawer.

ISABEL
: [at full volume] Why are you whispering?

RAE
: [whispering loudly] I can’t talk to him about the snot.

ISABEL
: Why?

RAE
: Because he thinks all collecting is the same.

ISABEL
: I doubt he thinks stamp collecting and mucous hoarding are the same.

RAE
: Shhh. But he thinks it’s the same if you keep extra cereal around and you keep your mucous around.

ISABEL
: [loudly] Henry, do you actually think Mr. Peabody’s vile habit of saving his own used tissues is really the same thing as stockpiling unusual quantities of cereal?

HENRY
: Are you ever going to get off that subject?

RAE
: What I do and what Mr. Peabody does are completely different things.

HENRY
: I’m not suggesting they’re in precisely the same classroom of abnormal behavior, but I do think they’re in the same school.

RAE
: [to Isabel] See, I can’t talk to him about this.

HENRY
: Isabel, are you recording this?

ISABEL
: Yes.

HENRY
: I’m going to confiscate the tape recorder.
[End of tape.]

After five pages of
Crime and Punishment
Rae pressed the Play button and we watched episode two of the first series
¹
of
Doctor Who
(2005, BBC), “The End of the World.”
²

During a brief lull in the on-screen conversation, I said, “This show makes me want to get stoned and watch every episode back-to-back.”

Henry cleared his throat at the “get stoned” comment. He got two beers out of the refrigerator and handed me one.

“Perhaps this will do.”

“Thank you.”

“Try to keep the drug references to a minimum around a cop and a minor.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Shhh,” Rae hissed, her eyes like lasers on the television.

“The End of the World” ended and Rae checked her cell phone for messages.

“Got to bail,” Rae said.

“Where are you going?” Henry asked.

“To Ashley’s house. They’re ordering pizza tonight.”

“Call your mother,” Henry said.

“I’m not telling her about the pizza,” Rae replied.

“I don’t
care
about the pizza. Just let her know where you’ll be.”

“Oh, right.”

“Call her
now.
”

“You are so prehistoric,” Rae said while dialing the number.

Two hours later, after a dinner of salmon, wild rice, and kale, I washed the dishes while Stone dried and inspected.

“You missed a spot,” he said for the third time in a row.

“I really think medication would help you,” I replied.

“It might help you as well,” he replied.

“You really are oddly clean.”

“I know,” he said, as if this were his dark secret.

“And organized. Your sock drawer is unbelievable.”

“You snooped, didn’t you?”

“You even smell like soap.”

“No, I don’t.”

“A very nice soap, but soap. Yes.”

Breathing in the smell of Stone’s soapy essence, I felt kind of dizzy. I handed him the final dish and opened the space between us.

“Did you learn anything else about me today?” he asked.

“As far as I can tell you’re not that into porn.”

“Are you sure?” Stone asked sarcastically. “Men have very good hiding places.”

“I know all the hiding places,” I replied.

“Wow. You’ve had a busy day,” Stone said, scanning his home for signs of invasion.

“Relax,” I said. “I didn’t look all that hard. You’re just not the type.”

“What type am I?”

“I really don’t know,” I said. “You’re kind of like some alien life form.”

The mention of aliens reminded Stone and me that hours of
Doctor Who
awaited us. Since Stone, like an unprepared babysitter, was happy for any form of diversion from my usual diverting habits, he popped in the DVD and refrained from enforcing his alternating reading rule.

Snippets of conversation emerged in the midst of a series of close calls with the end of civilization.

Doctor Who

Episode 3: “The Unquiet Dead”
³

“I had no idea you were such a geek,” I said authoritatively.

“Now you know,” he replied.

“Clever how you got Rae reading Dickens.”

“Isn’t it?”

Episode 4: “Aliens of London”
⁴

“I need you to do me a favor,” I said.

“Other than giving you a place to crash?”

“Yes,” I said, turning to Stone. “The last time I followed John Brown, he parked in front of this building for about an hour. A woman came out to speak to him—”

“I thought you were done with this,” Stone said, pausing the alien image on the screen.

“I am done. But you’re not.”

I handed Stone a slip of paper from my pocket. “This is the address of where he was parked. The woman, Jennifer Davis, has since disappeared.”

