Janet Evanovich - Wicked Appetite

Glo nodded in agreement. “Anyway, we came over today because I have a spell that’ll fix the scramble spell I accidentally put on you.”

Shirley looked skeptical. “Icky wiggle waggle,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Glo said. “It’s foolproof. I don’t need powdered yak brain or anything.” She opened Ripple’s book and found her page. “Turn around word and talk not tongue. Shirley More speaketh now not gobbledegook, gobbledegook, gobbledegook but only gobble, gobble, gobble.”

Glo and I held our breath and watched Shirley.

“Say something,” Glo told her.

“Gobble.”

“That’s not funny,” Glo told her.

“Gobble, gobble, gobble.” Shirley’s face turned red. “Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble!”

“I’m sure I read it perfectly,” Glo said. “How many gobbles did I say?”

“I think there were three.”

“And three gobbledegooks, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Honestly,” Glo said. “This is so annoying.”

Shirley stamped her foot and balled her hands into fists. She whirled around and huffed off to her bedroom.

“Oh boy,” Glo said. “We need to get out of here before she comes back with the gun.”

We ran for the door, sprinted down the hall, and flew down the stairs. We jumped into the Mini and roared away from the curb and down the road.

“So how’s it going with Mister Tall, Blond, and Ferociously Handsome?” Glo asked.

“I don’t know. He gets close, and he smells good, and he feels good, and I think he’s going to kiss me, and then he doesn’t. And sometimes he just scares the heck out of me. I mean, he’s not normal.”

“Yeah, but he’s not normal in a good way. I bet he’s got an Unmentionable schvansticker.”

“I don’t want to think about his schvansticker. It’s enough to give me a panic attack.”

Glo nodded in agreement. “It could be formidable.”

“That’s not what panics me. It’s him. He’s so big and confident and good at flirting.”

“And?”

“And I’m such a dope. I’m not good at flirting. And I’m really not good at being sexy. I’m out of practice.”

“Really? How long has it been since… you know?”

“Years.”

“Get out! Years?”

“I’ve been busy. I worked long hours at the restaurant in New York. I was tired a lot. And I didn’t like any of the men I met.”

Glo nodded in agreement. “I know. It’s hard to meet nice men. Either they’re married, or else they’ve got nails driven into their heads.”

“You know men with nails in their heads?”

“I’m a magnet for them. Go figure.”

Glo stopped at Lafayette Street. “Will you be okay if I take you home? I’d offer to stay with you, but I have a date tonight.”

“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “Does he have a nail in his head?”

“No. He’s adorable. I met him at the car wash. He’s the interior specialist.”

The house was quiet when I got home. Diesel and Carl were still off hiding the charms. The Spook Patrol hadn’t returned. Cat 7143 met me at the door, looking relieved to see that I was alone.

“Were you my Great Aunt Ophelia’s cat?” I asked him.

Cat looked at me and blinked.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I told Cat.

I wasn’t hungry anymore, and I had no desire to be spanked. All good things. I found my notebook right where I left it, open on the kitchen counter. I selected a recipe that didn’t require butter and went to work. An hour later, Diesel walked into the kitchen with Carl close on his heels.

“It smells good in here,” Diesel said. “What are you making?”

“Corn muffins. They just came out of the oven.”

“Doesn’t look like you’ve eaten any.”

“I don’t ever want to eat again.”

Diesel selected a muffin and ate half. “This is delicious.”

“I added roasted corn and jalapeños to that batch.”

“Eep?” Carl asked.

Diesel gave him the remaining half muffin. Carl crammed it all into his mouth, and crumbs fell out onto the floor.

“You need to learn table manners,” Diesel said to Carl.

Carl thought about it a beat and gave Diesel the finger.

“I’m surprised you get along so well with Carl,” I said to Diesel. “You don’t strike me as being a monkey person.”

“I can take ’em or leave ’em,” Diesel said. “I guess I’ve always been more of a dog person. Dogs eat shoes and burp and dig holes in the backyard. I can relate to all that.”

Carl stuck his belly out, opened his mouth wide, and burped.

“Good one,” Diesel said. “But you’re going back to Monkey Rescue if you eat my shoes.”

I cleaned the crumbs up. “I’ve been thinking about Mark and how he saves things and pushes them around with his backhoe. It reminds me of Uncle Scrooge.”

Diesel was blank-face.

“Didn’t you ever read Donald Duck comics when you were a kid?” I asked him.

“No. I read Spider-Man and Swamp Thing.”

“Figures. Long story short is that Scrooge was Donald’s rich uncle. Scrooge hoarded money and treasures in a big money bin, and he pushed it all around with a bulldozer. But here’s the good part. The first dime he ever made he kept with him because it was his lucky dime.”

Diesel selected another muffin. “So you’re saying you think Mark keeps his inheritance close to him, like Scrooge’s dime.”

“Yes.”

“It’s as good a theory as any.”

I checked the time. “When do you suppose Mark goes home?”

“Hard to say. If he leaves at the close of business, he should be home now. If he stays to rearrange his lock collection, he could be at work all night.” Diesel’s phone rang, and he looked at the readout. “Bingo,” Diesel said.

He had a short conversation, paused, and the line of his mouth tightened. He listened for a beat and disconnected.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Mark was home. Borderline hysterical. He asked if I thought it was Wulf who made the mess. I said it was possible. He said he was scared. Didn’t know what to do. And then he said oh no! There was a sound like a gunshot or small explosion and the line went dead.”

I felt my heart constrict, and I bit into my lower lip. Before I met Diesel, the only danger I’d experienced was exposure to carving knives and horny line cooks. Now I was involved in explosions and abductions and who-knows-what-else. My stomach got sick just thinking about it.

Diesel dialed Mark’s number and let it ring. No answer.

“We need to go over there,” Diesel said.

“I don’t want to go over there. I wasn’t cut out for this. I never wanted to be G.I. Joe or Wonder Woman. I wanted to be Julia Child.”

Diesel took one last muffin, turned to leave, and spotted Cat sitting in the doorway. “Cat looks hungry.”

I put half a muffin in Cat’s food dish and plastic-bagged the rest. Carl climbed down from the top of the refrigerator, gave wide berth to Cat, and followed us out the door to Diesel’s SUV.

“I’m having an identity crisis,” Diesel said, pulling away from the house. “I’m used to flying solo. Now, every time I look in my rearview mirror, I see a monkey. It’s like having a hairy little kid back there. I’m starting to feel like a family man with a mutated gene pool.”

“Do you like it?”

“No.”

“Maybe you could think of him as a partner.”

“No.”

“Pet?”

Diesel flicked a glance at Carl. “There’s no place in my life for a pet.”

No place for a woman, either, I thought.

There were fire trucks and cop cars angled to the curb in front of Mark’s apartment building when we drove up. The downstairs door was open and hoses snaked out from the fire trucks, but the hoses didn’t look like they were in use. Firemen and cops milled around, and after a couple beats, I realized what I was seeing. They were chasing ferrets.