"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.

The Doctor Who marathon saved my evening from complete disaster. Henry and I sat in rapt silence, taking breaks only for more beer (me) and tea (Henry) and some lightly salted snack food that was probably good for you. It was three A.M. when the marathon ended, but I apparently didn't notice. I fell asleep on the couch; Henry threw a wool blanket over me and I didn't wake up until eight o'clock, when Henry was getting ready for work.

Connor didn't notice until hours later that I was missing.

That night was the last peaceful night's rest I would have for weeks. Everything changed after that night.

I mean everything.

PART III.

CHARGES.

IN THE HOLE.

The next morning was business as usual. I drove straight to the office from Henry's house and occupied my morning with dull background research, until the monotony was interrupted by irritation in the form of an e-mail from Jeremy Pratt.

To: I.Spell@spellmaninvestigations.com From: JP.Prattman@gmail.com Re: What's up?

Hey Izzy, What's going on with my case? All I got so far are some fluffy plastic bags. Are you any closer to figuring out what Shana Breslin is up to?

I replied quickly to abate my annoyance; no point in letting it linger.

Jeremy: You agreed that the investigation would only involve garbology. You've conveniently omitted that fact. Are you any closer to paying your bill?

Warmest regards, Isabel Mom and Dad entered the office right after I hit the Send button. Before they uttered a single world, I said: "I'm in a bad mood. Don't mess with me today."

I decided to clear my head while tackling the giant shred pile in the basement. However, when I reached for the door, the knob was missing.

"The doorknob is missing," I said.

"Would you look at that," Dad replied.

"What happened to it?"

"It must have fallen off," Mom said.

"Why do things keep vanishing from the house?"

My mom then pulled a spare doorknob from her desk and opened the basement door for me, leaving it ajar.

"Call me crazy," I said, "but I think every door should have a knob."

"Have fun down there," Mom replied.

I tried to get into a zone of mindless shredding, but my mind wandered to all the available objects of disappointment--my foiled investigation on Harkey, my never-ending lawyer dates, Pratt, and my apartment, which I was certain I would find in a state of disrepair once I returned to it. I am all too aware of what happens when you leave men alone overnight playing poker. Then my mind started wandering to the subject of the missing objects in the Spellman home. Why would a doorknob, drawer handle, and towel rack vanish without explanation? Either the grating sound of the shredder or too much thinking was giving me a headache.

I reentered the Spellman offices, sluggishly ascending the staircase. My sluggishness afforded me an overheard snippet of my parents' conversation.

"Have you found them yet?" Mom asked.

"No," Dad replied. "I thought you were on it."

"I've looked. I can't find them," my mother said.

"Well, they have to be around here somewhere."

"They could be anywhere, Al."

"Have you checked the pistachio cam?" Dad asked.

"Isabel made me take it down. By the way, it was that Jeremy Pratt kid who was leaving the shells in the--Isabel, are you there?"

And that was the end of my eavesdropping. I suppose I could have asked my parents what they were talking about, but instead, I just entered the office and said, "I can't shred anymore."

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" Mom said. "You look tired."

"What gives?" I asked suspiciously.

"Everybody should have a day off now and again," Dad replied.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Isabel, go home, go to a movie. Just do something for yourself today," replied Mom.

"Get a hobby. You'll need one eventually," said my father.

On my way out the door, I noticed another doorknob missing from the bathroom just outside the dining area.

"Another doorknob's gone," I shouted.

"We're on it!" my dad shouted back.

I was on my way home when I realized that all home had to offer was the mess to repair from last night's raid of Irishmen.1 Instead, for reasons I couldn't tell you at the time, I drove to my brother's house and parked in front. His car was in the driveway, so I knew he was home. But instead of calling or ringing the doorbell, I just sat there, casing his residence. If pressed, I wouldn't be able to provide a solid excuse for my behavior. I was curious is the best answer I have. David had been unemployed for over six months and I couldn't imagine how he'd killed all that time. It seemed to me that a man who once worked eighty hours a week might go mad with all that empty space in his day calendar. I wanted to see what he did with himself. David has always been the more responsible, useful, reasonable member of the family, and frankly, I wanted to know his secret. Whenever I asked David what he did with himself, he was always vague. His answers fell into the "You know, stuff" category, which really doesn't help if you're interested in duplicating those activities yourself. My point is I was staking out David's residence to discover what his idle activities involved. Unfortunately, I was made within the first fifteen minutes.

My phone rang.

"Hi, Isabel," David said.

"Hi, David. What are you up to?"

"Nothing much."

"What a coincidence," I said. "Me too."

"Would you like to come in?" David asked.

"Why not?"

"I'll see you in about thirty seconds," David replied.

I found my brother in his kitchen, wearing an apron, hunched over the chopping block, studying a recipe book.

"Hand me that onion, will you?" he asked.

I tossed David the onion, which he caught in midair without even raising his gaze from the cookbook.

"So, you're cooking?" I said, hoping the question would lead to an explanation.

"Your observational skills continue to amaze me."

"Is this something you've been doing for a while, or is it a new activity?"

"Relatively new," David replied as he skinned the onion and began chopping it with professional precision.

"You look like one of those people on cooking shows," I said.

"I've been taking a class," David replied. "Give me the garlic."

I tossed him the garlic. In one swift motion he grabbed it from midair and then smashed it into pieces on the cutting board.

"Why are you taking a cooking class?"

"Because I'm not the best cook and neither is Maggie and we don't want to be eating out all the time."

"Good answer. What else have you been doing with your time?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you have a lot of time and I'm curious how you fill it."

"Let me ask you a question for once," David said.

"Shoot."

"What happened on Prom Night 1994?"

Sigh: "Nothing."

"So it's that bad?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I said it this time with much less conviction than in the past.

"These lawyer dates. You'd never agree to them unless Mom had a vise grip on you. Damn, you must have done something awful."

"I did. Can we leave it at that?"

"Yes, and you know why? Because you asked me to. It would be really great if you showed me the same courtesy. I'm not a mystery for you to solve. I'm just your brother. I don't have all the answers. All I'm trying to do is figure out what makes me happy."

"Have you figured it out?"

"Not yet."

"I thought you knew things."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"That's okay. Can I stay for dinner?"

"No, Isabel. I promised Maggie a quiet night in. She's been stuck with Rae all day."

David served me bourbon (the good stuff) and when I was done with my one2 drink, he walked me to the door.

"Maybe I should get a hobby," I said, standing in his foyer.

"I thought you had one."