Wicked Business (22 page)

“Cupcakes,” I said. “You want cupcakes.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“A loaf of bread. This is a bakery,” Clara said. “People come here for bread.”

“No. It was something else.”

“Hatchet?” Glo said.

“Yes! I
hate
Hatchet. He tricked me. I’d hate Wulf, too, but I killed him.”

“Actually, he’s still alive,” I said.

She went still for a moment. “What?”

“He healed.”

“That’s impossible. I have all his power. I can cook an egg in the palm of my hand. I can hear grass grow. I can throw fire.”

“I didn’t know Wulf could throw fire,” I said.

“It’s this gadget I bought,” Early said, pulling a propane torch out of her Hermès shoulder bag. “I bought it to caramelize crème brûlée, but you can torch anything with it.”

“Your town house?” I asked.

“That was an accident.”

“My car?”

“I was practicing. And how did I get all that flour on me? I can’t remember.”

“Flour?” Clara said. “What flour?”

I agreed. “I don’t remember any flour.”

Early pulled the trigger and—
whoosh
—about ten inches of blue flame shot out.

“Whoa,” Clara said. “That’s way beyond crème brûlée.”

“I like fire,” Early said, flicking the flamethrower, shooting out fire.

“So now what?” I asked her.

“World domination and chaos. My name is Anarchy!” she said, waving the torch around, shooting flames out at us. “What’s my name?” she asked us.

“Anarchy,” we said in unison.

“I want the stone, and
you
are going to get it for me.”

When she said
you
, she pointed at me and set my chef apron on fire. I batted at it with a kitchen towel, and Clara shot it with water from the sink hose.

“Jeez Louise,” I said, untying the wet apron, examining the hole in it. “Could you be more careful with that flamethrower! It’s not like aprons grow on trees.”

“You have twenty-four hours to get the stone to me, or I’ll burn your house to the ground,” she said.

She aimed the torch at a stack of towels and
phffffft
. Up in flames.

“I don’t have the stone,” I said to her. “Wulf has the stone.”

Okay, that was a rotten thing to do to Wulf, but I didn’t care. I was willing to throw him under the bus to get rid of Early or Anarchy or whoever the heck she was at the moment.

“Pay attention,” she said. “I’m telling
you
to get it and bring it to me. You’re making me angry.”

Phfffft
. She cremated a tray of soft pretzel rolls.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Glo said. “Mr. Nelson’s going to be in here any minute, and he’s going to be pissed.”

“I want that stone!” Anarchy shrieked.

“Sure,” I said. “No problem. Where do you want it delivered?”

She pulled a card out of her purse. “This is my cell phone. I’m currently between addresses.”

“Okeydokey,” I said. “Would you like a cupcake for the road?”

“I don’t eat cupcakes,” she said. “Do I look like I eat cupcakes? I don’t think so. I work glutes and abs seven days a week. I haven’t got a single cellulite dimple. I eat like an alpaca. Sprouts and watercress.”

“No wonder you’re always so cranky,” Glo said.

Phffft. Phffffft!
She torched a roll of paper towels and three loaves of pumpernickel.

“She didn’t mean
cranky
,” I said to Anarchy. “She meant sharp and focused. Eye of the tiger. Woman in charge.” I looked over at Glo. “Right, Glo?”

“Yep,” Glo said. “That’s what I meant.”

“Eye of the tiger,” Anarchy said. “I like that.” She looked around. “Why am I here?”

Clara bagged a loaf of multigrain and handed it to her. “You wanted bread.”

“Oh yeah,” Anarchy said. “Thanks.”

And she left.

Clara closed and locked the door. “She’s completely lost it. I’d like to get her some help, but I don’t know where to begin.”

“It’s a problem,” Glo said. “If you try to catch her with a big butterfly net like in a Three Stooges movie, she’ll only set it on fire.”

The bell jingled over the front door, and Glo took a quick peek into the shop. “It’s Mr. Nelson,” she said. “What should I tell him?”

“Tell him we’re very sorry, but a batch got burned, so he’s a little short this week. And give him as much as we have,” Clara said. “Make up the difference with bagels.”

“Do you think she’d really burn my house down?” I asked Clara.

“She burned her
own
house down. I think she’d burn
anything
.”

I shoveled the cremated pretzels into a garbage bag and took the tray to the sink. “I can still smell burned bread and apron. It’s like it’s getting stronger. Now it smells like
rubber
burning.”

BAROOOM!

Clara and I froze.

“Something exploded in the parking lot,” I said. “I hope it was Anarchy.”

Clara opened the door and looked out. “Did you drive Diesel’s car to work?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to need a ride home.”

I could see the giant fireball from where I was standing.

“This isn’t good,” I said to Clara.

An hour later, the fire trucks pulled away and we now had two blackened, twisted hunks of dead vehicle in the parking lot.

“Lucky thing I parked on the street,” Glo said, looking out the door at the wreckage. “What did Diesel say when you told him his car was toast?”

“He said he walked down the hill to the grocery store and got milk and cheese and cold cuts for lunch, but he’d like me to bring bread and a cheese Danish home.”

“Nothing about the car?”

“He mumbled something about calling his assistant.”

The front door jingled again, and Glo hurried off. She returned to the kitchen minutes later with a large vase of cut flowers.

“Someone sent me flowers!” she said. “I think it must be the bellringer.” She opened the card that was attached and read the message. “ ‘Roses are red. Violets are blue. I doth think thou is hot. I hope thou doth thinkest I’m hot, too.’ ”

“Guess they aren’t from the bellringer,” Clara said.