Stone took the slip of paper. “I’m sure the police are investigating this matter.”

“Look into it for me,” I said.

“Why can’t you just let this go?”

“The same reason you can’t leave a dirty dish in the sink. It’s just who I am.”

Saturday, April 1

I awoke sometime after ten
A.M
to find my host, still in his pajamas, reading a newspaper on his living room sofa.

“Happy Birthday,” Henry said as he looked up from his newspaper.
¹
He then put his bare feet up on his coffee table. It was an awkward shift, as if he had never done it before. “I made you a cake,” he continued, nodding toward the kitchen.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?” I asked, following his gaze.

There was a coffee cake on the kitchen counter. Next to it, fresh-brewed coffee. Next to that, a coffee ring where a mug used to rest. Next to that, a sink full of dishes, presumably from the cake making.

“I don’t know who you are, sir. But tell me what you’ve done with Henry,” I said in mock desperation.

“Very funny,” he replied, not moving his eyes from the newspaper. “Just eat your cake.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee, sliced a large square of the accompanying cake, and sat down on the couch next to Henry.

“This is
really
good,” I said. “Did you make it from scratch?”

“Of course,” was his only reply.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“Your parents called early this morning,” he said, as he took the fork out of my hand and gave himself a bite of cake.

I felt his forehead with the back of my hand.

“Should I call a doctor?” I asked.

“People can change,” he said, giving me back my fork.

“What game are you playing?” I asked suspiciously.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Stone said. “I’ll cut back on the cleaning-and-control-issue type things if you avoid all forms of surveillance.”

“For how long?”

“Until Monday morning.”

“It’s only a weekend.”

“It’s a start.”

Like my sister, I enjoy a good negotiation. But I needed to enhance the sacrifice on Stone’s end of the bargain.

“Cutting back on the cleaning isn’t going to work for me,” I said.

“What’s your counteroffer?” Stone replied.

“A complete moratorium on cleaning. If the sink gets too full, I’ll wash the dishes and dry them. There will be no inspection. Also, you have to wear your pajamas into the afternoon.”

“What if I have to go out?”

“Not my problem. And, one shower a day only. No shaving.”

“Be reasonable, Isabel.”

“It’s my birthday,” I said.

Stone mulled over the terms of our negotiation. “Let me make my demands clear,” he said, spelling out his final counteroffer. “You can’t go near any computer. You may not leave the house, unless you’re accompanied by an adult (or Rae), and you may not use your cell phone unless I am within earshot.”

“Where’s the trust?”

“There is none.”

“So is this like a bet with winners and losers?”

“No,” Stone replied. “It’s just an experiment.”

A
storm came through the Bay Area that morning. Outside, thunder roared and lightning followed. With our usual pastimes off the table, Stone and I briefly debated how we could occupy ourselves.

“We could go to the museum.”

“Nah.”

“The library.”

“Why?”

“The aquarium.”

“The aquarium? Are you trying to educate me?” I asked.

“It was a thought,” Stone replied.

We chose television to numb our respective minds and opted to continue our
Doctor Who
marathon.

A surveillance report on Stone and me would read something like this:

Lost Weekend—Day 1
1110 hrs

Henry Stone (hereafter referred to as Subject #1) and Isabel Spellman (hereafter referred to as Subject #2) are observed sitting on a couch. Subject #1 is wearing green-and-navy-blue-checked pajamas. Subject #2 wears red-and-green flannel pajama bottoms and a hooded sweatshirt. Subject #1 puts a DVD into the player. Subjects lean back and watch the television screen.

Subjects remain on the couch for the next five hours.

1230 hrs

A young woman, approximately fifteen years of age (Subject #3), with sandy blonde hair, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, a sweater, and a raincoat, rings Subject #1’s doorbell. Subject #3 is granted entrance into Subject #1’s home.

The fault with surveillance reports is that they rarely provide the soundtrack. And the following events require a soundtrack. I’ll have to recount the details from memory since Henry frisked me for a recording device the moment Rae arrived.

“Happy Birthday,” Rae said upon entering the apartment. She then passed me a plastic bag that contained a birthday card and a one pound bag of Peanut M&M’s. The card was of the Hallmark-humor variety. “Hey, you don’t look your age…I thought you were older.” A ten-dollar bill accompanied the insult.

