Janet Evanovich: Wicked Appetite

“Good night,” I whispered.

Diesel sat me down on a bar stool and forced me to bend at the waist. “Head lower than your heart. Keep breathing,” he said. After a minute, he pulled me up by the back of my shirt and looked at me. “I get this reaction a lot from women. Are you okay?”

I nodded. “The burning flesh thing got to me.”

“You wouldn’t mind if he used his skills on a pot roast,” Diesel said. “Think pot roast.”

“How about if I think this is a nightmare?”

“Think what you want, but we need to wrap it up here and get over to Shirley’s. My source said it looked like Hatchet was snatched this morning. That means Wulf could be back in the area with him by now. We need to talk to Shirley before Wulf gets to her.”

“Shirley can’t talk.”

Diesel had me by the hand, tugging me to the door. “We’ll work around it.”

I dug my heels in. “I need to put my muffins in a container.”

Diesel yanked me forward. “Later.”

The Spook Patrol was still on the sidewalk in front of my house when Diesel shoved me out the door. They were joined by the guide from the ghost tour and four senior citizens who I assumed were with the guide.

“It’s the ghost man!” one of the old people said.

Everyone went cameras-up and took Diesel’s picture.

It was almost four o’clock when Shirley opened her door to us.

“Frack,” Shirley said, holding a three-pound roasted turkey leg.

I looked over her shoulder into her apartment. “Are you alone?”

Shirley nodded and gnawed on the leg.

“We’d like to talk to you.”

“Hah!” Shirley said. “Grape lucky.”

“Has a guy named Wulf been here?” I asked her.

Shirley looked confused.

“Gerwulf Grimoire,” Diesel said. “My height, long black hair, pale skin, smells like fire and brimstone.”

Shirley shook her head no.

“You have something he wants,” Diesel said. “And we need to get it before he does.”

“Dog off,” Shirley said. And she slammed the door closed and threw the bolt.

Diesel put his hand to the door, the bolt slid back, and he pushed the door open.

“Nice,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s good to be me,” Diesel said.

Shirley stared at her dead bolt. “Quack?” she asked. “How stucky rag it?”

“I don’t know,” Diesel said. “It’s a mystery.”

Shirley turned to me. “Quack?”

“No clue,” I told her.

“If you can’t talk, you at least need to listen,” Diesel said to Shirley. “This is important.”

Shirley vigorously shook her head no. “Da, da, da,” emphasizing the last da by poking Diesel in the chest with her turkey leg.

“I could be laying in the sun on a beach somewhere, but no, I have to save the world,” Diesel said, snatching the leg.

Shirley reached for her turkey leg, and Diesel held it high over her head. “No talk, no turkey.”

Shirley kicked him in the knee and ran to her refrigerator. Diesel beat her to the refrigerator and held the door shut.

Shirley narrowed her eyes at Diesel. “Duck pecker.”

“Sticks and stones,” Diesel told her.

I grabbed the turkey leg from Diesel and gave it back to Shirley. “Here’s the thing,” I told her. “Diesel thinks you have an object in your possession that has special power. This object represents gluttony, and it might be the reason you’re hoarding food.”

That got Shirley’s attention. “Greely?”

“Problem is, we don’t know what this thing looks like. Do you have any ideas?”

Shirley made a zero with her thumb and forefinger.

“Let’s start with the secret inheritance,” Diesel said. “Was it money? A car? A necklace?”

Shirley made a sign like she was locking her lips and throwing the key away.

Diesel was hands on hips. “You gotta be kidding.” He looked at me. “She’s kidding, right?”

“Guess she believes in the bad luck thing,” I said.

Shirley nodded.

“So you have eternal bad luck if you reveal the inheritance,” I said. “Suppose someone guessed it? That wouldn’t exactly be revealing it.”

Shirley shrugged.

I was sure I’d previously fondled everything in her apartment. The object, if it existed, had to be on her.

“Let me see your necklace, your ring, and your watch,” I said.

Shirley took them off and put them in my hand. Nothing. I returned her jewelry, and I saw Shirley’s eyes flick to her purse on the kitchen table.

“Your purse,” I said.

Shirley handed it over, and I dumped everything onto the counter. Seven Snickers bars, lipstick, compact, wallet, pack of tissues, hairbrush, hand sanitizer, three Peppermint Patties, keys, notepad, pen, a handful of Hershey’s Kisses, a crumpled Whopper wrapper.

I picked everything up and held it in my hand, one by one. The lipstick, compact, wallet, hairbrush, and pen said nothing to me. The instant the keys hit my palm, they radiated heat. I dropped them onto the table, and the heat went away. I picked them up, and they warmed my hand.

“Holy cow,” I said.

“That’s it?” Diesel asked. “The Stone is disguised as a key?”

“This is too weird,” I said. “It’s got to be a setup. How did you get the keys to radiate heat?”

Diesel took the keys from me and examined them. “Lizzy, you’re the only one who can feel the heat.”

Shirley had finished the turkey leg and was working her way through the Snickers bars.

“You inherited a key,” I said to her.

Shirley vigorously shook her head.

I took another look at the key ring. There were three keys and a ladybug charm on the ring.

“It’s the charm,” I said.

Shirley nodded. “Clam bake.”

I removed the ladybug from the ring and held it in my hand. It vibrated slightly and grew warm.

Shirley pointed to the photo on the end table. “Twinkies,” she said. And she counted off on three fingers. “Huey, Dewey, Louie.”

“I don’t like what I think she’s trying to tell us,” I said to Diesel.

Diesel fixed his eyes on the photo. “Three people got inheritances?” he asked Shirley.

Shirley nodded. “Beeswax.”

I looked over at Diesel. “Don’t tell me we have to collect more charms. One is good enough, right?”

“I’m on a learning curve,” Diesel said, “but I suppose to be safe we need all the charms.”

“Maybe Wulf doesn’t know about the other charms.”

“Hard to believe. Shirley had no knowledge of the Stone. She thought she had a keepsake ladybug. So we know Shirley didn’t leak information. Uncle Phil, on the other hand, probably knew. He divided the charms as a safety precaution and tried to scare everyone into silence with the threat of eternal bad luck. Wulf had to know about the uncle and the divided inheritance.”

“Do you have addresses or phone numbers for the people in the photograph?” Diesel asked Shirley.

Shirley shook her head.

“Names?” he asked.

“Maggie, Booger Slammer, Ice Cream,” Shirley said. She rolled her eyes and thunked herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Mix Master, Matches, Nail File.” She squinched her eyes closed and tried again. “Candle, Piss Pot, Queen Elizabeth.” She opened her eyes and grunted. “Fruck.”

“They’re stepbrothers,” I said to Diesel. “Their last name is probably More.”

Shirley nodded. I’d guessed right.

“We need to keep your charm,” Diesel said to Shirley. “We need to put it someplace safe.”

“Good riddleness,” Shirley said, popping a Peppermint Pattie.

Diesel called a contact for information on Shirley More’s stepbrothers, and by the time we reached the Cayenne, Diesel had his answer.