Wicked Charms (24 page)

“I have something to show you,” he said. “I went to the bakery, but you’d already left.”

“What is it?”

“You have to see it in person. I’d bring it over to you, but I don’t know where you live.”

I gave him my address, and twenty minutes later he was at my door.

“Are you done with work for the day?” I asked him.

“I’m on call. My job is like that. Anyway, I went to that specialty grocery store that just opened on Fifth Street. They have an amazing deli. The egg salad has lots of mayo, and the tuna salad is full of celery.”

“I know the store you’re talking about. They make their own terrine out of olives and baloney. It’s awesome.”

“Yeah, so I’m in there, and I’m walking around and what do I see? Lizzy’s Cookies! I’m sure you know all about this, but I was excited. These are my favorite cookies. Mint chocolate chip.” He handed me a bag. “And now I can buy them at the grocery store!”

I pulled a packet of cookies out of the bag. They had the Ammon Enterprises logo on them. In small black letters under the large black and gold logo it said
LIZZY’S COOKIES
. I opened the packet and tried one.

“This is great,” I said. “These are my cookies all right.”

Except I didn’t feel great. I felt deflated. Like someone had let all the air out of my balloon. I’d given away my cookie recipe to a man who was trying to turn into a demon. I read the ingredients label. Red dye number seventeen and something I couldn’t pronounce. If I stabbed myself in the eye with the butcher knife it would be less painful.

“There were a bunch of other Lizzy’s Cookies there, too, but I only bought these,” Nergal said. “They were pricey, and coroners don’t make all that much money.”

I led him into the kitchen, cracked open a bottle of red wine, and poured out two glasses. I heard the front door open and close, Carl raced in, and Diesel followed.

“Theodore brought me cookies,” I told Diesel.

“They’re Lizzy’s Cookies,” Nergal said. “I found them in the grocery store.”

Diesel took a cookie from the bag and ate it. “Yep, they’re Lizzy’s Cookies all right.” He looked over at me. “No wonder you’re drinking.”

“We’re celebrating,” I said.

Diesel grinned. “I bet.”

Nergal’s phone buzzed with a text message.

“Jeez,” he said. “They’re dropping like flies today. I have to go.”

I added a couple of my chocolate peanut butter chip cookies to his bag and handed it back to him. “Thanks for stopping by to show this to me,” I said. “We’ll have to get together sometime when you’re not on call.”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Nergal said. “I bet you have all sorts of fun stories about your adventures to save the world and everything.”

I closed the door after him and drained my wine glass. “He’s going to get another text tonight,” I said to Diesel, “because I’m going to kill Ammon.”

“Ammon didn’t waste any time getting these cookies into production.”

“They have artificial ingredients! He added coloring and preservatives.”

“No one will notice. The writing on the bag was very small. It’s the American way.”

“It’s
not
the American way. The American way is to have quality and purity.”

Diesel refilled my wine glass. “I like your thinking,” he said. “What’s for dinner?”

“Steak and potatoes.”

“I
really
like your thinking.”

I went to the kitchen, turned the oven on, and put the potatoes in.

“Would you still like me if I couldn’t cook?”

“Yeah, you’re cute. Cooking is the icing on the cupcake.”

“Okay, suppose I wasn’t cute. Suppose I was fat and ugly. Would you like me then?”

“Let me get this straight. You can’t cook and you’re fat and ugly?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you mean?”

“No. I’m nice.”

I put an onion on the chopping block and started to slice it.

“What about special talents?” he asked. “Are you good in bed? Can you give a deep-tissue massage?”

“Good grief.”

“I’m just trying to get a grip on this,” Diesel said. “Suppose the situation was reversed, and I was fat and ugly. Would you still like me?”

“Half the time I don’t even like you
now.
”

“I get that, but what about the other half?”

“I don’t know. What are
your
skills? Can you give a deep-tissue massage?”

“Honey, I’m going so deep on you tonight I might not be able to find my way out.”

I almost sliced my finger off.

“Looks like you nicked yourself,” Diesel said. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“No! I want you to go into the living room and watch television with Carl. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The dinner dishes were in the dishwasher, the kitchen was clean, and we were watching a ball game drag on between the Red Sox and the Mets. Diesel stood and stretched. When he stretched he raised his arms and his T-shirt rode up giving me a glimpse of tanned, perfectly defined abs. I’d seen them before, plus a lot more, but it didn’t matter…it was always good.

