Lisa Lutz Spellman Series E-Book Box Set: The Spellman Files, Curse of the Spellmans, Revenge of the Spellmans, The Spellmans Strike Again (71 page)

I
decided to take an indefinite break from the family business and went to work for Milo at the Philosopher’s Club. We thought a minor redecoration followed by a “grand opening” might put a spark back into the bar. I contacted every person I ever shared a beverage with and eventually drew in a crowd. Soon business picked up and I was working five nights a week, making more money than I ever had as an employee of Spellman Investigations. I wasn’t planning on remaining a bartender forever, but if I did decide to go back, at least I had some bargaining power.

My regular presence at the bar drew in a never-ending parade of familiar faces. About two weeks after I started, Rae dropped by the bar, ordered herself a celebratory ginger ale, and revealed to me that she had finally solved the Mucous Mystery. From the start, Rae had never accepted Henry’s hoarding theory and was constantly trying to come up with another plausible explanation. Eventually she decided to ask Mr. Peabody point-blank:

“Why do you keep used tissue in your desk drawer?”

Peabody, it turns out, had some disagreement with the janitorial staff about the recycling of used tissue. The janitors believed that it was trash. Mr. Peabody believed that since bodily waste is biodegradable there was no good reason not to recycle the used tissue. To avoid any further conflict, Peabody would collect the tissues and dispose of them in the recycling bin himself. Rae thoroughly enjoyed her brief victory of logic over Henry Stone.

Morty liked to swing by on Thursday afternoons, formerly our standing lunch date. He would bring a sandwich and order a coffee, which I would spike with a bit of whiskey. We discovered that the room-temperature warmth of Milo’s brew required no further adjustments on Morty’s part.

I was given six months to complete my twelve obligatory sessions of court-ordered therapy. At one session a week, doing the math, I still had at least three months until I absolutely had to schedule an appointment. Not looking forward to weekly explorations of my mental landscape, I continued to procrastinate. My mother, in turn, continued to drop by the bar to see whether my therapy had, in fact, begun. She would study me in a mock-scientific fashion and then say with an authoritative air, “Nope. You’re definitely not seeing a shrink.”

She stopped once I pointed to the sign on the door that said WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE. In my mother’s defense, however, she had kept the secret I had told her to herself. The engagement ring was returned to her jewelry box. Child Protective Services would never make another house call.

As for other Spellman news: Dad had given me a deadline to figure out where I stood with the family business. That deadline was closing in. My father’s un-REAFO, now exposed to my mother as a serious health concern, at first drew conflict into the unit, but now it united them. Brisk morning walks and afternoon yoga classes became staples of their daily activities. My dad no longer grumbled about the absence of red flesh at the dinner table, even coming up with “interesting” ways to consume tofu. Of course, the new menu did curb my visits to the Spellman dinner table, but I don’t think anyone noticed. On my Dad’s follow-up visit to his doctor, his cholesterol had dropped eighty points and his physician agreed that surgery was no longer a necessity. My parents discovered that weekend getaways were just what they needed. Neither recognized or cared how they had been played by their youngest daughter. Within weeks Rae would get exactly what she wanted: an unsupervised weekend in the Spellman household.

David and Petra did indeed separate, although to date neither has filed for divorce. David began showering, exercising, and working eighty-hour weeks again. The last time Rae visited his office, he made it perfectly clear that the cash machine was closed once and for all.

Rae, after the disappointment of her first driver’s-test failure, devoted all her free time to manipulating family members into providing instruction. Henry continued his boycott of driving lessons, but the rest of the family (and Milo) could not escape her determination. Within two months of failing her first test, Rae retook the road test and scored 92 percent. My parents realized that a new era awaited them.

The last time Henry called me for a Rae extraction, I had to explain that now that she was driving, he would have to figure out other methods of facilitating her departure. It occurred to me that I might never see Henry now that my extractions were no longer required. But then Henry showed up at the bar on my dead Monday evening shift, and he showed up the following Monday and the Monday after that.

