Janet Evanovich - Wicked Business

“Charles Duane.”

“Draw a picture of the bells, so I can see them,” I said to Glo.

“Sure, but they’re just plain old bells that are numbered one through nine.” Glo’s eyes went wide. “This is about saving mankind, isn’t it? I bet this is some kind of clue to finding the Luxuria Stone. And I’m the only one who can read the clue. This is definitely a sign of wizardry. This is so awesome .”

“The clue is only good if you can figure out where it takes you,” Clara said. “Just reading the clue isn’t enough.”

“True,” Glo said. “But I still feel special. And I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

I returned to the meat pies, and Glo sketched the bells on a napkin and went back to tending the shop.

Diesel called at noon and said he was having problems. “My boss has me looking for a guy named Sandman. He’s one of us. His specialty is putting people to sleep and robbing them.”

“One of us?”

“That’s what I’m told. In the registry, his ability is listed as mid-level metal bender, but clearly he has something new with the sleep thing.”

“There’s a registry?”

“Yeah. That’s how I found you. A lot of people slip through the cracks, but for the most part, it’s all documented.”

“How?” I asked him.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. I just do my job, and after twenty years of service I can retire, and I’ll have my own island in the South Pacific.”

“Where’s all this going?”

“I can’t find him,” Diesel said. “He’s not where he’s supposed to be. Take the painting with you when you leave work, and I’ll hook up with you later.”

I cleaned my area, wedged the painting into the backseat of my car, and headed for home. I had my radio tuned to a news station, and they were talking about an art theft. A rare Van Gogh had been boldly stolen in broad daylight from a Boston town house. No one saw the robbery take place. The owner was overseas at the time.

I wondered how such a thing could happen… a robbery like that in broad daylight. And then I realized they were talking about the Van Gogh I had in the backseat. Good God, I was the one who’d committed the robbery.

I had a moment of dizziness, followed by nausea. Stay calm, I told myself. Don’t panic. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The painting wasn’t actually stolen. It was borrowed . Probably, I wouldn’t have to do more than ten years for borrowing. Time off for good behavior might have me out before I turned forty. A sob inadvertently escaped from somewhere deep in my chest, and I changed the radio station to seventies rock.

I parked in front of my house and hustled the painting inside, being careful not to let the bedsheet slip away. I locked the door behind me, carried the painting upstairs, and slid it under my bed. Out of sight, out of mind. Except it wasn’t totally out of my mind.

“This is a mess,” I said to Cat. “What if I get caught? What will I say? I’m sorry, your honor, but I was trying to save all of mankind . And then I’ll tell the court I’m special because I can identify bewitched objects. Even I don’t believe it.”

I sat on my couch with my computer and Googled Charles Duane. I assumed he was a composer, since his name seemed to be attached to the musical notes on the painting. I was surprised to see he was the rector of the Old North Church from 1893 to 1911.

“This does me no good at all,” I said to Cat.

The doorbell rang and my heart jumped in my chest. I peeked out my front window, fearing a SWAT team, seeing Glo instead.

I opened the door to her. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“Clara said I was useless, so she gave me the afternoon off. She said she didn’t want to hear any more about saving the world, but golly, it’s important. I mean, it’s the world . And you’ll never guess what I found out. Charles Duane was the rector of Old North Church, so let’s go.”

“To Old North Church?”

“I’m sure we’ll find more clues there,” Glo said. “My wizardry is finally kicking in. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get there and I have a vision. I might be able to point us right to the Luxuria Stone.”

I put Cat in charge of guarding the hidden painting, and an hour later, we were at Old North Church in Boston’s North End. It’s a sturdy, blocky redbrick building with a bell tower that looks like it was built by Practical Pig. The sidewalk and courtyard surrounding the church are redbrick, and all the other buildings on Salem Street are also redbrick. There’s parking on one side of the street with enough space left for a single car to navigate the remaining blacktop patched road. Across the street from the church is an Italian café and a shop selling T-shirts to tourists.

I’d walked the Freedom Trail a couple months ago and stopped in to see the church, so I knew something about it. Built in 1723. It’s an Episcopal church with services on Sunday. Other days, it’s open to the public as a national treasure with tours and a gift shop. The interior is white, with some dark wood trim and elaborate chandeliers hanging over the center aisle. Pews are set into boxes, and there’s also a second-floor balcony with a pipe organ.

“I’ve never been in here,” Glo said, looking up at the chandeliers. “This is so historic.”

We were the only tourists in the church. Glo was walking around, reading plaques. I sat in one of the pews and listened to the silence, imagining what it must have been like to worship here two hundred years ago. Someone was working on the balcony level. I could hear footsteps and an occasional clink .

“The chandeliers and the bells were shipped here from England,” Glo said from the back of the church. “How cool is that?”

A guy looked over the balcony railing at Glo. “Are you interested in the bells?”

“Yes,” Glo said. “Can they still ring?”

“We usually ring them for Sunday service. And we have weekly practice sessions.”

“Wow,” Glo said. “I’d love to hear them.”

“I’m one of the bellringers,” he said. “If you come back on Sunday, maybe we could go out for coffee after.”

“Sure,” Glo said.

“I have some questions about the bells,” I said to him.

“Give me a minute to finish cleaning up, and I’ll be right down.”

“How do you always manage to get a date?” I asked Glo. “You’re like a date magnet.”

“I’m cute,” Glo said. “And I think it must be part of my wizard power. I think to myself, Boy, he’s hot. I’d like to go out with him , and next thing, I’ve got a date.”

I didn’t know about the wizard power, but she was right about being cute. I was sort of cute in a girl-next-door kind of way that didn’t seem to encourage dates. Glo was cute in a quirky, fun way that was obviously more approachable. Truth is, I wish I was more like Glo, but I’d feel like an idiot if I tried to wear a pink ballet tutu with green-and-black striped tights and motorcycle boots.

I heard a door close upstairs and the bellringer ambled over to us. He was around twenty. Still in his puppy stage, with long, gangly legs and big feet. Sandy blond hair that had probably been cut by a friend.

“Josh Sidwell,” he said, extending his hand.

“Lizzy Tucker,” I said, shaking his hand.

Glo stuck her hand out and smiled. “Gloria Binkly, and I’ve never dated anyone named Josh before. I’m, like, a Josh virgin.”

“Jeez,” Josh said. “I’m honored.”

“How do you get to be a bellringer?” I asked him.

“I’m a member of the MIT Guild of Bellringers.”

“Wow, a college guy,” Glo said. “I’ll bet you’ve never even been arrested.”