Trail of the Spellmans (17 page)

“What?” she said.

“You’re on the clock tonight. The Blakes want Vivien surveilled this evening.”

“On a Thursday night?” Rae asked.

“Thursday’s the new Friday, haven’t you heard?”

“Fine. What time should I start?”

“As soon as you can.”

“Got it,” she said, and disconnected the call without even a good-bye.

“Who are we surveilling?” Walter asked.

“My sister,” I replied.

Even if my sister did follow my instructions, I knew it might take her some time to get ready. I decided to grill Walter about his potential enemies in the interim.

“I’m a nice person,” Walter said. “I don’t make enemies.”

“But sometimes you get them without even trying,” I replied. “For instance, how many students do you have at any given time?”

“I have fifty-three right now. Last semester forty-eight, the semester before that—”

“Do they all get A’s?”

“Hardly any of them get A’s.”

“Well, then any one of those students is a suspect.”

“But I teach calculus, Isabel; there’s no subjectivity in the grading. Most of the tests are done with a Scantron. No student comes to me asking to change their score. It’s their score.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never had a run-in with a student before?”

“I’m telling you that I help my students to the best of my ability and that I cannot think of any one of them who would be capable of this.”

“How about colleagues?” I asked.

“Unlikely,” he replied, but I could tell it got him thinking.

“Impossible?”

“Tenure is a messy business,” he said.

“Bingo. We’ve got motive.”

“This is giving me a headache,” Walter replied; then he did a subject U-turn. “You should really get your car detailed,” he said. “But don’t just take it to a regular car wash. I have a guy.” Walter picked some lint off my jacket.

“Knock it off, Walter, we’re on a job.”

After a half hour passed, I pulled a pair of binoculars from my bag, wiped them down with the antibacterial wipes that Walter keeps in abundance in his car, and passed them to my driver. “Keep an eye on that building, second from the corner. Let me know if someone comes to the front door—specifically, someone small and blond. Any questions?”

“I’m on it,” he said, already gazing through the magnified lens.

I buzzed Rae’s door and then slipped around the corner. The gate release buzzed back, but no one came to the door. I waited a minute and buzzed again and slipped back into my hiding place. The gate release buzzed again
³
and I slipped away. This time I could hear footsteps descending the stairs, the gate clinking open and shut, and then footsteps
ascending the stairs. I threw the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and hightailed it back to the car.

“What did you see?” I asked Walter.

“Exactly what you described. A petite blond woman, looked like a teenager, came to the door, looked out, and then returned.”

“That was my sister.”

“So, she’s home safe. That’s a good thing, right?” Walter said.

“No,” I replied. “It’s not.”

I sent Rae a text.

On the clock yet?

duh.
⁴

GR8.

I clicked my phone shut, satisfied that I’d officially caught my sister in the act. Only now I had to figure out why.

“Do me a favor, Walter: Remember tonight, in case I need confirmation.”

“I’ll never forget it,” Walter replied, almost beaming.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Walter?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think maybe a little.”

“Most people like the idea of a stakeout but hate it in reality.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Walter said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied, “because it’s kind of like stalking.”

“I was thinking it was more like being in a cop show and we’re partners. Detectives Perkins and Spellman.”

“I should get top billing.”

“Spellman and Perkins.”

“That sounds better,” I said.

“I never break routine,” Walter said, almost wistfully.

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“Easy for you to say,” he replied. “All you do is break routine.”

“Sometimes it certainly seems that way.”

Two hours later, when I was certain that Rae was going nowhere on her Vivien Blake surveillance, I took Walter home. His power was completely out. After checking with the neighbors, it became clear that only Walter was affected by this mysterious outage. We checked the circuit breaker and then called PG&E. Apparently Walter, with all of his identifying information, had informed the power company that he would be moving out of his residence and wanted the electricity and gas shut off immediately. Walter promptly informed them that the call was a fake and in a few hours the power was restored.

All his clocks had to be reset immediately, which required Walter to call the number for the exact time and reset them one by one. And then call the number again to double-check. Walter’s mental state had clearly taken a turn for the worse.

“Maybe you should stay in a hotel tonight,” I suggested.

“Do you have any idea what goes on in those places?”

“Walter, think about the list. E-mail it to me in the morning.”

“Okay,” Walter said, scanning the room for signs of intruders.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I said, “no one came in.”

“How can you be sure?” he asked.

“Because I put a piece of Scotch tape on the door, just in case. It was still there when we came back.”

“I didn’t see you do that.”

“I didn’t want you to see it.”

“Thank you, Isabel.”

“Good night, Walter.”

If you’re wondering about the tape business, I’ll come clean. It was a lie. But I needed Walter to get some rest that night. Someone was playing games with his head, but I knew they weren’t playing games with his life.

As I walked to my car, upon leaving Walter’s apartment, my cell phone rang. The caller ID said the number was private, but I picked up anyway.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sandra?” a female voice asked.

“No, you have the wrong number.”

“Lorraine?”

“No,” I replied. “Maybe you have the wrong number and the wrong name.”

“Can I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“It’s you again, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where did you get my phone number?” I asked.

“You are up to some very unusual business,” the woman said, and disconnected the call.

The first call had been a nuisance. The second one left me with a slightly queasy feeling in my gut. I was being watched. As you can imagine, it’s not my favorite condition to be in.

HOME

I
returned to what appeared to be an empty house. All the lights were out except for a single lamp in Henry’s study. He was sitting at his desk, tilted back in a chair. A recently cracked bottle of bourbon on the desk, not from any rain boot I know of. A full glass sat next to it. But I could tell from the rings on the blotter that this was not his first drink.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said.

