The Spellmans Strike Again Read Free Page A

There’s no way it will still fit you. Just remember to err on the conservative side.
    Isabel: Don’t you worry, Mom. I plan on erring.
     
    The phone rang, so I ended our chat.
     
    Isabel: Nice chatting with you, Mom. Let’s not make a habit of it.
     
    I picked up the phone.
    “Hello?” I said, which felt strange after four hours of silence.
    The voice on the other end of the line was awkward, formal, and extremely familiar.
    “Hi, Isabel. It’s Henry.”
    “Rae’s not here. She’s probably at school.”
    “I’m not calling for Rae.”
    “My mom just stepped out of the office. You can try the house line.”
    Sigh . “I’m not calling for your mother either.”
    “Is it Dad you’re after? Because, frankly, I’m running out of people who can be found at this number.”
    “Nope. Don’t want to talk to your dad.”
    “Has someone else moved in that I don’t know about?” I asked.
    “I was calling for you,” Henry said, impressively containing his annoyance.
    “Huh,” I said. I tend to say “huh” when I’m not sure what else to say. Some people rely on more classic nonresponses, like “I see” or “Interesting” or even “Oh.” But I say “huh” and so far it’s worked for me.
    This might be a good time to elaborate just a bit on the awkward telephone conversation, even though I shouldn’t really have to elaborate if you’ve read these documents in order. 2
    Henry Stone, once my sister’s best friend, then enemy, then BFF again, has been tangled in the Spellman web for over three years now. A few years back, he was the lead investigator on a missing persons case—the missing person being Rae. (The conclusion: She staged her own kidnapping.) Since then, Henry has been around and I have gotten used to him being around. And last year I got so used to his whole being-around-ness that I started to think that it was something more than just that, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, you’ll have to figure it out because I’m not in the mood to dig up the details.
    Anyway, when I got this idea into my head, I couldn’t get it out, which makes it like most ideas I have. Eventually I made my feelings known to Henry and he made his nonfeelings equally well known. And that was the end of that. I then got used to him not being around. Not that he wasn’t around. He and Rae had settled their primary disputes and continued their bizarre friendship. My parents still invited him over for dinner and consulted him on cases, and he and my mom even have lunch now and again, exchange Christmas presents, and once went shopping together. 3
     
    As for me, I see Henry as little as possible. I find it’s healthier for my ego. When you’re thirty-one years old and someone tells you you’re not a grown-up, it stings. Now, at the age of thirty-two, the worst of the sting was gone.
    Besides, I had matured considerably in the intervening months and was about to take over the family business. In fact, at that very moment I was wearing a tucked-in shirt that was relatively wrinkle free, and my hair was combed. I could certainly handle a simple telephone conversation.
    “Isabel?” Henry said into the receiver. I guess I had been silent awhile.
    “Sorry. What can I do for you?”
    “I’d like to speak to you.”
    “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
    “In person.”
    “Why? Are the phones tapped and I don’t know about it?”
    Sound of throat clearing. “Meet me for a drink after work.”
    “I’ll be at the Philosopher’s Club 4 at—”
    “Not there!” Henry said too quickly and with a buzz of hostility.
    “Then you better be buying, because I’ve grown accustomed to free booze and I have to pay rent these days.”
    “Yes. I’m buying,” Henry said, sounding like he was regretting this entire conversation.
    “Okay. Where?”
    “Edinburgh Castle.”
    “I thought that place was too divey for you.”
    “It is. But I want you to be comfortable.”
    “How kind.”
    “Six