Trail of the Spellmans Read Free Page B

their client meeting, so I had a full audience.
    I dropped the file back on my mom’s desk. “I vote no.”
    “I wasn’t aware of any vote taking place,” Mom replied. “I’ll need some more time to campaign.”
    “Mom, it’s a clear invasion of privacy.”
    “Sweetie, if you haven’t noticed, invading privacy is our business.”
    “This crosses a line,” I said. “I thought the whole point of college was to get away from your parents.”
    “Then how come you never went?” Dad said, consulting the ceiling as if it were a grand philosophical question.
    “We’re talking about Vivien now.”
    “They’re concerned parents,” Mom said.
    “They’re paranoid parents.”
    “She’s been in trouble in the past.”
    “Who hasn’t?”
    “In one night, she stole half a dozen golf carts from Sharp Park,” Mom said.
    “She relocated them,” I replied. “They were discovered the next day.”
    “In a cow pasture!” Mom replied.
    “Still, they were returned, unscathed, to the golf course and no one could prove that she did it. She’s a genius, if you ask me.”
    “Technically she has a genius IQ,” Dad piped in, and quickly turned back to his work.
    “Isabel, she has a rather extensive juvenile rap sheet,” my mother said.
    “Fifty percent of the people in this room have a juvie record,” I replied, speaking for myself and Demetrius.
    I looked to D for some support, but he refused to meet my gaze, sifting through papers on his desk for the sole purpose of avoiding the debate being waged around him.
    “D, do you have anything to say?” I asked.
    “I think the muffins are ready,” he said, taking a brisk walk into the kitchen.
    Dad, too, remained mum, not wanting any part of this conflict.
    “Al, what’s your opinion?” my mother said.
    “Who cares?” I replied. “You guys only get one combined vote anyway.” 3
    “That’s my opinion,” Dad said.
    “Coward,” I said.
    “I have to live with her,” he said.
    “You tried to slip this case by me,” I said. “We agreed to vote whenever there was a dissenting opinion.”
    And so we voted. The outcome was one-one, as expected. We needed a tiebreaker. I entered the kitchen as Demetrius was plating the muffins. He set three aside on a separate platter.
    “I think he’s catching on,” D said.
    “Then we ride this wave as long as we can.”
    “I don’t feel good about the deception,” Demetrius replied.
    “Let it go. We have other matters to discuss.”
    “I don’t want to be the tiebreaker,” D said.
    “Too bad,” I replied. “It’s part of your job.”
    The deciding vote used to be Rae’s until we discovered she could be bought and ousted her from any interoffice conflict resolution.
    “Don’t try to sway his vote,” Mom said, entering the kitchen. She took one muffin off the main tray and another from the trio of outcasts. “Al’s?” she asked.
    Demetrius nodded his head and reentered the office. Mom and I followed on his heels, each adding a layer to our own dissenting opinion. Mom briefly switched her attention to the muffins, trying to remember which one was the contraband and which the whole-grain doorstop. She weighed them in her hands and figured it out. She passed Dad the muffin from her left hand and dug into the one in her right.
    “A freshman in college should not be under surveillance,” I said.
    “They’re concerned for her future, Isabel.”
    Demetrius sat behind his desk and, like my dad, tried to pretend we weren’t talking to him.
    “Demetrius,” I said, demanding a reply. “Remember who freed you.”
    “Stop playing the ‘I got you out of jail’ card,” Mom said.
    “I’m Switzerland,” Demetrius said, as usual.
    “There’s no Switzerland in Spellman Investigations. Everybody picks a side,” I intoned.
    Dad took a bite of his muffin and made a face. Not a good one. Then he said, sounding as dry as the muffin most likely was, “Once again, D, you’ve outdone yourself.”
    “Thanks,