The Spellmans Strike Again by Lisa Lutz

Author:Lisa Lutz [Lutz, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Family Life, Fiction, Women Sleuths, General, Private investigators, Humorous, Spellman; Isabel (Fictitious character), Women private investigators, California, Humorous fiction, San Francisco, San Francisco (Calif.), Domestic fiction
ISBN: 9781416593409
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2010-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

A QUIET NIGHT IN

I returned to my apartment, hoping for a quiet night in, and discovered Connor there, along with five of his "mates," in the midst of a boisterous, booze-soaked poker game.

"What are you doing here?" I said.

"John's got the bar covered so we thought we'd skip out, playing cards."

"But why here," I asked, "when you have your own place?"

"But I don' have a table like this," Connor said as if he was speaking to a slow child.

It is true that I had a table well-suited for poker games. It was one of Bernie's relics. In fact, I was having a Bernie flashback at that very moment. Cigar smoke snaked throughout the room, the scent of beer came no longer from the open bottles but from the pores of men, and snack food was tossed about like the remnants of a three-year-old's birthday party.

"You could have called first," I suggested.

"Check your voice mail," Connor replied, staring at his hand. He had three kings, two queens. "Love, can you grab me another beer from the fridge?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied.

I could have kicked the men out and made a scene, but I didn't have the energy for it. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, popped the cap, and stood behind Connor, checking out his hand. He had just raised, conservatively, in an attempt to slowly build the pot, and had the other players' attention.

I held up three fingers and mouthed "kings." Then I held up two fingers and mouthed "queens." Any player with elementary lip-reading skills would fold.

"See you later," I said, and I was out the door.

While I sat in my car, stewing over Connor's home invasion, I listened to the voice mail messages that I had failed to notice earlier. It was true that Ex #12 had called to inform me of his poker night; however, there was no form of a question in his brief message. A beep followed and then I heard Bernie's unnecessarily loud voice.

"Hey, Izzy," he said. "You want to eat some crab cakes?"

It occurred to me that Bernie had the ability to make everything sound dirty. I deleted both messages and started the car.

Fifteen minutes later I knocked on Henry's front door.

"Long time, no see," he said.

"I was in the neighborhood," I replied. We both knew it was a lie. But who cares? "I have another set of prints for you."

"Come on in," Henry said.

I scanned the living room. All signs of the adolescent takeover were gone.

"You got rid of them," I observed.

"Fred wasn't feeling well," Henry replied.

I handed Henry the prints.

"Where'd these come from?"

"Don't ask."

"Okay."

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Watching TV."

I approached the muted television set and saw that it was an episode of Doctor Who where the Doctor thinks he's human and Martha (his traveling companion) has to convince him he's the Doctor and help him figure out how to get his powers back and save the world.

"I love this episode," I said.

"Me too," Henry replied, taking a seat next to me and unmuting the sound.

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