Janet Evanovich - Wicked Business

Diesel’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and he looked over at me.

“It turns out Glo was able to see the hidden message in the painting.”

“I’m special,” Glo said. “I have hope, and I’m going to find true love.”

“The message also contained nine numbered bells. And there was a man’s name,” I told Diesel.

“Charles Duane,” Glo said. “We Googled him and found out he was the rector of Old North Church a long time ago. So we went to the church, and I got a date with the bellringer, and we’re just inches from saving the world.”

Diesel leaned against the counter and ate his pie. “I have a feeling there’s some stuff missing from the middle of that.”

“There are eight bells in the bell tower of Old North,” I said. “The painting showed nine numbered bells, and we learned that Charles Duane asked to be buried with a small replica bell that’s sometimes referred to as the ninth bell.”

“I bet there’s a secret message on the bell, just like on the painting,” Glo said. “Or even better, the Luxuria Stone might be stashed away with the bell and Charlie.”

Diesel finished his pie and moved on to a chocolate cupcake. “The perfect ending to the perfect day… I get to go grave robbing. Could it get any better?”

“The church is going to be locked,” I said. “It’ll have an alarm system. And last time, you didn’t have such great luck with the alarm. It might be better to go in during the day, when there’s no alarm. Glo and I can distract people away from the stairs that lead to the crypts.”

“How am I going to get a bell out to the car?” Diesel asked.

“Maybe it would fit in a backpack.”

I couldn’t believe I was now plotting to steal the bell, when less than an hour ago, I’d almost run off the road in a blind panic over stealing the painting.

“I like it,” Diesel said. “I’m comfortable with procrastination. And the Bruins are playing again tonight.”

Diesel fills up a house. He’s surprisingly quiet, but his energy permeates every nook and cranny. The house feels masculine and safe, although truth is, he probably draws more danger than he scares away. I feel compelled to maintain my independence and shoo him back to his own apartment, but the disturbing reality is that I like having him here.

Thursdays are usually quiet at the bakery. It was one o’clock and the lunch rush was done rushing. I had the dishwasher loaded and baking trays stacked in the sink for scrubbing. Clara had just put the day’s last loaves of bread into the oven. Glo was alone in the shop, reading Ripple’s Books of Spells , trying to find something that would reverse the charm she put on Hatchet.

We had the door to the kitchen open for air. It was sixty degrees out, with a brilliant blue sky and a hint of a breeze. I heard a car pull into the little back lot, two doors opened and closed, and Diesel ushered an old man into the work area.

The man was about 5′10″ and bony. He had pure white hair, beady eagle eyes, and huge old man ears.

“I don’t know why I’m getting dragged around like this,” he said. “You get to be an age where you should do what you want and not have someone telling you to do this and do that and don’t do this and don’t do that. You’re lucky I’m so easygoing, or I’d be complaining to somebody. I’ve got rights, you know. And I’m no slouch, either. I can do things. Did I ever tell you I could bend a spoon? Alls I have to do is think about it. How many people could do that one, eh? I could bend a fork, too, but a tire iron is a tough one. I gotta have a good night’s sleep before I could bend a tire iron.”

“This is Mortimer Sandman,” Diesel said. “I’m hanging with him until his son comes to pick him up tonight.”

“He’s babysitting me,” Mortimer said. “Won’t let me out of his sight. Like I’m decrepit or something. Thought he was going to offer to wipe my behind in the men’s room. Feed me my soup so I don’t dribble. How about if you chew my sandwich for me?”

“You tried to sneak away on me, twice,” Diesel said.

“Yeah, I’m a real threat for a hotshot like you with all your superpowers. Did I ever tell you about the time I bent three spoons at once? It was at a party, and I just concentrated, and all of a sudden all the ladies’ spoons up and bent. You could hear them gasp. I didn’t say anything, because that’s our code. We don’t mention nothing about what we do. I was hot that night. I could have bent anything. Boy, those were the days. I could still bend stuff, but I gotta be careful on account of I got high blood pressure. I don’t want to bust a blood vessel over some spoon. It was better back in the day when they were real silver. Softer, more bendable, if you know what I mean. Everything’s stainless now. I could get a hernia trying to bend some of them stainless pieces.”

“What’s the deal with him?” Glo asked Diesel.

“He puts people to sleep, and then he steals stuff,” Diesel said.

“So they should stay awake and guard their stuff if it’s so valuable,” Mortimer said. “How am I supposed to know they want it? You can’t even have a conversation with people today without them falling asleep. Sometimes they sleep with their eyes open. I don’t know why they don’t fall over. If it was me, I’d fall over, but I don’t have that problem. I stay awake. I pay attention. I’ve always been able to pay attention. You gotta concentrate to bend a spoon.” He looked over at Clara. “What about you? I bet you can’t bend a spoon.”

Clara didn’t say anything. Her eyes were glassy and her mouth was slack.

“Hey, girly,” Mortimer said to Clara. “I’m talking to you. Wake up.”

Clara made an effort to focus. “Sorry, I think I dozed off there for a minute.”

“How does he do it?” I asked Diesel. “Magic?”

“Boredom,” Diesel said. “He just keeps talking, and eventually, your mind turns to the consistency of grits. He lives with his son in Newton, but he ran away from home three weeks ago.”

“Why don’t you talk about me like I’m not even here,” Mortimer said. “What, do I look like I’m deaf? Do you know what it’s like to live with my son? It’s a mortuary. Why don’t I just shoot myself, or jump off a bridge, or drink rat poison. He never does anything. He watches television. What kind of life is that? I need action. I need some hot mamas.”

“I found you living in the park,” Diesel said.

“I like the park. Lots of fresh air. And people come around in a van and hand out baloney sandwiches twice a day. I like baloney sandwiches. When I was a kid, I always ate baloney sandwiches. I’d take one to school with me every day. My son never eats baloney. He says the stuff in baloney will kill you. I say when ? I’ve got cataracts, high blood pressure, enlarged prostate, skin cancer, hemorrhoids, an artificial hip, false teeth, and gas. Every day I take eleven different pills and a stool softener. And now I’m supposed to worry about baloney.”

“I thought you were going to save mankind this afternoon,” I said to Diesel.

“That’s still the plan,” Diesel said. “We’ll have to take Morty with us.”

I had a new batch of rejected meat pies in a bag on my workstation. “Have you had lunch? Do you want a pie?” I asked him.

“I’m good,” Diesel said. “I had a baloney sandwich in the park.”

“I’ll be done in a few minutes,” I told him.

“What about me?” Glo asked. “You need me, right? You can’t save the world without me. Can you wait until three o’clock? That’s when I’m done.”

“I don’t know what we’re doing, but I think we should wait for her,” Morty said. “She’s a cutie. She makes me want to bend a spoon. Did I ever tell you about the time I bent three spoons at once? I was at this dinner party and…”