Revenge of the Spellmans by Lisa Lutz Page B

books), the only location Mrs. Black visited was a mailbox center to check her mail.
    I called Ernie that evening to ask about the rented mailbox.
    “What rented mailbox?”
    So Ernie didn’t know about the mailbox. Ernie also couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for why his wife might require the mailbox. It occurred to me that his wife might have some financial issues that she was hiding from him. I asked Ernie who handled their finances. Linda, of course. He didn’t know how his business would have survived without her. Ernie was floored by the mailbox discovery. But his mind was still on Linda having an affair, so he molded this new information to fit his fears.
    “Maybe she’s using the PO box to communicate with her lover,” Ernie said.
    “Probably not.”
    I tried to get Ernie interested in the money situation, but he wasn’t. Since I wasn’t ready to inform Ernie about the second investigation on his wife, I asked for Linda’s Social Security number and date of birth and offered to do a quick check on her finances. He didn’t see what that had to do with anything, but I pushed and he agreed.
    And that’s how I learned that Ernie and Linda were not legally married. This took a few days to confirm. Linda Black’s credit reports bore the name Linda Truesdale—according to Ernie, his wife’s maiden name. Also according to Ernie, this was Linda’s first marriage. But since Ernie wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, or at least not the most suspicious, I decided to check their marriage license, which should contain each party’s birth name, location of birth, and previous marital history.
    I phoned Ernie to verify the location of his wedding. They traveled a short distance up the coast, stayed at a beach hotel in Marin County, and were married by one of Linda’s friends, who just happened to be a minister of the Universal Life Church. 1 The wedding took place in Marin County, but there was no record in Marin. The couple lived in San Mateo County. There was no record in San Mateo County. In between San Mateo and Marin you will find San Francisco County. No record there.
    I phoned Ernie again to see if maybe I had misunderstood him.
    “Ernie, when you say that you’re married, do you mean you’re married in the legal sense, or that in your heart you’re married, or that you’re married in the common law sense of the word?”
    “I mean I’m legally married with a marriage license and all that stuff.”
    “Could you get me a copy of your marriage license, Ernie?”
    “I’m sure it’s around somewhere.”
    “How about your tax returns?”
    “Linda handles all that.”
    “But you should still have access to them, right?”
    “I’m sure I could get that stuff for you, but why?”
    “It’s important, Ernie. I’ll explain later. Just bring whatever you can by the bar sometime this week, okay?”
     
    Two days later, Ernie dropped by in the afternoon. I served him club soda with a splash of whiskey. He’s not an afternoon drinker, he informed me, as if I would consider that a credit to his character.
    Ernie had never been a fan of paperwork, filing, government documents, or proofs of existence. Ernie liked working on cars, buying suits, and taking short vacations in which relaxation—not education or experience—was the key ingredient. Ernie was a simple, likable man. He was probably even a very good husband, or at least was trying to be, based on the ridiculous literature he carried with him. (The latest tome under his arm was How to Make Women Happy Even If It Makes You Miserable: A Guide for Men. ) He was also the kind of husband one could easily dupe if one were in the business of duping husbands.
    My client had only an hour to visit with me while Linda was running the shop. Ernie ran home and pulled every file from their file cabinet and brought it to the bar. I told him to chat with Milo while I perused the box. The most significant piece of paper that he pulled for me was a