ISABEL: Better than the threatened cruise.

RAE: It's still torture.

ISABEL: At least you didn't have someone kicking you all night long and shouting conspiracy theories.

DAVID: If that's all, I call this meeting to a close.

ALBERT: I wanted to do that.

DAVID: Then go ahead, Dad. It doesn't actually matter.

ALBERT: Maybe to you it doesn't.

OLIVIA: Al, enough.

DAVID: [to Maggie] I hope you're paying attention. Nothing about this morning has been out of the ordinary.

MAGGIE: Relax, David. I'm fine.

ALBERT: As president and CEO of Spellman Investigations, I call this meeting to a close.

RAE: I really do think people can die of boredom.

RULE #22.

Sometime during my employment contract negotiations and the redrafting of the Spellman bylaws (which are hardly as professional as they sound--they're simply the codes of the family's personal and work ethics put into writing to prevent arguments at a later date), my mother came up with a new Spellman dictum: the daily rule. It can be written on the whiteboard next to the copy machine by any family member (including David), and so long as no more than two parties object to it at one time, it remains law, punishable by trash duty for the week.1 Rule #22--No speaking today!

(Author: Olivia Spellman)

After the excess of quality time on our camping disappearance, we'd all had quite enough of one another and the hum of bickering filled our domestic and office space. My mom wrote the rule on the board the night before and there was not a single veto. We communicated through e-mails, text messages, and the occasional pantomime. Rae suggested that we do this all the time. That suggestion was vetoed, even though typically we don't veto suggestions.

My mother sent an e-mail to inform me that in line with me being the new face of Spellman Investigations, she had decided I should take the meeting with one of our repeat clients, Mr. Franklin Winslow, scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Apparently my mother's primary concern with the meeting was my sartorial choice. My mother made it clear that a dress was in order and wanted to be sure that one still remained in my closet.

The e-mail was followed by an instant-message exchange: Olivia: What exactly are you planning on wearing?

Isabel: Remember that periwinkle bridesmaid's dress from cousin Sandy's wedding?

Olivia: There's no way it will still fit you. Just remember to err on the conservative side.

Isabel: Don't you worry, Mom. I plan on erring.

The phone rang, so I ended our chat.

Isabel: Nice chatting with you, Mom. Let's not make a habit of it.

I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" I said, which felt strange after four hours of silence.

The voice on the other end of the line was awkward, formal, and extremely familiar.

"Hi, Isabel. It's Henry."

"Rae's not here. She's probably at school."

"I'm not calling for Rae."

"My mom just stepped out of the office. You can try the house line."

Sigh. "I'm not calling for your mother either."

"Is it Dad you're after? Because, frankly, I'm running out of people who can be found at this number."

"Nope. Don't want to talk to your dad."

"Has someone else moved in that I don't know about?" I asked.

"I was calling for you," Henry said, impressively containing his annoyance.

"Huh," I said. I tend to say "huh" when I'm not sure what else to say. Some people rely on more classic nonresponses, like "I see" or "Interesting" or even "Oh." But I say "huh" and so far it's worked for me.

This might be a good time to elaborate just a bit on the awkward telephone conversation, even though I shouldn't really have to elaborate if you've read these documents in order.2 Henry Stone, once my sister's best friend, then enemy, then BFF again, has been tangled in the Spellman web for over three years now. A few years back, he was the lead investigator on a missing persons case--the missing person being Rae. (The conclusion: She staged her own kidnapping.) Since then, Henry has been around and I have gotten used to him being around. And last year I got so used to his whole being-around-ness that I started to think that it was something more than just that, if you know what I mean. If you don't, you'll have to figure it out because I'm not in the mood to dig up the details.

Anyway, when I got this idea into my head, I couldn't get it out, which makes it like most ideas I have. Eventually I made my feelings known to Henry and he made his nonfeelings equally well known. And that was the end of that. I then got used to him not being around. Not that he wasn't around. He and Rae had settled their primary disputes and continued their bizarre friendship. My parents still invited him over for dinner and consulted him on cases, and he and my mom even have lunch now and again, exchange Christmas presents, and once went shopping together.3 As for me, I see Henry as little as possible. I find it's healthier for my ego. When you're thirty-one years old and someone tells you you're not a grown-up, it stings. Now, at the age of thirty-two, the worst of the sting was gone.

