Janet Evanovich - Wicked Business

“It wouldn’t be fresh,” Clara said.

“Well, honest to goodness, how fresh does something have to be?” Glo said. “Mr. Nelson would never know the difference. Tell him his stupid pretzels are organic, so they might taste stale. You could charge him extra.” She tied an apron on. “You’ll never guess who called me last night after I got home. Hatchet. He wanted a date. He said he really enjoyed cutting me, but he wouldn’t do it anymore if I didn’t like it.”

Clara and I were momentarily speechless.

“You aren’t going out with him, are you?” Clara asked.

“I don’t think so,” Glo said. “He’s a psycho-minion. Actually, that makes him a little interesting, but the whole poisonous snake thing puts me off.”

“Get the pans ready,” I said to Glo. “I’m starting the cupcakes.”

At ten o’clock, Glo was helping a customer, Clara was pulling loaves of bread out of the oven, and I was whipping up a cauldron of buttercream frosting when Deirdre Early burst into the kitchen. Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes were wild-woman, her hair was filthy and snarled, and her clothes were a mess.

“It’s a fake,” she said. “A fake!”

Glo rushed in from the store, and Clara and I snapped to attention.

“What’s a fake?” I asked.

“The stone. That hideous Hatchet gave it to me. He said it was the Luxuria Stone, but I know it wasn’t.”

“How do you know?” I asked her.

“It doesn’t do anything. I carried it around, and I felt nothing. And when I finally found my way out of the tunnel maze this morning, no one would talk to me. If it was the Luxuria Stone I was carrying, those college guys would be all over me, right? I mean, they’ll hit on anything.”

“You’re sort of a fright,” Glo said.

Early looked down at herself. “It wasn’t easy getting out of that tunnel. There were bats and spiders, and I kept falling into holes.”

“Do you have the tablet?” I asked her.

“I have half of it. It broke when I fell, and I could only find one piece in the dark. And it’s not like I didn’t look. I can’t read the stupid thing anyway.”

“If you want to give it to me, I might be able to find someone to read it,” I told her.

“How about this. You give me the real stone, and I give you what I have of the tablet.”

“Are you sure the stone isn’t real?” I asked her.

“I hit it with a hammer.” She pulled some pulverized stone out of her pocket and dumped it on the floor. “If it was magic, it wouldn’t break like this, right? What kind of magic stone breaks like this?”

We all shrugged.

“It’s Hatchet,” she said, her hands clenched, eyes narrowed.

Jars rattled on the pantry shelves and the building vibrated.

“I should have finished him off like I finished off Wulf. Mr. Look-at-me-because-I’m-so-sexy-and-powerful. He never even called the next day. We had this big hot date, and then nothing. What’s with that? Even basketball players call me the next day. Or at least send flowers. Have some respect, you know? It’s not like I didn’t go to some effort. I was wearing La Perla.”

“Bummer,” Glo said. “That sucks. I hate when that happens. You know what’s even worse? When they get shot with a nail gun and don’t even show up.”

Deirdre Early looked around. “I lost my focus. Why am I here?”

“Cupcakes,” I said. “You want cupcakes.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“A loaf of bread. This is a bakery,” Clara said. “People come here for bread.”

“No. It was something else.”

“Hatchet?” Glo said.

“Yes! I hate Hatchet. He tricked me. I’d hate Wulf, too, but I killed him.”

“Actually, he’s still alive,” I said.

She went still for a moment. “What?”

“He healed.”

“That’s impossible. I have all his power. I can cook an egg in the palm of my hand. I can hear grass grow. I can throw fire.”

“I didn’t know Wulf could throw fire,” I said.

“It’s this gadget I bought,” Early said, pulling a propane torch out of her Hermès shoulder bag. “I bought it to caramelize crème brûlée, but you can torch anything with it.”

“Your town house?” I asked.

“That was an accident.”

“My car?”

“I was practicing. And how did I get all that flour on me? I can’t remember.”

“Flour?” Clara said. “What flour?”

I agreed. “I don’t remember any flour.”

Early pulled the trigger and- whoosh -about ten inches of blue flame shot out.

“Whoa,” Clara said. “That’s way beyond crème brûlée.”

“I like fire,” Early said, flicking the flamethrower, shooting out fire.

“So now what?” I asked her.

“World domination and chaos. My name is Anarchy!” she said, waving the torch around, shooting flames out at us. “What’s my name?” she asked us.

“Anarchy,” we said in unison.

“I want the stone, and you are going to get it for me.”

When she said you , she pointed at me and set my chef apron on fire. I batted at it with a kitchen towel, and Clara shot it with water from the sink hose.

“Jeez Louise,” I said, untying the wet apron, examining the hole in it. “Could you be more careful with that flamethrower! It’s not like aprons grow on trees.”

“You have twenty-four hours to get the stone to me, or I’ll burn your house to the ground,” she said.

She aimed the torch at a stack of towels and phffffft . Up in flames.

“I don’t have the stone,” I said to her. “Wulf has the stone.”

Okay, that was a rotten thing to do to Wulf, but I didn’t care. I was willing to throw him under the bus to get rid of Early or Anarchy or whoever the heck she was at the moment.

“Pay attention,” she said. “I’m telling you to get it and bring it to me. You’re making me angry.”

Phfffft . She cremated a tray of soft pretzel rolls.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Glo said. “Mr. Nelson’s going to be in here any minute, and he’s going to be pissed.”

“I want that stone!” Anarchy shrieked.

“Sure,” I said. “No problem. Where do you want it delivered?”

She pulled a card out of her purse. “This is my cell phone. I’m currently between addresses.”

“Okeydokey,” I said. “Would you like a cupcake for the road?”

“I don’t eat cupcakes,” she said. “Do I look like I eat cupcakes? I don’t think so. I work glutes and abs seven days a week. I haven’t got a single cellulite dimple. I eat like an alpaca. Sprouts and watercress.”

“No wonder you’re always so cranky,” Glo said.

Phffft. Phffffft! She torched a roll of paper towels and three loaves of pumpernickel.

“She didn’t mean cranky ,” I said to Anarchy. “She meant sharp and focused. Eye of the tiger. Woman in charge.” I looked over at Glo. “Right, Glo?”

“Yep,” Glo said. “That’s what I meant.”

“Eye of the tiger,” Anarchy said. “I like that.” She looked around. “Why am I here?”

Clara bagged a loaf of multigrain and handed it to her. “You wanted bread.”

“Oh yeah,” Anarchy said. “Thanks.”

And she left.

Clara closed and locked the door. “She’s completely lost it. I’d like to get her some help, but I don’t know where to begin.”

“It’s a problem,” Glo said. “If you try to catch her with a big butterfly net like in a Three Stooges movie, she’ll only set it on fire.”

The bell jingled over the front door, and Glo took a quick peek into the shop. “It’s Mr. Nelson,” she said. “What should I tell him?”

“Tell him we’re very sorry, but a batch got burned, so he’s a little short this week. And give him as much as we have,” Clara said. “Make up the difference with bagels.”