He nodded his head and took a sip. Then he handed the glass to me. I took a gulp because it had really been a long day . . . well, more than a day. It seemed like a week since I’d had a moment to just sit and think. I sat down on the couch. Despite what he’d said in our previous conversation, Henry did not want to talk. I waited just to be sure. And even though I didn’t want to talk, I knew that something was terribly wrong and so I had to talk because sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do. Which seems obvious to most people, but it’s just another item in a laundry list of things I figured out later in life than I should have.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“Maybe you’ve had too much to drink,” I said.

Henry’s not a drinker; in fact, I can’t recall ever seeing him sloshed. Miraculously, he was on the verge.

“Maybe I haven’t had enough to drink.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” I said, assuming the silence was my doing.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Do I know what we’re talking about?”

“No.”

“Will you tell me?”

Henry poured another finger and then another. “My parents are getting a divorce,” he said.

“Maybe it’s just a trial separation,” I said as I plotted diabolical plans against Bernie.

“No. They’ve been separated for a while, it seems. My father just filed.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s staying with a friend.”

“What friend?” I asked.

“That woman from college.”

“Have you met her?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

He looked like he needed to be alone and I needed some sleep, so I got up to leave.

“Isabel.”

“Yes?”

“Things change. People don’t stay in one place for the rest of their lives.”

You might assume that Henry was speaking of his parents, but he wasn’t. The message was for me.

“I know,” I replied.

Henry left early the next morning. I phoned Gerty, but the call went to voice mail and I wasn’t sure what kind of message to leave. “Break up
with that fat slob” seemed like the kind of thing you should say face-to-face.

I went into the office and found my mother and Demetrius in the living room lounging by the fireplace. Mom was studying for a Russian quiz while Demetrius read her book club selection for the month.

“Ready for your quiz?” I asked.

“Vyshe golovy ne prygnesh,
” Mom said.

“Gesundheit.”

“It means ‘You can’t jump higher than your head,’” Mom said.

“Your point is?” I asked.

“One can’t do more than what is humanly possible,” D said, clarifying. I had a feeling he’d been quizzing Mom on her Russian. “
Dosvedanya,
” I said, heading into the office.

“Surprise family dinner tonight. Everyone will be there,” said Mom.

“Like the Pope?”

“No, I mean, like, the whole family.”

“David agreed to be in the same room as Rae?”

“Opposite ends of the table, but not facing each other, so no eye contact is required. One of these days he’s going to tell me what happened. This whole thing is ridiculous. We’re making coq au vin.”

“When you say ‘we,’ I do hope you mean Demetrius.”

“I’m his sous chef,” Mom said.

Then she turned to D, who was still “engrossed” in the book, which means he was staring at the pages with wide eyes and a baffled crinkle in his forehead.

“How is it?” I asked.

“Poignant,” D dryly replied.

“I
hate
poignant,” Mom said.

“Mom, why join a book club if you’re never going to read the books and you don’t like the company?”

“One of those women is bound to have a cheating husband and will want to put a detective on the case.”

“I see. So it’s purely a business decision. Still doesn’t explain the crocheting and the Russian lessons and the cooking classes.”

“Sweetie, some of us think that one should have extracurricular activities besides shooting pool and drinking beer.”

“At least I enjoy my extracurricular activities. Is Dad in?”

“Nope. He’s out.”

“Where? On a job?” I asked.

“Chinese wall,” my mom replied.

I entered the office, shut the door, and turned on my father’s computer. It was password-protected but I’d figured his out four years ago and he still hadn’t changed it. “ThreePete.” The name of his bachelor-days dog. A three-legged mutt who came from the pound named Pete. Hence, ThreePete.
¹
He had the dog for seven years until he met his future wife with the debilitating dog allergies and had to choose. I typed the password as I’d done many times before. An alarm sounded on the computer and the screen went black. Then red bricks surfaced against the black background, slowly building a wall.

Only one computer geek could have been behind this. The number was in the speed dial.

“Speak,” Robbie Gruber, our abusive computer consultant, said.

“You and my sister should hang out. You have similar phone manners.”

“I take it you tried to sign into your father’s computer,” Robbie said.

“Nice job with the wall. Would have been cooler if it looked like the Great Wall of China and not a Pink Floyd album cover.”

“There wasn’t time to get fancy.”

“What’ll it cost for you to give me his password?”

“Too steep for you. But now it’ll cost you fifty to keep the bribe from your dad.”

“Right,” I said, not quite believing.

“I’ll call him as soon as we hang up.”

“Will you take a check?”

“Cash. Today.”

“Seventy-five if you tell me how to make the wall disappear so my dad doesn’t know I tried to log on to his computer.”

Robbie negotiated me up to a hundred and remotely reset Dad’s computer. He told me that if I tried to infiltrate again, the hush money would enter the four-digit range. Robbie’s threats were always real. I learned that lesson the hard way. After my failed security breach, I needed some non-Spellman air.

“Where are you going, sweetie?” my mom asked.

“Out,” I replied.

“I hear it’s nice this time of year. Make sure you’re back inside by dinnertime. Oh, and invite Henry and Gerty.”

“I think I’ll spare them, if you don’t mind.”

The rest of us, however, could not be saved.

GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER?

S
ome events in your life you wish you remembered perfectly so you could revisit them again and again. This was not one of them, yet I recorded it anyway. In my family’s history, there may have been no better example of domestic misfortune. This night needed to be archived, if only to be used as evidence at a later date.

Mom and Demetrius prepared dinner as if they were cooking an innocent man’s final meal. The kitchen bubbled with delectable sauces and a blend of mouth-watering aromas that my mother is incapable of creating on her own. It seemed like this meal could very well have turned out to be D’s masterpiece. Too bad there was this inexplicable sense of doom hovering in the atmosphere.