Revenge of the Spellmans (30 page)

W
hen I returned home, I checked my e-mail and finally had a message from burbmom28. She vaguely remembered Sharon, but like fairydust611, she had no recollection of a Linda Truesdale. I sent her a picture of Sharon to see if it would jog her memory. I cropped a surveillance photo to make it look like a snapshot. Burbmom28, AKA Lavae, responded later that night.

I sat up for a few more hours, trying to figure out the next step, only I couldn’t really think of one. I had two women, complete opposites, somehow connected, although not connected in the way they claimed to be. I also had a morally bankrupt detective and a deep-pocketed political con
sultant all trying to get to the bottom of the matter. And, to refresh your memory, I had only five days left before I was supposed to make a decision about my entire future.

Somehow I got it into my head that if I couldn’t solve this case before Harkey did, I shouldn’t be solving any cases. In the past, I’d stumbled upon the answers, often misreading the evidence, getting to the truth only by sheer doggedness. I wanted to solve this case without my usual bullying tactics. The answer was in front of me, only I couldn’t see it.

When the last bit of energy drained from my body, I went to bed. And I stayed there for the next three days. During that stretch of time, I watched bad TV at the lowest volume and ignored the rolling waves of voice mail messages that piled up on my cell phone.

Just to be clear, it wasn’t only my unsolved case that drew me into this funk, or my impending decision, or my sister’s minor victory, or my departing friends, or even the kiss from a near-stranger that I enjoyed just a little too much. No, something else was at work that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was vaguely like I had a sudden glimpse, a snapshot, of who I had become—a single, unemployed squatter in court-ordered therapy. No little girl dreams of growing up into that.

I alternated between real sleep and half sleep, but both were more than welcome. Semiconsciousness is underrated. After three days I was mostly out of food and my head throbbed from lack of caffeine, but still I didn’t budge. I’m not sure how long I would have lasted on my own, but my escape came to an abrupt and jarring end.

While I was watching a travel program in the late hours of a morning—no, I didn’t know what day or exactly what time it was—there was a knock on my door. Okay, if you are not fully comprehending the shock value of this loud knocking, let me remind you of this fact: This was the first knock at the door.
Ever.
Instantly, my heart started thumping. I felt my face flush, my hands go clammy, and my legs get weak. Shit. The jig was up. I took several deep breaths and waited. Maybe I’d imagined the knock. Maybe someone wasn’t knocking on my door but knocking on some other part of the house…

Then there was the knocking again. I was closer to the door this time, so I can say with 100 percent certainty that the knock was for me.

What was I supposed to do? I had only two options: 1) Ignore the knock and let unknown events unfold as they might, or 2) answer the door. Frankly, I had been living in a state of uncertainty for so long, I don’t think I could have taken much more. I answered the damn door.

David stood there in his bathrobe, holding a cup of coffee.

“Hi,” I said, because, really, what else can you say under this precise set of circumstances?

“Hi,” David casually replied. “Do you want some coffee?”

Dumbfounded, I took the offering. I took a sip of the coffee to kill some time and think of something, anything, to say.

“How long have you known?” I asked.

“I’ve known all along,” David replied.

Long, long pause.

“So, are you my blackmailer?”

Twenty minutes later, David and I were sitting in his kitchen drinking coffee and eating breakfast while I grilled him about the details of my secret sublet. It wasn’t entirely true that David had known all along. It took him approximately three days to notice my presence below him. Here were his clues: The sound of footsteps in the middle of the night, the occasional drop in water pressure when he took a shower, and the time his neighbor Tom asked him how his new tenant was working out. Also, my soundproof closet phone booth apparently tunnels conversations directly into his kitchen pantry.

It had been over a month since David’s return. I had to ask the obvious question:

“Why didn’t you kick me out?”

David shrugged his shoulders. “It seemed like you were going through a rough time—no job, the therapy, who knows what else? I figured you were
broke or would be soon, and your only other option was to move back in with Mom and Dad. That didn’t seem like a good idea.”

His response was so out of character it was jarring; it took me some time to form words.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out of here soon. I promise,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it,” David replied.

“You’re being suspiciously nice,” I said.

“I’m your brother. I’m going to be nice on random occasions.”

“Thanks. But I’m trying to understand why this time you were so nice.”

“Honestly, because you were so, so…pathetic.”

“True,” I replied.

“You need to take a shower,” David said.

It had been three days. I couldn’t argue with him.

“Right,” I replied.

And then I noticed that while David appeared clean and well—his health and arm repaired from his wilderness adventure mishap—he was still home in his bathrobe at 11:55
A
.
M
. on a weekday.

“What day is it?” I asked.

“Wednesday,” David replied.

“You’re still not at work,” I said, begging for an explanation.

“A natural detective, you are,” David replied. I think he was debating whether to speak the truth or concoct an untruth. I think we were all coming to the conclusion that the truth was actually easier to live with.

“I quit my job,” he said.
1

“No!” I replied.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I didn’t care about it. If I’m going to work seventy hours a week, it should matter, right?”

