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 Page B

enough.”
    “Don’t even think of moving,” my mother reiterated.
    “There’s a sign. It’s blue,” said Rae.
    “What does it say?” I asked.
    “M-O-M-A,” Rae slowly spelled. This was undoubtedly an unnatural situation: My little sister was learning how to perform a surveillance before she could even read.
    “Rae, Mommy’s going to pick you up at the corner. Don’t move. Izzy, I’ll meet you at the entrance to MOMA,” said my father. And then it occurred to me that, as a family, this was the first time we had gone to a museum together.
    After that day, it was not unusual to find Rae on a surveillance job that didn’t interfere with school or bedtime.
    Rae, Age 8
    There was a sixteen-year age difference between Rae and David. He was out of the house by the time she was two, and while he lived nearby, he was not a consistent presence like I was. He distinguished himself by buying her the best birthday and Christmas gifts and by being the only member of the family who didn’t boss her around. On one of his rare dinner appearances, Rae asked David the question that had always been on her mind.
    “David, why don’t you work for Mommy and Daddy?”
    “Because I wanted to do something else with my life.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I find the law interesting.”
    “Is the law fun?”
    “I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘fun.’ But it’s compelling.”
    “Wouldn’t you rather do something that is fun than not fun?”
    David, unable to honestly explain to Rae why he left the family business without offending my parents, resorted to a different tack. “Rae, do you have any idea how much money I make?”
    “No,” Rae replied disinterestedly.
    “I charge three hundred dollars an hour.”
    Rae appeared confused and asked what she believed was the next obvious question. “Who would pay that?”
    “Lots of people.”
    “Who?” Rae pushed, probably thinking she could tap the same spout.
    “That’s confidential,” replied David.
    Rae mulled this new information over in her head and continued on suspiciously. “What exactly do you do?”
    David contemplated how to answer that question. “I…negotiate.” When the confusion did not lift from Rae’s face, David asked, “Do you know what ‘negotiating’ is?”
    Rae responded with a blank stare.
    “Negotiating is something you do on a daily basis. Some negotiations are implied, like when you go to the store and give the clerk a dollar for a candy bar; both parties are essentially agreeing on the exchange. You always have the option of saying to the clerk, ‘I’ll give you fifty cents for this one-dollar candy bar,’ and he can say yes or no. That’s negotiating. It’s the process of coming up with a solution that different parties can agree upon. Does that make sense?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Do you want to negotiate something right now?”
    “Okay.”
    David considered a negotiable topic. “Let’s see,” he said. “I would like you to get a haircut.”
    Since Rae’s last professional haircut had occurred well over a year ago, this was not the first time such a request had been made. And yet each appeal was met with the same unsatisfying response: Rae would administer her own haircut. The resulting lopsided ends and jagged bangs were certainly an eyesore, but to the dandy in my brother, Rae’s hair was truly offensive.
    My sister, tired of the repeated haircut harassment, snapped back, “I. Don’t. Need. A. Haircut.”
    “I’ll give you a dollar if you get one.”
    “I’ll give you a dollar to shut up about it.”
    “Five dollars.”
    “No.”
    “Ten.”
    “No.”
    “David, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” my mother interjected.
    But this was David’s job and he couldn’t stop. “Fifteen dollars.”
    This time there was a brief pause before Rae said, “No.”
    David, sensing weakness, went in for the kill. “Twenty dollars. You don’t need to cut it all off. Just trim the split ends.”
    Rae, showing an aptitude