“Do you need anything from the kitchen?” he asked.

“Nope, I’m okay,” I said.

Diesel ambled off and Rutherford called me.

“I found it! I found the stone. I know it’s the stone because it’s in the leather pouch. It was buried under an azalea bush. How soon can we get the treasure moved back to the vault?”

“I’ll need at least a couple hours to gather it together. I’ll call you when we can arrange the transfer.”

“Remember, we need to do this before Mr. Ammon is released from the hospital.”

“No problem. I’ll get back to you later tonight.”

Diesel returned to the living room with a couple cookies. “What’s up?”

“Rutherford found the stone. He wants to make the trade tonight so everything is in place when Ammon leaves the hospital tomorrow morning.”

“Call Clara and ask her to bring the van to Gramps’s garage.”

—

Clara was waiting for us when we pulled up to the garage. The van was parked inside.

“We have a problem,” Clara said. “Follow me.”

We entered the tunnel through the garage and walked the short distance to the speakeasy. The door was open and Gramps was inside, sitting in one of the comfy club chairs.

“Howdy,” Gramps said. “Welcome to my rumpus room.”

We looked around and immediately saw the problem. The treasure was gone. Only one plastic bin was left.

“What happened to all the bins?” I asked.

“Got rid of them,” Gramps said. “They were taking up too much space. Kept the one that had the pretty green jar in it.”

“Where’d the bins go?” I asked him.

“I gave them to the Pirate Museum. They had a fire and lost a lot of stuff. Terrible. The pirate ship burned up and everything. The junk in the bins looked like pirate loot, so I handed it over. Pirates are my second favorite thing. When I gave all that junk over to the museum people they said they were going to name a room after me. Can you imagine that? I’m going to be famous.”

Diesel was back on his heels, smiling. “Easy come, easy go,” he said.

“What are we going to do about Rutherford?” I asked him.

“We’ll give Gramps the pretty green jar and give the rest of the bin to Rutherford,” Diesel said. “If he doesn’t want to hand over the stone we’ll jump him and take it.”

“Suppose he has a bunch of armed men with him?”

“We’ll wait until he’s alone, and then we’ll jump him.”

“Okay,” I said. “I like it.”

I called Rutherford and told him to meet us at the front entrance to the bank building Ammon owned.

“Excellent,” Rutherford said. “This is a wonderful plan. A lifesaver. Ha-ha. Literally. Ha-ha.”

I disconnected and turned to Diesel. “He’s losing it. He did two of those awful
ha-ha
laughs
.
Two. There was definitely hysteria involved.”

“With good reason.”

We loaded the single bin into Clara’s van and drove to the bank building.

“Keep the motor running, and if I give you the sign you take off,” Diesel said to Clara. “Lizzy has to verify that we’ve actually got the Avaritia Stone before we hand over what’s left of the treasure.”

We sat there at idle for ten minutes before a black Escalade drove up, and Rutherford got out followed by two men in suits. The street was dark, lit by pools of light from streetlights. Rutherford stood at the building’s front door, and the two men stayed by the car. Diesel and I got out of the van and crossed the street.

Rutherford took in a huge, deep breath and exhaled. “Well, this is such a relief. Oh my goodness, you can’t imagine what this means to me. This is large. Massive!” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “This will be our little secret. No need to let the men know the full extent of the transaction.”

“Understood,” I said. “Do you have it?”

He turned his back on the men and carefully extracted the leather pouch from his suit jacket.

“We need to be discreet about this,” he said, handing the pouch over to me.

I opened the pouch and looked inside. It was hard to tell on the dark street, but the stone was the right size and I could see some silver glinting off it. I touched it with my fingertip and felt nothing.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

I dropped the stone out of the pouch, into my hand. Nothing.

“It’s not the stone,” I said.

Rutherford looked stricken. “What do you mean? Of course it’s the stone. I found it in the garden. It was in the leather pouch.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s a dud.”

“Ha-ha, you’re pranking me, right? You’re kidding. That’s marvelous. I love it.”

