Wicked Charms: A Lizzy and Diesel Novel

by Janet Evanovich

  “Bring the pieces to me,” the guy said. “Send them up with Miss Magic.”

  Diesel handed the two pieces over, and I climbed the circular stairs, stopping when I was within arm’s reach of Carl and his captor.

  I dropped the two pieces into the monkey-napper’s hand and reached for the burlap sack.

  “Not so fast,” the guy said. “I know you have more pieces.”

  “I have one more,” Diesel said. “Catch.”

  Diesel tossed the piece up to the guy, and when he lunged for the piece of coin I reached for Carl. The guy snagged the coin, and I slipped the knot on the sack. Carl wriggled free and launched himself at the man’s face. Carl was screeching and the man was screaming and batting at Carl, ineffectively flailing his arms with the gun still in his hand. The gun discharged and time stood still for a beat when we all realized he’d shot himself.

  Diesel whistled and Carl disengaged, leaping from the top of the stairs onto Diesel’s shoulder.

  “Oh crap,” the guy said, looking down at his stomach, where a bloodstain was beginning to show.

  His eyes rolled back and he crumpled, falling headfirst over the metal railing. There was a loud crack and a thud and then total silence. We rushed over to see if we could help, but he was beyond anything we could do. He was beyond anything anyone could do. He still had the gun in his hand, his head was mashed into his neck, and blood was pooling under him.

  —

  Nergal answered his phone on the fifth ring.

  “So how’s it going?” I said to him.

  “Pretty good. How’s it going with you?”

  Diesel had laid the burlap monkey sack over the guy’s face and what was left of his neck, and I was trying not to look in that direction. “It’s going okay,” I said. “So what are you doing tonight?”

  “Not much. Watching television.”

  “Do you think you would be able to come out?”

  “Are you having one of those special-people mixers?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Great. Where is it?”

  “The Derby lighthouse.”

  “That’s a terrific place for a party,” he said. “I’m not far away. I’ll be right there.”

  “This is totally horrible,” I said to Diesel. “How are we going to explain this?”

  “It’s either accidental suicide or death by monkey. I’m going to push for suicide.”

  Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Diesel went to answer it.

  Nergal stepped in and handed Diesel a bottle of wine. “Am I late?” he asked. “Where is everyone?”

  “It’s just getting started,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Diesel said, “by midnight this place will be rocking.”

  Nergal looked over at Carl, and Carl flipped him the bird.

  “Does the monkey have enhanced abilities, too?” Nergal asked. “Is he a powerful wizard under an enchantment?”

  “This isn’t Hogwarts,” Diesel said, unscrewing the cap on the wine and chugging some from the bottle.

  Nergal caught sight of the body on the floor and the blood leaking out from under the burlap. “Uh-oh,” Nergal said.

  “We have sort of a situation here,” Diesel said, lifting the burlap sack so Nergal could appreciate the fact that the head was basically sitting on the man’s shoulders.

  “Whoa,” Nergal said. “This isn’t really a party, is it?”

  “No, but we’re a pretty fun group.”

  “I can see that,” Nergal said, approaching the body.

  “We didn’t kill him,” I said. “We just found him like this. More or less.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Most people think of that first thing when they find a body.”

  “Do you think you could touch him?” I asked, gesturing vaguely with my hands. “Do your thing?”

  He hesitated. “This is very irregular. I usually do it with the police around. As a CSI.”

  “Think of it as a secret mission,” I said. “For EAF.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Enhanced Abilities Force.”

  “Is that a real thing?”

  “It could be,” I said.

  Nergal went down to one knee and put his hand on the body.

  “This guy died pretty pissed off.”

  “He had a bad day,” I said.

  Nergal tilted his head, as if he were listening. “I’m getting a lot of complaints about a monkey.”

  “Way to go, Carl,” Diesel said.

  “And he’s thinking he made a bad decision to go off on his own,” Nergal said.

  “On his own where?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  “That’s what I’m getting,” Nergal said. “And he wished he hadn’t shot himself.”

  —

  After we were done communing with the dead, we made an anonymous call to the police and left. Nergal wanted to go out for a drink, but I asked for a rain check. I gave him a sterile kiss on the cheek and thanked him for the wine. Diesel drove me back to the bakery so I could get my car, then he and Carl followed me home.

  “There’s something I should tell you,” Diesel said when we were at my front door. “It could be a mess in there.”

  I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

  “I left Carl in your house today, so that’s where he was snatched. Probably there was a tussle.”

  “A tussle?”

  “Unless the monkey-napper had a bag of doughnuts, Carl wouldn’t voluntarily go into that sack.”

  I opened the door and gasped. The house was a wreck, and Cat was standing his ground with his fur bushed out like a porcupine’s quills. He saw Diesel and me, and he relaxed.

  The couch cushions were on the floor, and furniture was overturned. In the kitchen, canisters were emptied onto the counter with flour and sugar sifted out everywhere. Boxes had been torn open and emptied. Trash was spread across the floor.

  “This was more than a struggle to get Carl,” Diesel said. “This was a search for the coin pieces.”

  Diesel was still carrying the bottle of wine. I took it from him and chugged some.