“Thanks,” I replied. “I think I’ll use it to buy a quarter tank of gas.”

But Rae wasn’t interested in my response. She promptly spotted the dirty dishes in the sink, noted the coffee cake on the counter, and gawked at Stone in his PJs. I’m fairly certain she has never seen him in anything that didn’t button up and tuck in.

“Do you have the flu?” Rae asked Henry.

“No,” Henry replied. “I’m going to get dressed.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, blocking Stone’s entry into the bedroom.

“It’s afternoon. The deal was I wear the pajamas through morning.”

“No, the deal was you wear them until afternoon. Rae, what is afternoon to you?”

“Three o’clock,” Rae said, and then she darted for the television and opened up the DVD player to find out which episode we were on.

“Did you skip ahead?” Rae asked, looking betrayed.

“No,” I replied, turning Henry around and pushing him back toward the couch.

“When did you watch all of these?” Rae asked, doing some internal calculations.

“Last night and this morning,” I said.

“There’s no way you were reading, too.”

“Your sister and I are conducting an experiment,” Henry explained.

“Well, if the experiment involves a
Doctor Who
marathon then I want in. I can’t believe you did this without me.”

Rae, with a look of determination unmatched in her entire history, swapped out DVDs and plopped herself down on the couch, clutching the cushions to secure her place there.

“You’re going to have to wait until I catch up,” she said, after locating the remote and pressing Play. “Oh, and I
won’t
be reading any books today,” she said authoritatively.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“One forty-five,” Stone replied.

I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.

“Isabel, it’s one forty-five,” Stone said.

“I know. You just told me.”

I took another beer out of the refrigerator.

“You’ll have one too.”

Henry nodded his head toward my sister, silently trying to convey that he did not wish to set such an example for a minor.

“Relax, Henry. She’s seen people drink beer in the afternoon before.”

“Shhh,” Rae demanded, staring at the television with rapt attention.

“Got any board games?” I whispered.

“Scrabble,” Stone replied.

“Of course you have Scrabble,” I said sarcastically. “Get it. We have time to kill.”

1630 hrs

Rae, finally realizing that these hours of bliss would not be snatched from her in the immediate future, decided to take a break from her viewing pleasure and test the limitations of this “experiment.” She got up from the couch and announced that she was going to the store.

“I’ll come with you,” I said. “We need more beer.”

I threw a raincoat over my pajamas and slipped on Henry’s rain boots, which were by the front door. The nearest corner shop was about two blocks away. Rae and I decided to walk in the cold, damp air. I tucked my pajama bottoms into the boots and stomped through the puddles on the way to the store.

“Would you stop that?” Rae demanded, as she dodged my splashes of water.

I didn’t stop.

“Grow up, Isabel.”

I circled the next puddle and said, “I’m going to let you in on a secret: People don’t grow up like you think they do.”

Rae sighed and said, “What are you talking about?”

“The whole grown-up thing is a myth. Whatever is wrong with you now will probably be wrong with you in twenty years.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me now,” Rae replied.

“If people really grew up, there would be no crime, no divorce, no Civil War reenactors. Think about it. Was Uncle Ray a grown-up? Does Dad always behave like a grown-up? It’s all bullshit. I can’t tell you what Mom’s been doing lately, but I will say,
not
grown-up.”

“I miss Uncle Ray,” my sister said.

“Me too,” I replied.

It had been a while since his name was mentioned. Silence washed over us as we reached the corner shop. I tried not to think of Uncle Ray as being gone forever. I just liked to imagine him on one really long Lost Weekend. I welcomed the distraction of choosing beer.

After Rae and I bought our provisions we strode back to Henry’s house on the rain-soaked sidewalk. I stomped in a puddle one more time to take Rae’s mind off our uncle. I could read from her sober expression that tears might surface if she let them.

“I asked you to stop that,” Rae said, dodging the splash after the fact.

“Sorry, I forgot,” I lightly replied.

“Henry’s a grown-up,” Rae said after a long pause.

I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary, so I let that one slide.

“Maybe,” I said. “But my point is, it’s not like you think it will be, that one day you’ll wake up and realize that you’ve got things figured out. You never figure it out. Ever.”