Besides, I had matured considerably in the intervening months and was about to take over the family business. In fact, at that very moment I was wearing a tucked-in shirt that was relatively wrinkle free, and my hair was combed. I could certainly handle a simple telephone conversation.

"Isabel?" Henry said into the receiver. I guess I had been silent awhile.

"Sorry. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to speak to you."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"In person."

"Why? Are the phones tapped and I don't know about it?"

Sound of throat clearing. "Meet me for a drink after work."

"I'll be at the Philosopher's Club4 at--"

"Not there!" Henry said too quickly and with a buzz of hostility.

"Then you better be buying, because I've grown accustomed to free booze and I have to pay rent these days."

"Yes. I'm buying," Henry said, sounding like he was regretting this entire conversation.

"Okay. Where?"

"Edinburgh Castle."

"I thought that place was too divey for you."

"It is. But I want you to be comfortable."

"How kind."

"Six o'clock?"

"Six thirty," I replied, only to assert a share of control.

UNHAPPY HOUR.

It was still light outside, even though the fog had rolled in, but the interior of the bar felt like the night was nearing its end. I spotted Henry at a booth in the back. He was easy to spot, being the most well-groomed patron in the establishment.

He'd already started drinking, but there was a glass of some kind of whiskey and another glass of ice waiting for me.

"I ordered for you," Henry said. "Hope you don't mind. I just got the booze you usually steal from your brother's house.1 Wasn't sure what you wanted."

"The question is: What do you want?" I said.

I took a sip of the excellent whiskey and studied Henry, trying to get an angle on him.

"All I want is to have a drink with a friend," he said.

"Then you should have called one."

"We were friends."

"Were," I repeated.

"Well, I would like to be friends again. What will it take?"

I drained my bourbon and contemplated the scratched wood table for the answer. It wasn't there.

"Another drink wouldn't hurt," I replied.

Henry slid a twenty across the table and told me to order whatever I wanted. He still wasn't halfway finished with his whiskey, so I didn't even take his order.

At the bar I considered the most expensive options, but then I chose the house label, because I didn't want Henry to think that his bribe had worked. I returned to the table with ample change.

Henry sniffed my drink and instantly got the message.

"How can we work this out?" he asked.

"My brother says I should start making friends my own age."

"Ouch," the inspector replied with mock injury.

"We're not enemies," I offered, thinking that was friendly enough.

"I want to be more than enemies."

"Archenemies? I suppose we could head in that direction. But you'd have to do something pretty awful for us to drive down that road."

"I was thinking in the other direction," Henry answered, not amused.

"We can be friendly acquaintances," I suggested, realizing that I had found myself in the midst of negotiating the terms of a friendship. How odd. Although it's something my sister and Henry have done on numerous occasions.

"No," Henry flatly replied.

"Well, that's my best offer," I said.

"No, it isn't," Henry said with an interrogation-room stare.

I was unprepared for this type of meeting. I figured I held all the cards. Therefore, I would control the conversation. Something was going on here--the power had shifted but I couldn't trace when it had happened.

"I'm going to leave now," I announced.

"See you soon," Henry answered.

"Not that soon."

I left my half-empty drink on the table and Henry opened the book he had been reading when I entered. He made no move to leave, which I found odd since this wasn't his kind of bar and at the moment the smell of hops mixed with something sour was harsh. When I exited, it was dark outside. I didn't have to adjust to the light and therefore didn't have to adjust back to the darkness when I returned to the bar five minutes later.

I stood beside Henry, casting a shadow over his literature. He looked up and smiled.

"Forget something?"

"I want my keys and my wallet back," I demanded.

"Have a seat," Henry calmly replied, "and we'll talk about it."

"No," I said. "Just give 'em back."

"Or what. You'll call the cops?" Henry chuckled at his little joke.

I sat down in a huff and glared at him.