  “Let’s clean this up,” I said. “By morning this will be an ant factory.”

  Two hours later, we had the kitchen scrubbed clean, and the wine bottle was empty.

  “Hey, handsome,” I said to Diesel. “Let’s go to bed.”

  Diesel grinned over at me. “You drank almost that whole bottle of wine.”

  “I did. And it was yummy.”

  “You might be a little snockered.”

  “Not me,” I said. “I can hold my liquor.”

  I sidled up to him, nuzzled his neck, and kissed him just below his ear.

  “You smell delicious,” I said. “I could eat you up…all over, if you know what I mean.”

  The grin widened. “My lucky day.”

  I slipped my hand under his T-shirt and ran my fingers over his perfectly defined abs. “Mmmmm,” I said, dipping my hand inside his jeans. I heard him give a sharp intake of air, and I continued to explore uncharted territory.

  “Am I doing okay?” I asked. “What I lack in experience I make up for in enthusiasm.”

  “Had me fooled. It feels to me like you know what you’re doing.”

  “I like these soft round things.”

  “Yeah, I can tell. Listen, maybe we should go a little slower.”

  I wrapped my hand around his joystick. “Going to warp speed, Captain. Brace yourself. We’re in launch mode.”

  “Eeep!” Carl said.

  “Oh crap,” I said. “The monkey is watching.”

  “Ignore the monkey.”

  “I can’t ignore the monkey. I feel like a porn star.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It’s bad.”

  Carl was sitting back on his haunches, three feet away, his eyes wide, taking it all in.

  “Maybe we should do this some other time,” I sai
d to Diesel.

  “Honey, you’ve got me in launch mode.”

  “Yeah, but you can abort the mission, right?”

  Diesel grabbed Carl and locked him in the broom closet. He returned to me, pulled me close, and kissed me. His hand was under my shirt, his thumb traced a path across my nipple, and his tongue touched mine.

  Bang, bang, bang! Carl didn’t want to be locked in the broom closet.

  “I can’t concentrate with all that banging,” I said to Diesel.

  “Do you need to concentrate?”

  “Yes!”

  Diesel let Carl out of the broom closet, took my hand, and tugged me up the stairs to my bedroom. He closed and locked my bedroom door, leaving Carl on the outside.

  “Are you sure this is going to be okay?” I asked him. “I don’t want to have to save the world all by myself.”

  “We’ll only do certain things.”

  “Does that include launching?”

  “Yeah, we’re both going to launch.”

  “Okay, but I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  My alarm went off as usual at four-fifteen. Diesel reached over me, grabbed the clock, and threw it across the dark room.

  “If it’s broken you’re going to have to buy me a new one,” I said.

  “If it isn’t broken I’m going to smash it with a hammer until it’s dead.”

  I felt around under the covers. We were both naked.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “If you keep feeling around like that you’re going to be late for work,” Diesel said.

  “Are we…damaged?”

  “I don’t feel damaged.”

  I rolled out of bed and touched one of the pieces of coin that were on the nightstand. It vibrated under my touch.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “Honey, you’re way better than just okay.”

  That was good to know. And it had me smiling. Still, I thought I should try to stay sober and not take a chance a second time. Not to mention it would be a disaster of major proportions if I should fall in love with him. And this morning I was thinking it would be easy to fall in love.

  Twenty minutes later I was showered and dressed and only slightly hungover. The bed was empty when I came out of the bathroom. No Diesel. No Cat. No Carl. Everyone was in the kitchen waiting for breakfast.

  I got the coffee brewing, filled the toaster with frozen waffles, scrambled up a bunch of eggs, and opened a can of cat food.

  “I’m off to work,” I said to Diesel. “What’s your plan for the day?”

  “I have the name of the monkey-napper. It made the local news this morning. They said he died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound and a broken neck. I’d like to get some background information on him.”

  —

  It had been a slow day at the bakery. This was bad for Clara, but good for me. I brought home a big bag of leftover meat pies, muffins, and cheese scones. My house felt benign when I rolled in. No overturned furniture. No bad guys lurking in closets. No monkey. I love Carl, but he creates chaos. I said hello to Cat and gave him part of a sausage turnover. The rest of the food went into the fridge.

  I closed the refrigerator door, turned around, and bumped into Martin Ammon.

  “Holy bejeezus!” I said, jumping away from him. “How did you get into my house?”

  “You didn’t lock your door. Not smart in this day and age. Anyone can walk in.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I had a free moment this afternoon, so I thought I’d drop off your contract.”

  “In person?”

  He looked around. “I was curious to see how you lived. This is small, isn’t it? And your kitchen is quite antiquated. Do you actually cook here?”

  “Occasionally.”

  He pulled a multipage contract out of a slim briefcase and placed it on the counter with a pen. “You need to initial each page and sign on the back page.”

  “I should read this first.”

  “If you must,” he said. “It’s standard. Nothing unusual. I give you money, and you give me a cookbook. And also cupcakes. Cupcakes on demand. I trust you won’t mind that. I’m not here year-round.”

  I started to read the first page and my eyes glazed over. “Is this written in English?”