“So is there any benefit to getting older?” Rae asked.

“Sure,” I said. “You can buy your own beer.”

Five minutes later we were inside Henry’s house, dropping our shoes and raincoats in the foyer. I scanned the room for signs of order, but it appeared Henry had left all items in their place, out of place. He did, however, dress while we were out. There was nothing overly formal about Stone’s attire, but the tucked-in oxford shirt under the blue sweater looked a touch too college-lecturer for me.

“No shoes,” I said to Henry, looking down at his loafers.

“I don’t recall our deal involving complete wardrobe control. Do you?”

“Untuck this,” I said, reaching under his sweater and pulling the tails out of his pants. Henry smacked my hands away.

“I got it,” he said, finishing the job.

“That’s better.”

Rae unpacked her groceries and began melting butter in a saucepan.

“Rae, what are you doing?” Henry asked, looking concerned.

“There’s only one conclusion to draw from these three ingredients,” my sister replied. “Rice Krispies Treats.”

“Are you planning on cleaning up after yourself?” Henry asked, imagining pots and pans taking over his kitchen like an alien invasion.

My sister, accurately judging the temperature in the room, replied, “Eventually.”

I won’t bore you with a detailed retelling of the next twenty-four hours. Suffice it to say, it was more of the same. The following are the highlights, which can be illustrated by attributed bits of conversation.

1830 hrs

RAE
: Izzy, want another square [shorthand for RKT]?

ISABEL
: No, but Henry will have one.

HENRY
: No, thank you.

ISABEL
: I wasn’t asking. I was telling.

1930 hrs

RAE
: I
hate
the Slitheens.
¹
I really, really hate them. They’re so disgusting. Frankly, I prefer the Daleks.
²

ISABEL
: But the Slitheens aren’t as big a threat as the Daleks.

RAE
: The Daleks are really scary, but I don’t hate them in the same way.
Henry, who do you hate more?

HENRY
: They’re fiction. I don’t
hate
either.
[Rae accidentally spills a bowl of pretzels onto the coffee table. Henry reaches to clean it up.]

ISABEL
: Leave it.

HENRY
: Are you going to clean it up?

ISABEL
: Later.

2100 hrs

RAE
: This is fun. We should do this every weekend.

HENRY
: When will you do your homework?

RAE
: You are so prehistoric.

ISABEL
: I think I’ll have another beer.

HENRY
: Me, too.

ISABEL
: Really?

HENRY
: Rae, how will you get home?

RAE
: I thought I’d use the Tardis.
³

HENRY
: Call home. We can’t drive you.

RAE
: I’m not ready to go yet.

HENRY
: Isabel, hand me the phone.

ISABEL
: This is so great. The experiment is working. You’re, like, totally lazy.
[I hand Henry the phone. He calls the Spellman house.]

HENRY
: [into phone] Hi, Olivia. It’s Henry. Rae’s going to need a ride home sometime this evening. I’ve had a couple of beers and can’t drive. Isabel can’t drive either. Yes, she’s still here. Your mother left you a message on your cell phone. Why haven’t you called her back?

ISABEL
: Because she had me arrested for grand larceny just because I borrowed her car.

HENRY
: You heard that? Anyway, can you pick up Rae? She’s been here about twelve hours already. [pause] We’ve been watching TV and eating Rice Krispies Treats. I’m fine. I’ll see you later.

One hour later Henry’s doorbell rang. I answered it to encourage Henry’s slothfulness. My mother and father were standing in the foyer. Mom handed me a card, which presumably contained an amusing insult about my age and a check for a not-insignificant amount of money.

“Happy Birthday, dear. This should keep you out of trouble for a while…I hope,” Mom said as she kissed me on the cheek.

Dad followed up with a hug and suggested we have dinner sometime next week.

Both parents brushed passed me and took in the spectacle of Henry’s disordered home on their own.

“You know it still only requires one adult for a Rae extraction, right?” I said.

“We were worried,” my father replied.

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“Not about you,” Mom said. “Henry.”

“Henry, is everything all right?” my dad asked the new-and-improved Henry.

“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine. Isabel and I just came to an understanding.”