credit check, but now I’m being followed, or at least I think I’m being followed. Maybe not. I’m not sure,” Maggie said, sounding as if she was beginning to doubt her sanity.
“What kind of car?” I asked, already cataloguing the family vehicles.
“I think an SUV one time and the other time a gray sedan. It was at night. I could only see headlights, really. Rae only drives your mother’s Honda, right?”
It wasn’t Rae. That was obvious. Suddenly Maggie’s troubles seemed more troubling.
“Have you received any threats?”
“Nothing like that. Not yet, at least.”
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” I asked, happy to refocus my mental energy.
“Not exactly. But I defend a lot of criminals, so the suspect pool is deep,” Maggie replied.
“The next time something happens, give me a call. In the meantime,try to come up with a list of potential suspects from your client base and maybe we’ll start looking into them.”
“Thanks, Isabel. Let’s keep this between you and me, if you know what I mean,” Maggie said. Translation: Don’t tell Henry.
“No problem.”
Maggie and I returned to Stone’s residence equipped with an afternoon’s worth of movie-watching junk food. I decided to join in on the rest of the film festival since I couldn’t think of anything better to do that day. Plus, I really enjoyed the look of disappointment on Henry’s face when he realized that he could not enforce the Reading Rule 3 on a party including two full-grown adult women. Four hours later (revisiting The Pink Panther and A Shot in the Dark reaffirmed my opinion that the latter is far superior; Rae agreed, being particularly fond of Clouseau’s houseboy, Kato 4 ), as my eyes adjusted to something other than a television screen, Henry pulled a wool coat from his closet.
“You left this here last week,” he said, handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I replied, looking it over.
“A couple of the buttons were about to come loose,” he said. “I fixed them.”
Indeed he did. I turned to Maggie when Henry was out of earshot. “That, my friend, is how it is done.”
Four hours after Henry’s original phone call, I accomplished the task originally asked of me: I extracted Rae from his residence.
On the ride home (Rae had taken the bus to Henry’s place), Rae turned to me with an oddly apologetic expression.
“I like Maggie,” Rae said. “There, I said it. I’m sorry. But I can’t help it. She’s just my kind of person.”
“I like her, too,” I replied.
“You do?”
“She’s great. What’s not to like?”
“I’m confused,” said Rae. “Aren’t you jealous? Because Mom says you got a thing for Henry.”
“First of all, Rae, you keep that to yourself or I will make your life a living hell. And second of all, sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to.”
“I don’t know about that. Things usually work out exactly the way I want them to,” Rae said with more conviction than you could possibly imagine.
SPELLMAN TROUBLES
A s I exited David’s house to make my shift at the Philosopher’s Club, two men approached, one in a suit and tie and the other in a cardigan over a button-down shirt. Both were well groomed and appeared professional, except the man in the cardigan wore an extremely flashy pinky ring, which I found distracting and incongruous.
Pinky Ring Guy did the talking.
“Hi there. Is David home?”
“Are you a friend of his?” I asked.
“I’d say we’re friends,” Pinky Ring Guy said, although he didn’t sound all that friendly. “Are you David’s friend?”
“I’m his sister,” I coldly replied. Something wasn’t right about these guys, especially the one with the pinky ring. Actually, I had no business forming an opinion about the suited guy, since he hardly spoke. I could fault him for the company he kept, however.
“I didn’t know David had a sister,” Pinky Ring Guy said.
“You must not know him very well. Listen, I
“What kind of car?” I asked, already cataloguing the family vehicles.
“I think an SUV one time and the other time a gray sedan. It was at night. I could only see headlights, really. Rae only drives your mother’s Honda, right?”
It wasn’t Rae. That was obvious. Suddenly Maggie’s troubles seemed more troubling.
“Have you received any threats?”
“Nothing like that. Not yet, at least.”
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” I asked, happy to refocus my mental energy.
“Not exactly. But I defend a lot of criminals, so the suspect pool is deep,” Maggie replied.
“The next time something happens, give me a call. In the meantime,try to come up with a list of potential suspects from your client base and maybe we’ll start looking into them.”
“Thanks, Isabel. Let’s keep this between you and me, if you know what I mean,” Maggie said. Translation: Don’t tell Henry.
“No problem.”
Maggie and I returned to Stone’s residence equipped with an afternoon’s worth of movie-watching junk food. I decided to join in on the rest of the film festival since I couldn’t think of anything better to do that day. Plus, I really enjoyed the look of disappointment on Henry’s face when he realized that he could not enforce the Reading Rule 3 on a party including two full-grown adult women. Four hours later (revisiting The Pink Panther and A Shot in the Dark reaffirmed my opinion that the latter is far superior; Rae agreed, being particularly fond of Clouseau’s houseboy, Kato 4 ), as my eyes adjusted to something other than a television screen, Henry pulled a wool coat from his closet.
“You left this here last week,” he said, handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I replied, looking it over.
“A couple of the buttons were about to come loose,” he said. “I fixed them.”
Indeed he did. I turned to Maggie when Henry was out of earshot. “That, my friend, is how it is done.”
Four hours after Henry’s original phone call, I accomplished the task originally asked of me: I extracted Rae from his residence.
On the ride home (Rae had taken the bus to Henry’s place), Rae turned to me with an oddly apologetic expression.
“I like Maggie,” Rae said. “There, I said it. I’m sorry. But I can’t help it. She’s just my kind of person.”
“I like her, too,” I replied.
“You do?”
“She’s great. What’s not to like?”
“I’m confused,” said Rae. “Aren’t you jealous? Because Mom says you got a thing for Henry.”
“First of all, Rae, you keep that to yourself or I will make your life a living hell. And second of all, sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to.”
“I don’t know about that. Things usually work out exactly the way I want them to,” Rae said with more conviction than you could possibly imagine.
SPELLMAN TROUBLES
A s I exited David’s house to make my shift at the Philosopher’s Club, two men approached, one in a suit and tie and the other in a cardigan over a button-down shirt. Both were well groomed and appeared professional, except the man in the cardigan wore an extremely flashy pinky ring, which I found distracting and incongruous.
Pinky Ring Guy did the talking.
“Hi there. Is David home?”
“Are you a friend of his?” I asked.
“I’d say we’re friends,” Pinky Ring Guy said, although he didn’t sound all that friendly. “Are you David’s friend?”
“I’m his sister,” I coldly replied. Something wasn’t right about these guys, especially the one with the pinky ring. Actually, I had no business forming an opinion about the suited guy, since he hardly spoke. I could fault him for the company he kept, however.
“I didn’t know David had a sister,” Pinky Ring Guy said.
“You must not know him very well. Listen, I
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