Janet Evanovich: Wicked Appetite

“I don’t want to agitate you or anything,” I said to Diesel, “but I’m having a hard time with the whole Unmentionable gift thing. It sort of dropped out of nowhere on me.”

“Yeah, well until you’re comfortable with it, maybe you should think of it like a movie. Pretend you’re Julia Roberts and I’m…”

“Brad Pitt,” I said.

“I always thought I was more Hugh Jackman.”

“He played Wolverine, right? No way. You’re definitely Brad Pitt.”

“Okay, screw it, I’m Brad Pitt. Can you go with that?”

“Maybe.” I cut my eyes to Diesel. “So you’re taking me somewhere to help you search for something. This search isn’t illegal, is it?”

“Not by my standards.”

“Oh great. What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the ends justifies the means.”

We were within walking distance of the bakery, but unlike the area around the bakery, this part of Salem was mostly newer brick buildings built for commercial use. The street was wide. The sidewalk was unadorned by trees. It was a patch of Salem that felt almost normal, untouched by ads for Frankenstein’s Laboratory, the 40 Whacks Museum, The Witches Cottage, The Nightmare Factory.

Salem was founded in the early 1600s and at one time was the sixth-largest city in the country and a thriving seaport. The Salem witch trials took place in 1692, and when Salem lost its prominence as a shipping and manufacturing center centuries later, it remained famous for one of the more bizarre episodes in American history. American ingenuity and the New England spirit of use-what-you-have-on-hand have turned Salem’s infamous history into a thriving tourist business. The resulting prosperity has also brought traffic, hordes of sidewalk-clogging pedestrians, and the largest collection of weirdos living in a small-town environment east of the Mississippi.

The light went green, Diesel motored down one block and parked across the street from a three-story brick apartment building. We left Glo in the car, and Diesel and I entered the building. We took the elevator to the second floor, and I followed Diesel down the hall to apartment 2C. Hard to tell why I was going along with this. Probably, it was in the vicinity of morbid curiosity, like stopping to see a train wreck.

Diesel put his hand to the doorknob and the door opened.

“How?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” Diesel said, pushing into the apartment, closing the door behind us. “It’s just one of those things I can do.”

I was about to ask what else he could do besides open locks and pull power plugs on Unmentionables, but the apartment had me speechless. It was wall-to-wall food. Cases of peanut butter, SpaghettiOs, Froot Loops, Twinkies, Kraft Mac and Cheese, water-packed tuna, Cheez Doodles, Snickers bars, and cans of mixed nuts lined the walls. Bags of M &M’s, Reese’s Pieces, Peppermint Patties, butterscotch hard candies, malted milk balls, and Hershey’s Miniatures were piled on the coffee table. Plus, every available inch on the kitchen counter was filled with giant jars of mayo, pickles, ketchup, olives, marinara sauce, chocolate sauce, marshmallow goop, hot peppers, and cheese sauce. It was like someone had hijacked Costco. And neatly stacked in the center of the dining room table, like the crown jewels of the food horde, were six Dazzle’s bakery boxes.

I opened one of the boxes. “These cupcakes belong to Shirley More. She comes into the bakery every day precisely at ten o’clock and gets thirty-six cupcakes. Half are carrot cake with cream cheese icing and the other half are chocolate with pink butter cream icing and party sprinkles.”

“Yeah. Shirley’s a Glutton, and this is her apartment,” Diesel said.

“Okay, so she’s a little on the heavy side, but I don’t know if I’d say she’s a glutton.”

“I wasn’t referring to her eating habits. I was referring to her heritage. Shirley’s family has most likely guarded the Gluttony Stone for centuries. The way it’s been told to me is that there are seven deadly sins known collectively as SALIGIA. Envy, Pride, Greed, Gluttony, Lusty, Grumpy, and Sneezy.”

“I think some of those were dwarfs,” I said to Diesel.

“Maybe, but I’m in the ballpark. SALIGIA represents the first initials for the Latin names for the sins. Superbia, Avaratia, Luxuria, Invidia, Gula, Ira, Acedia. Anyway, the legend goes that there are seven SALIGIA Stones, each one holding the power of a different sin. If you combine the Stones in a single vessel, it’s possible to unleash their power and create hell on earth.”

Good grief. Just when I’m starting to roll with the Julia Roberts and Brad Pitt fairy tale, he throws hell on earth at me.

“Hell on earth would be a bummer,” I said to him.

“Yeah. Supposedly, for a thousand years the SALIGIA Stones were guarded by an arcane sect. Then something happened, there was dissention among the elders, and Grumpy took charge and distributed the SALIGIA to the far corners of the earth. Over the years, some were lost and some were bequeathed, and eventually no one knew who held the Stones. Now a rumor’s surfaced that the Stones have all found their way to Salem. Personally, I think it sounds like a low-budget movie script, and I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but Wulf is on the hunt for the Stones. And Wulf is my problem. So as it turns out, it’s now your problem, too, since you’re my ticket to the Stones.”

My eyebrows were up around my hairline. “Are you serious?”

Diesel shrugged. “I follow orders. And my orders are to stop Wulf from acquiring the Stones. Probably, no one cares if he collects the dwarfs.”

“What happens if you only get some of the Stones but not all of the Stones?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you just create hell in Connecticut.”

He handed me a bunch of forks from the silverware drawer. “Does this do anything for you?”

“Forks?”

“It’s been a long time. The Stones could have changed shape.”

“Yes, but this is a fork.” I turned it over and read the name on the back. “It’s Oneida. I know this brand. They’re made in New York, and this looks new. Wouldn’t we be looking for something old?”

“Old can be hidden inside something new.”

“And I’m supposed to know it when I see it?”

“That’s what they tell me. Actually, you have to hold it.”

“And then what happens?”

“Don’t know,” Diesel said.

“What do you know?”

“Peach Pie, I know stuff that would knock your socks off. I could make you sing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ ”

I looked at the intelligent brown eyes under fierce eyebrows and the sensuous mouth made slightly sinister in a two-day beard, and I suspected he was telling the truth.

“I heard that thought,” Diesel said.

“You are such a jerk!”

He tugged at my ponytail. “Yeah, but I’m fun.”

He took the forks, put them back into the drawer, and handed me knives and spoons.

I hefted the knives and spoons and passed them back to Diesel. “Why do you think Shirley More is a Glutton?”

“Wulf’s been following her around.” He gave me a teapot to hold. “And all the signs are here. Word on the street is, the keeper can take on some of the sin.”

Diesel opened one of the cupcake boxes and looked inside. “These cupcakes are a work of art.”

“Thank you. I make all the cupcakes for Dazzle’s. They’re my specialty.”

He took a chocolate cupcake out of the box and ate half.

“That’s stealing,” I told him.

“I’ve seen Shirley. This is an act of charity. Shirley needs to cut back on the cupcakes.” He finished off the remaining half, licked his lips, and sent me his killer smile. “That was the best cupcake of my life,” he said. “I’m in love.”