“Right,” I replied. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

“Not yet. So keep your mouth shut.”

“Sure thing,” I said. “It’s the least I can do.”

“More coffee?” David asked. He didn’t wait for a response; he just poured me another cup.

“So, are you or are you not my blackmailer?” I asked.

[Partial transcript reads as follows:]

ISABEL:
Sorry I missed my session Monday.

DR. RUSH:
Would you like to tell me why?

ISABEL:
I was depressed.

DR. RUSH:
That’s a good reason to come to therapy.

ISABEL:
I couldn’t get out of bed.

DR. RUSH:
Are you better now?

ISABEL:
I’m out of bed.

DR. RUSH:
What sent you to bed in the first place?

ISABEL:
Friends were leaving. People are changing, but I’m sort of staying the same.

DR. RUSH:
Are you sure about that?

ISABEL:
I don’t know. The great thing about staying in bed is that nothing happens then. You know?

DR. RUSH:
Things still happen.

ISABEL:
But I can pretend they don’t.

DR. RUSH:
Pretending will only get you so far.

[Long pause.]

ISABEL:
My father left five voice mail messages on my cell phone when I was
sleeping or half asleep. The first time he asked me to lunch, I assumed it was so he could remind me that time was running out on my big decision. But when he called me again, he said we didn’t have to talk about my big decision. But he still asked me to lunch. What is it with him and lunch?

DR. RUSH:
What do you think it is?

ISABEL:
Maybe he’s really hungry.

DR. RUSH:
[impatiently] You must have a theory beyond that.

ISABEL:
Not really.

DR. RUSH:
[sigh] Isabel.

ISABEL:
Look, I know. People think I don’t see things beyond the surface, but I do. I see it. My dad is getting older; he doesn’t want any regrets. I know he loves me and I know he cares about what happens to me. I don’t exactly dislike spending time with my father, but he always wants to know how I’m doing deep down. Sometimes I don’t want to think about that.

DR. RUSH:
What happens when you do?

ISABEL:
For instance, my job. When I think about doing it for the rest of my life, it makes me think not just about the job and how I feel about that, but the rest of my life. And then I think,
Is this it?
And when I ask myself that, I’m not even sure I’m thinking about the job.

DR. RUSH:
What are you thinking about?

ISABEL:
Life and death and that sort of thing.

DR. RUSH:
That covers a lot of ground.

ISABEL:
I know.

DR. RUSH:
Maybe you need to break it down.

ISABEL:
I have. This week I’m only thinking about my big decision.

DR. RUSH:
Have you come to one?

ISABEL:
I just need to figure out this case I’m working on. If I can solve the case, I’ll know what to do.

DR. RUSH:
Why is this case so important?

ISABEL:
Most of the job is pretty basic. I sit behind a computer and research
someone’s past, someone’s criminal record, or I follow a person around and try to catch him or her doing something they’re not supposed to be doing. But every once in a while a case comes along that demands more, and I need to be sure that I can handle it the right way. Sometimes the answer isn’t everything.

DR. RUSH:
Where are you on this case?

ISABEL:
Nowhere. I’m certain there’s something to figure out, but I don’t know what.

[Long pause.]

DR. RUSH:
Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?

ISABEL:
My secret has been exposed.

DR. RUSH:
Oh, good.

ISABEL:
It’s a load off my mind.

DR. RUSH:
You’re referring to the secret about where you were living, right?

ISABEL:
Right.

DR. RUSH:
So?

ISABEL:
I guess I can tell you now. I was living in my brother’s secret basement apartment.

DR. RUSH:
Why would that be a secret?

ISABEL:
Two reasons: A) At first, I didn’t know this apartment existed, and B) because he didn’t know I was living in it.

DR. RUSH:
You were living in your brother’s apartment without his permission?

ISABEL:
Yes. And he wasn’t as angry as I thought he’d be. He was pretty decent about the whole thing. I apologized, in case you were wondering.

DR. RUSH:
It sounds like an apology was in order.

ISABEL:
It was.

DR. RUSH:
I hope you’ve stopped investigating him.

ISABEL:
I have. But mostly because I ran out of steam. It turns out David just sort of changed. There was no big turning point behind it, besides his divorce, which I already knew about.

DR. RUSH:
Why do you seem so surprised? People change all the time. You’ve probably changed more than you think.

ISABEL:
I don’t know about that.

[Short pause.]

DR. RUSH:
Something else on your mind?

ISABEL:
David wasn’t my blackmailer.

DR. RUSH:
Could it have been someone else in your family?

ISABEL:
I questioned everyone and each one denied it, even after my secret was revealed. The Spellmans, like any fringe political organization, like to take credit for their crimes. There would be no benefit in denial. Besides, the terms of the blackmail never seemed to fit anyone’s MO.

DR. RUSH:
Could it be someone outside your family?

ISABEL:
Morty was too busy and I don’t believe he has the hand dexterity to cut and paste—

[Long pause.]

DR. RUSH:
Isabel?

ISABEL:
I know who it is.