  “It’s lawyer talk. Perhaps you’ll want to engage a lawyer to translate it for you. Or you could sign with an agent. Most agents take fifteen percent.”

  I looked at my decrepit stove and chipped Formica countertop. I didn’t want to give up 15 percent. I needed all the money Ammon was paying me.

  “I’m having a fundraiser at my house on Saturday,” Ammon said. “Something to do with the environment, I believe. You’re invited. In fact, I would like you to make the desserts. We’ll have media there, and it will make a good launch opportunity for the Lizzy Tucker brand.” He checked his watch. “I have to run. Rutherford is circling the block. There’s no place to park in this neighborhood. The city should bulldoze some of these dilapidated houses and put in some parking.”

  “This is the historic section of town. These houses are hundreds of years old.”

  “Obviously.” He tapped his finger on the contract. “Have you finished reading yet?”

  I scanned the document and saw that the ultimate payment was circled in red. Five hundred thousand dollars. I signed.

  —

  Ammon left and Clara called ten minutes later.

  “I’ve been thinking about the poem,” Clara said. “I wrote out the version Gramps always repeated, and I looked up the original version. There are several differences. Not sure if the differences are significant, but Glo’s going to bring both versions to you when we close the shop.”

  I thanked Clara and disconnected.

  “What do you think?” I asked Cat. “Are the clues to the treasure hunt found in Gramps’s poem?”

  Cat looked uncertain.

  “Here’s a bigger question,” I said to Cat. “Is any of this going to lead us to a SALIGIA Stone?”

  Cat stared at me.

  “Exactly,” I said. “There’s no guarantee, right? We could be on a big wild goose chase.”

  I shared some apple slices with Cat and began a list of repairs I would be able to make on the house. A new roof was the top priority.

  “I love my house,” I said to Cat, “but I can’t really afford it. Even without a mortgage payment, the taxes and maintenance bills are killing me.”

  Cat’s ear pricked forward, and he gave a low growl. The back door opened, and Carl bounded in, followed by Diesel. Cat looked them over, decided they were no threat, and hunkered down with his half tail tucked in.

  “How’d it go with the monkey-napper sleuthing?” I asked.

  “The guy’s name was Bernie Weiner, and he happens to be the detective that Ammon hired to find the coin. After some digging I located his ex-wife. I thought we could go talk to her.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. It won’t take long. She lives in Lynn.”

  Lynn is a little southwest of Marblehead and has a lot of hardworking people in it, plus some people who don’t work at all. Weiner’s ex lived in a small house in a modest neighborhood. There was a Big Wheels trike in the minuscule front yard. The woman who answered the door looked exhausted. She had a baby balanced on her hip and a toddler wrapped around her leg.

  “What?” she said.

  Diesel introduced himself as an insurance investigator and told her he was doing some background work on Bernie.

  “I haven’t got a lot of time,” she said. “The baby is teething, and the toddler has the poops. Bernie was an idiot. I don’t know what else to tell you. I wasn’t that surprised to hear he was…you know. He could get talked into anything. He should never have taken that job for Martin Ammon. It became an obsession. He thought he was Indiana Jones off looking for some holy relic. If he spent as much time with me as he did looking for tha
t stupid coin, we’d still be married.”

  “Thanks,” Diesel said. “This has been helpful.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any money in this for me?” she asked. “Did he have a policy? Was I listed?”

  “I don’t have that information,” Diesel said. “I hope it works out for you.”

  We returned to the car, and Diesel drove back to Marblehead.

  “That was depressing,” I said. “I feel bad for her.”

  “It looks like she’s struggling with the money, but she has two healthy kids, aside from the poops, and I bet she’s a good mom,” Diesel said. “She’ll be okay.”

  “According to Nergal, Bernie’s last thought was that he regretted going off on his own. So it sounds to me like he might not have been working for Ammon at the end.”

  “I had the same thought.”

  —

  Diesel parked in front of my house, and we migrated to the kitchen. I gave Cat and Carl a snack, and I watched Diesel place his five coin pieces on the counter and fit them together. Even though pieces were still missing it was clear that an image of a crown was engraved on one side of the coin. Diesel turned the pieces over, and I could see a face engraved on the other side. Charles III of Spain. Each of the pieces had a tiny hole punched into it.

  Someone rapped on my back door, and Diesel opened it to Glo and Josh.

  “Howdy,” Josh said. “How’s it going?”

  “Slow,” Diesel said.

  Glo gave me the two versions of “Sea Fever.” “Clara said she picked out three discrepancies. She has them circled. She asked her gramps about the changes, and he said that’s just the way the poem was always said to him.”

  Star had been changed to light. Steer had been changed to guide. To the vagrant gypsy life had been changed to the dazzling gypsy life.

  “Do you think these changes are relevant?” I asked Diesel.

  “The first two changes got my monkey back.”

  We all looked over at Carl, and Carl gave us a hideous, teeth-baring monkey smile.

  “These coin pieces have holes in them.” Glo said. “Is that normal?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know. Diesel didn’t know. Josh didn’t know.

  “We could check in with the professor,” Josh said. “He might still be at work.”

  CHAPTER TEN