Janet Evanovich: Wicked Appetite

“He hasn’t bitten me or peed on my shoe.” Diesel finished his lasagna, rinsed his plate, put it in the dishwasher, and headed for the living room. “We should be able to catch the end of the Red Sox game.”

“Pass. I’m going to bed. I have to be at the bakery at five A.M.”

Diesel remoted the television on. “Too bad. The Sox are playing the Yankees.”

I was making an effort to be a Red Sox fan, but I hadn’t yet achieved total rapture. So far, baseball for me was all about the hot dogs and peanuts at the ballpark.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to leave?” I said to Diesel.

“I don’t suppose you could.”

I woke up in a panic. The room was black as pitch, and I was having difficulty breathing. My eyes adjusted to the minimal light, and I realized a cat was sleeping on my chest… my cat.

I rolled Cat to one side, and I bumped into Diesel. He was tucked in next to me, warming the bed, his breathing even, his expression softened by sleep. My first reaction should have been more panic, but the truth is, Diesel felt comfortable next to me. Go figure that. This big, handsome, probably insane, wiseass guy was in bed with me, and not only wasn’t I screaming in terror, I was actually hugely attracted to him. Not a healthy situation.

I looked at my bedside clock. It was 4:10, and my alarm was set for 4:15.

“Hey!” I said to Diesel.

“Mmmm.”

“You have a lot of nerve, sneaking into my bed like that.”

He half opened his eyes. “I didn’t sneak. I asked if you were awake, you didn’t answer, so I took my clothes off and got into bed.”

“You took your clothes off?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“No! Jeez Louise, I don’t even know you.”

“If you look under the covers, you’ll know me better.”

“I don’t want to know you better!”

“That’s a big fib,” Diesel said. The alarm buzzed, Diesel reached across me, and shut it off. “Do you get up this early every morning?”

“Five days out of seven.”

“Bummer.”

I scooted Cat away and crawled out of bed. When the weather turned colder, I’d sleep in flannel jammies. For now, I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

“Cute,” Diesel said, taking in my outfit, “but they’re not exactly sex goddess clothes.”

“I could be a sex goddess if I wanted.”

“Good to know,” Diesel said. And he rolled onto his stomach and went back to sleep.

I showered, blasted my hair with the hair dryer, and put it up in a ponytail. I got dressed in jeans and a fresh T-shirt, laced up my sneakers, and went downstairs, with Cat trailing behind me.

“He’s a big pain,” I said to Cat.

Cat looked like he might not share my opinion, and I suspected Cat had been bought off right from the beginning by that piece of pizza.

I poured some kitty crunchies into Cat’s bowl and gave him fresh water. I started coffee brewing, sliced a day-old bagel, and dropped it into the toaster.

This was my favorite time of the day. The sky was growing brighter by the minute with the promise of sunrise, and soon I’d be making cupcakes. Boats were clanking in the harbor below me. Seabirds were waking.

I slathered cream cheese onto my toasted bagel, poured coffee into my favorite mug, zipped myself into a heavy sweatshirt, and ate my breakfast on my back porch. Everything was good… if you didn’t count Diesel and Wulf.

I parked in the small lot to the rear of the bakery and entered through the back door. The kitchen was glowing with all the lights on, and the air was heavy with the scent of yeast dough rising in the oven.

Clara was already at work when I walked in.

I buttoned myself into my white chef coat, rolled the sleeves to my elbows, and wrapped an apron around my waist.

“How was your night?” Clara asked. “Glo was determined to protect you from evildoers.”

“Glo arrived with a pizza, a guard cat, and her book of spells. Diesel showed up, we ate the pizza, I kept the cat, and I’d rather not talk about the spells.”

“She didn’t turn anyone into a mushroom, did she?”

“No.”

“Then how bad can it be?”

Pretty bad, I thought, but with any luck Shirley woke up all fine and dandy this morning, wondering if she’d hallucinated the whole hideous episode.

Two hours later, there was no sign of Glo. Clara turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN and unlocked the front door.

“I’ll work the counter,” Clara said. “You can finish frosting the cupcakes.”

“Did you try calling Glo?”

“Yes. No answer.”

“She left her car at my house last night. I offered to pick her up when I came to work, but she said it was too early, and she’d catch a ride with her landlord.”

“It’s a real pain when she comes in late,” Clara said, “but at least it’s usually entertaining.”

Glo bustled into the bakery a little before nine o’clock and dropped her tote on the back counter.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I missed my ride with Stanley, so I thought no biggie, I’ll just conjure up a spell and pop myself over to the bakery.”

Clara and I stopped working and looked over at Glo.

“And?” Clara said.

Glo was wearing a black leather bomber jacket, a black, stretchy T-shirt, skinny black jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a long red scarf. She unwrapped her scarf and tossed it onto her tote.

“The spell seemed easy enough,” Glo said. “It wasn’t like I needed testicles of snarf or something. I mean, it was a simple spell. And I’m sure I repeated it perfectly. I don’t know what went wrong.”

“Something went wrong?” Clara asked, looking like she didn’t want to hear the answer.

“I was supposed to fly, but I couldn’t get up in the air and moving. I think at one point I might have gotten off the ground a little, but that was it. Honestly, it was so annoying. I finally had to come to work on my bicycle.”

Clara and I did simultaneous eye rolls.

“Maybe you weren’t using the right broom,” Clara said.

Glo’s eyes went big and round. “I wasn’t using a broom at all. Do you think that could be it? The book didn’t say anything about a broom.”

Clara pulled on a disposable glove and rearranged a bread display. “Everyone knows a witch needs a broom to fly.”

“Yes, but I might not be a witch. Do you think that would make a difference? Diesel said I was a Questionable. And he said Lizzy is an Unmentionable.”

Clara looked over at me. “Is that true?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Did you know you were an Unmentionable?”

“No. I thought bras and panties were unmentionables.”

Glo slipped her purple Dazzle’s Bakery smock over her long-sleeved T-shirt and buttoned up. “I bet there are lots of Unmentionables in Salem. Some of the Dazzles might even have been Unmentionables.”

“It’s possible,” Clara said.

“How about you?” Glo asked Clara. “Do you have a secret Unmentionable ability? Mrs. Morganthal said you used to be able to bake bread just by touching it.”

Clara snapped her glove off. “Mrs. Morganthal has conversations with vegetables.” She removed her apron. “I’m going to run out to the store. I’ll be back in a half hour.”

Even in a white chef coat, Clara is startling, with her electric hair and sharp features, and it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to imagine her as a sorceress of some sort.

Glo manned the counter, and I returned to the kitchen. I filled the big pastry bag with vanilla butter cream and swirled the icing on three different batches of cupcakes. I decorated the tops with flowers, multicolored sprinkles, miniature edible gold stars, and chocolate jimmies. I pulled Clara’s loaves of raisin bread out of the oven and set them on racks to cool.