It seems that sometime between Arrest #1 and Arrest #4, Henry and I had become friends.
¹
It just took me longer to notice than most people.

As for non-Spellman news: Bernie sent me a postcard from Jamaica, where he and Daisy had traveled to reignite the spark in their marriage. I don’t care to provide any more details, although Bernie provided plenty.

Weeks after I had settled into my new job, Subject entered the establishment. He had received my apology in the mail and contacted my parents to find out where to reach me. Apparently, after you’ve harassed a person for three straight months, a simple apology is not enough.

Subject sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. He reached into his pocket to pay, but I told him it was on the house.

“You owe me,” he said.

I couldn’t disagree with that.

“In the future, if I need your help, you’ll give it to me. Right?” he asked, although it wasn’t a question.

“Right,” I replied.

Subject finished his drink and disappeared.

On Friday, deadline day, at 3:00
P.M
., Dad dropped by the Philosopher’s Club to find out if I saw my future with Spellman Investigations.

“Have you got anything to say to me?” he asked.

“You better take care of yourself, Dad, because I’m not ready to decide my future. I’m just not.”

Dad sipped his wine (the only alcoholic beverage Mom allowed me to serve him) and contemplated my response.

“Okay, Isabel. You’ve bought yourself more time. But you have to make a decision eventually. We all have to grow up sometime.”

“Fine, Dad. Just, you go first.”

“Very amusing. So what will you do in the meantime?” Dad asked.

“I think I need a disappearance,” I said.

“That sounds like a good idea. You could use the rest.”

List of Ex-boyfriends

Ex-boyfriend #1

Ex-boyfriend #2:

Ex-boyfriend #3:

Ex-boyfriend #4:

Ex-boyfriend #5:

Ex-boyfriend #6:

Ex-boyfriend #7:

Ex-boyfriend #8:

Ex-boyfriend #9:

Ex-boyfriend #10:

Mark Twain’s Reputed Quote: “The coldest winter I ever spent was my summer in San Francisco.”

First of all, Twain never said this. Second, while it is true that San Francisco summers are mild compared to the rest of the country, in this climate of global warming, it sometimes gets downright hot, and unless you live in the Sunset or Richmond districts, it does not feel like winter. This is the most overused quote regarding San Francisco. It is my great hope in life that I
never
hear it again. And while I’m on the topic of my city,
do not
, under any circumstances, call it “Frisco.” You will immediately tag yourself as a tourist and be taken advantage of by the locals.

Checklist for potential dates (Mom used this as a stocking-stuffer one Christmas)

• Should be able to verify his existence (i.e., social security number, DOB).
  
• He should have a complete set of teeth.
  
• He should have an address and phone number.
  
• He should speak at least one language fluently.
  
• You should not be able to smell him from over three feet away.
  
• All his vaccinations should be up-to-date.
  
• He should have at least one friend and one family member to vouch for him.
  
• He should have a job or a reasonable excuse why he does not. (The list was actually three pages long, but I think you get the point.)
  

Memorandum

Re: MILFO renaming.
MILFOs are now called REAFOS

Please note that since Albert Spellman has reached the age of 50, we no longer think it is appropriate to use the term MILFO for his midlife-crisis-resembling events. The new name for this phenomenon will be REAFO, which stands for Retirement-age freak-out. We think this is a superior acronym and hope you agree.

List of Henry-approved Conversation Starters

1. How’s it going?
   
2. How’s work?
   
3. What’s new?
   
4. Seen any good movies lately?
   
5. If you need anything, I’m here.
   
6. Can I get you a beer?
   
7. Can I get you another beer?
   
8. How about one more beer?
   
9. Whiskey?
   
10. Nice shirt.
    
11. Nice shoes.
    

(Please note: Starters #6–11 I came up with on my own.)