Lisa Lutz Spellman Series E-Book Box Set: The Spellman Files, Curse of the Spellmans, Revenge of the Spellmans, The Spellmans Strike Again by Lisa Lutz Read Free Book Online

kind of sinister trick and questioned my motives with the skepticism of a research scientist. For at least two weeks straight, my father said around the clock, “All right, Isabel, what gives?” Uncle Ray, on the other hand, appeared genuinely concerned and suggested that vitamins might help. In fact, for the first few weeks, New Isabel prompted more hostility than Old Isabel. But I knew it was only a matter of time before I would build the trust, and when it finally happened, I could almost feel the breeze from the collective sigh of relief.

THE INTERVIEW

CHAPTER 2
    The mythology that surrounds my work is impossible to shake. The lore of the gumshoe has had decades to flourish in our culture, but not all myth is based in fact. The truth about the PI is that we don’t solve cases. We explore them. We tie up loose threads, perhaps uncover a few surprises. We provide proof of a question for which the answer is already known.
    Inspector Stone, on the other hand, does solve mysteries. Not the tidy ones from crime novels, but mysteries nonetheless.
    Stone consults his notes in an effort to avoid eye contact. I wonder if it is me or if it’s what he does with everyone, in order to shield himself from their pain.
    “When was the last time you saw your sister?” Stone asks.
    “It was four days ago.”
    “Can you describe her mood for me? The details of your interaction?”
    I remember everything, but it doesn’t seem relevant. Stone is asking all the wrong questions.
    “Do you have any leads?” I ask.
    “We’re looking into everything,” Stone replies, the standard police response.
    “Have you talked to the Snow family?”
    “We don’t believe they were involved.”
    “Isn’t it worth checking into?”
    “Please answer my question, Isabel.”
    “Why don’t you answer mine? My sister has been missing for three days now and you’ve got nothing.”
    “We’re doing everything we can. But you need to cooperate. You need to answer my questions. Do you understand me, Isabel?”
    “Yes.”
    “We have to talk about Rae,” Stone says in an almost hushed tone.
    I suppose it is time. I’ve been postponing it long enough.

RAE SPELLMAN
    B orn six weeks premature, Rae weighed exactly four pounds when she was brought home from the hospital. Unlike many preemies who grow into normal-size children, Rae would always remain small for her age. I was fourteen at the time of her birth and determined to ignore the fact that a newborn baby was sharing my home. I referred to her as “it” for the first year, pretending that she was a recently acquired object, like a lamp or an alarm clock. Any acknowledgment I made of her presence was along the lines of “Can you move it outside? I’m trying to study,” or “Where’s the mute button on this thing?” No one found my objectifying remarks amusing, let alone me. I was not amused at all. I was terrified that this child would grow up to be another symbol of perfection like David. I soon discovered that Rae was no David, although she was extraordinary nonetheless.
    Rae, Age 4
    I told her she was an accident. It was over dinner, after she bombarded me for twenty minutes with questions about my day. I was tired, probably hungover, and in no mood to be interrogated by a four-year-old.
    “Rae, did you know you were an accident?”
    And Rae started laughing. “I was?” It was her habit back then to laugh whenever she didn’t understand something.
    My mother gave me her usual cold stare and began damage control, explaining that some children were planned and some were not, et cetera. Rae seemed far more baffled by the concept of planning a child than not planning one and grew bored with my mother’s unnecessary discourse.
    Rae, Age 6
    Rae begged for three days straight to be allowed on a surveillance job. The begging was relentless and inconsolable. It was the on-her-knees, clasped-handed, insistent-whine-of- pleeeeease kind of begging that continued for most of her waking