“No, I’m really sorry. This isn’t the stone.”

I put the stone back into the pouch and handed it over to Rutherford.

“Oh dear,” he said. “Oh dear. Oh dear.”

He stumbled back and sat down hard on the cement step leading to the bank’s front door.

I looked down at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m a dead man,” he said. “I lost the treasure. I lost the weird little guy with the red hair, and I can’t find the stone. I’m done. Dead. Maybe worse than dead.”

“You have a couple hours,” I said. “You could keep digging.”

“We’ve dug up everything. There’s nothing left to dig. The yard looks like it’s been bombed.” He looked up at me. “You have to give me the treasure. Please. Please, please with sugar on it.”

“The truth is, there’s not much left,” I said. “We could only recover one bin.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Ha-ha, ha-ha, ha. Only one bin. Ha-ha, ha. You mean it’s all gone?”

I nodded.

“Gone! Where did it go? Wait, I don’t care. Doesn’t matter, does it? It’s gone.”

“Okay, you should calm yourself,” I said. “It’s not that bad. Things happen.”

“No, no. You don’t understand. This is Mammon we’re talking about. The God of Greed. He doesn’t like when he loses treasure.”

“It’s not Mammon,” I said. “It’s Martin Ammon. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I don’t know. Ha-ha. Anal probes? Ha-ha.”

“Maybe he still has the tranq gun in the car,” Diesel said. “We could plant one on him.”

“We’re going to leave now,” I said to Rutherford. “If you find the stone you can call anytime.”

“Yes, yes. I’ll do that. Of course. Yes, yes.”

Diesel and I walked calmly across the road, got into the van, and told Clara what happened.

“Drive off as if everything is perfectly normal,” I said to Clara. “We don’t want to alarm the men with the guns. And we especially don’t want the crazy man who’s pacing back and forth in front of the building to go completely gonzo.”

“Too late,” Diesel said. “That ship has sailed.”

“Now what?” Clara asked, winding her way around Salem.

“I guess we take the treasure back to Gramps,” Diesel said. “He’s the expert at treasure redistribution.”

—

It was hard to drag myself out of bed in the morning. It had been a late night. Diesel was warm next to me. Cat was curled at the foot of the bed. Carl was in the laundry basket. I oozed out from under the quilt, trying not to disturb anyone, and shuffled into the bathroom. I stood in the shower until the room was steamy and I was pretty much awake. When I finally tiptoed out of the bathroom Carl and Diesel were still asleep. Cat was at the door, waiting for me.

Cat and I went downstairs and I fixed Cat’s breakfast. “My life is a big mess,” I said to Cat. “I set drapes on fire and lose treasures and hook up with the wrong men. And I’m not just talking about romantic hookups. I’m talking about cookbook hookups, too.”

Cat didn’t seem especially concerned. Cat was happy to have his half can of cat food.

I was a half hour late getting to the bakery, and Clara had already started the yeast dough.

“I’m not up to saving the world after eight o’clock at night,” Clara said. “Just take the keys next time you need the van.”

“I’m hoping there won’t be a next time. It seems to me we’re at a dead end with the Avaritia Stone.”

“Ammon must know where it is.”

“I’m not sure what Ammon knows. I’m told dogs don’t have good short-term memory.”

At eleven o’clock I was finishing the frosting on a batch of cupcakes, and Glo stuck her head in the kitchen.

“He’s here!” Glo said.

“Who?”

“Martin Ammon! He wants to see you.”

I made my way to the counter and tried my best to smile. “Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“I had a concussion. Nothing serious, but they wanted me to stay in the hospital for observation. I’m sure you heard.”

I nodded. “Yup.”

“I’m on my way home, but I wanted to stop by and personally invite you to the house to discuss the cookbook. We’ve gotten behind schedule.”

“You still want to publish my cookbook?”

“Of course. It’s a large part of the campaign. We have decisions to make. We need cover art and an author photo. I was thinking three o’clock. Does that work for you?”

More head nodding. “Three is good.”

We all watched him leave. He walked out on two legs and climbed into the backseat of a black Mercedes sedan. He didn’t bark or lift his leg on the tire. It looked like Rutherford was at the wheel.