Lisa Lutz - The Spellmans Strike Again: A Novel (Izzy Spellman Mysteries)

ALSO BY LISA LUTZ

Revenge of the Spellmans
Curse of the Spellmans
The Spellman Files

Lisa Lutz

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the authors imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Spellman Enterprises, Inc.

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First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition March 2010

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Designed by Davina Mock-Maniscalco

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lutz, Lisa.
The Spellmans strike again : a novel / Lisa Lutz.
1st Simon & Schuster hardcover ed.

p. cm.
1. Private investigatorsFiction. 2. San Francisco (Calif.)Fiction.
3. Domestic Fiction. I. Title.
PS3612.U897S69 2010
813 .6dc22
2009038267

ISBN 978-1-4165-9340-9
ISBN 978-1-4391-9983-1 (ebook)

To all my friends from Desvernine Associates:
Des, Pamela, Pierre, Yvonne, Debra,
and Gretchen. But not Mike.

THE SPELLMANS
STRIKE AGAIN

Phone call from the edge #28

MORTY: Whats new, Izzele?

ME: If I told you, you wouldnt believe me.

MORTY: Never stopped you before.

ME: I wouldnt know where to begin.

MORTY: Its true. You tell stories funny. You always start in the middle.

ME: Heres a headline: Rae committed a felony and might actually have to do time in a juvenile facility.

MORTY: That is news. What did she do?

ME: Something very bad.

MORTY: Usually felonies are. Feel like sharing?

ME: Im not ready to talk about it. Lets switch subjects.

MORTY: Okay, hows your Harkey investigation going?

ME: Nowhere.

MORTY: Your brother still seeing the hooker?

ME: I explained this to you before. Shes not a hooker.

MORTY: Sorry, I got confused. Im not even going to ask about your Irish boyfriend.

ME: Good. Dont.

MORTY: I didnt. Thats what I just said.

ME: Dont you have some news for me, Morty?

MORTY: Thats right, I havent told you yet. Were moving back to San Fran.

ME: Say San Francisco, not San Fran.

MORTY: Why? Lifes short. No point wasting it on extra syllables.

ME: It makes you sound like a tourist.

MORTY: Youre grumpy today.

ME: You have no idea what the past few days have been like for me.

MORTY: True, because you havent told me.

ME: Later. Youll hear all about it, later.

MORTY: Dont wait too long. Im old.

ME: I am well aware of that.

MORTY: I got the shirt, by the way.

ME: What shirt?

MORTY: The blue shirt that says Free Schmidt.

ME: I didnt send you that shirt.

MORTY: Who did?

ME: Rae.

MORTY: It came with instructions. A typewritten note that told me I should wear it in public at least twice a week. Who is Schmidt?

ME: A man inadvertently responsible for one of the most traumatic events of my life.

MORTY: So, I take it we dont want to free him?

ME: No, we want to free him. Definitely.

MORTY: Should I wear the shirt?

ME: Wear it, dont wear it, I dont care. I just dont want to talk about Schmidt anymore.

MORTY: Okay. Hows the weather?

ME: Excuse me, isnt there some real news to discuss?

MORTY: Are you referring to my forthcoming return to San Fran?

ME: Ahem.

MORTY: Cisco.

ME: Yes. Give it to me straight, Morty. How on earth did you convince Ruthy to move back to the city?

MORTY: Lets call it divine intervention.

(Three Months Earlier)

Why???? we all asked when my father broke the news. A family disappearance/corporate retreat/camping trip all rolled up into one. Surely it was a bad idea, I suggested. The sentiment was reaffirmed by Rae with her constant references to the Donner Party and repeated inquiries as to which one of the Spellmans plus guest would most likely be consumed first (should it come to that). The third time this particular line of inquiry rolled around, my mother sent Rae to her room.

If all of this is confusing you, perhaps I should give you a quick refresher course on the Spellmans. Although I highly recommend reading the first three documents if you want a true understanding of what is really going on here.

My father is Albert Spellman, a onetime cop turned private investigator who really likes lunch. He is happily married to Olivia Spellman, my mother and co-owner of Spellman Investigations. Mom is an extremely attractive womanalthough lately people have been adding the disclaimer for her age, which has started to get under her skin. Other than my moms mild vanity, her most obscene characteristic is that she seems to think meddling in her childrens lives is an Olympic event. Her training regimen is positively brutal.

Albert and Olivia have three children. The oldest is my brother, David, thirty-four: Formerly a poster boy for the all-American corporate male, currently an out-of-work human being. Im the middle child. Isabel, thirty-two, if you didnt catch it already. My MO from fifth grade until my midtwenties was that of the problem child. The student the principal knew by name, the neighbors feared, and the pot dealers counted on to stay afloat. Also, in the interest of honesty, there were a few arrests thrown into the mixtwo (or four, depending on how youre counting) as recently as two years ago, which I guess means that I cant argue that my problem years were confined to my youth or even my twenties. But its important to note that Ive come a long way. Therapy helped, and Im big enough to admit it was court ordered.

About six months ago, after years of doubt about my future with Spellman Investigations, I committed to the job completely and agreed to slowly begin taking over the business from my parents so they can retire and learn to do macram or something. My father likes to say the seeds of adulthood have been planted. Hes just waiting for them to take.