“No,” she said. “They’re from Hatchet. He’s nuts, but he’s sweet.” She put her face close to the flowers to smell the roses, and she shrieked and jumped back. “There’s a big spider crawling around in the flowers.”

“Probably meant as a pet,” Clara said. She picked the vase up, carried it out to the parking lot, and set it next to the Dumpster. She came back inside and locked the door.

• • •

Diesel was hands in pockets, looking out my front window. “I think she’s here with the car,” he said.

“Your assistant?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what this latest one looks like.”

“You still don’t know her name, either, do you?”

Diesel grinned. “No. I keep meaning to ask.”

She was pretty in a girl-next-door Miss America kind of way. Straight, shoulder-length, Jennifer Aniston blond hair, messenger bag hung on her shoulder, designer jeans, and a dressy little black jacket.

I went out to her and extended my hand. “I’m Lizzy Tucker. I work with Diesel.”

“Mindy Smith,” she said, shaking my hand. “I’m Diesel’s assistant. He requested two cars. My associate should be coming right away. She was a couple minutes behind me.” Mindy looked past me to the house. “Is Diesel here? I’ve never met him. I hear he’s incredibly handsome.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“Three months. If I make it to six months, I’ll get a hardship bonus. He has a reputation for being a little difficult.”

I looked back at the house and crooked my finger at Diesel to come out.

“Was that him behind the curtain?” Mindy asked.

“Yes. He’s very shy.”

She hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. “Just goes to show how wrong rumors can be.”

Diesel ambled out and Mindy sucked in some air. “Wow,” she whispered.

“This is Mindy Smith,” I said to Diesel. “Your assistant. Her associate is coming shortly with the second car.”

“Nice,” Diesel said.

Hard to tell if he was talking about the cars or about Mindy Smith.

“As you know, we try to get the best vehicles available,” Mindy said, handing Diesel the keys to a black Aston Martin. “I hope this will be all right. The second car is identical to this one.”

“I can make do,” Diesel said.

“The papers are in the glove box. I’ve made arrangements to have your previous cars towed from the bakery parking lot. And I have the two new cell phones you requested.”

The second car eased to a stop behind the first car, and a woman who looked like a Mindy Smith clone got out. She flushed a little at seeing Diesel, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to do something awful, like curtsy to the king. Fortunately, she pulled herself together and simply smiled and gave Diesel the second key.

“While you’re here, you can help me out with one more thing,” Diesel said.

He ran into the house, and minutes later he came out carrying the painting wrapped in a sheet, the Duane bell, and the Motion Machine.

“These need to be returned to their owners,” he said. “There was a plaque that needed to go back as well, but it was stolen by a crazy lady.”

Mindy took the painting, and her clone took the bell and the Motion Machine. Both women looked like deer in headlights, not sure what to do but unwilling to ask Diesel.

“Thanks,” Diesel said to the women. “Have a good trip.”

I followed Diesel into the house. “Where are they going? And how will they get there?” I asked him. “They haven’t got a car.”

“I guess they’ll go back to the office, wherever that is.”

“You don’t know where the office is located?”

“No. Never had to go there.”

I looked out the window. The women were gone.

“How? What?” I asked.

“They’re very resourceful,” Diesel said.

“Did they get beamed up or something?”

“You don’t want to know. It would freak you out. Let’s say someone gave them a ride.”

Good enough for me.

“I’ve been instructed to defuse Anarchy,” Diesel said. “She’s made herself a sufficient nuisance to catch the attention of whoever makes these decisions.”

“You don’t know who makes the decisions?”

“I know some of the people involved. Their precise responsibilities aren’t well defined. It’s a blurry hierarchy.”

“I have her cell phone number.” I handed her card to Diesel. “She gave me twenty-four hours to get the stone to her, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“She’ll burn my house down.”

“I’d hate that,” Diesel said. “I like this house.”

Diesel had the two cell phones that replaced the ones that had drowned. He gave one to me, and he punched Anarchy’s number into the other. She didn’t answer.

“Probably getting her hair done and a manicure,” I said.

“Do you have an address?”

“No. She said she was between addresses.”

“No doubt.”

“What all is involved in
defusing
someone?” I asked him.

“I can block certain kinds of destructive energy.”

“Can you do that to Wulf?”

Diesel shook his head. “I’ve never been sanctioned to try. There are people in high places who protect Wulf.” He looked at his watch. “I have an errand to run. Pack some sandwiches. When I get back, we’re going on a field trip.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I was buckled into the Aston Martin next to Diesel, and Carl was in the backseat. We’d been on the road for two hours, and I wasn’t happy.

“This is a dumb idea,” I said to Diesel.

“It’s a loose end that has to be tied.”

“Yeah, but why do I have to tie it? Why can’t you tie it all by yourself?”

“Where would the fun be in that? Besides, I can’t do this without you. I’m not going to all this aggravation only to bring home something worthless.”

We were going back to Dartmouth to try to retrieve the half tablet Anarchy dropped in the tunnel. I couldn’t argue over the value of the tablet. If it could be deciphered, it
would give us a head start on finding the next stone. At least it would give us half a head start. Anarchy still had the other half.

The legend is that a tablet accompanied each stone and gave the name of another guardian family. It was the way families were able to find one another over the centuries if disaster struck.

My problem was that I flat-out did not want to go back underground. And I thought this whole search-and-rescue mission smacked of wild-goose chase. What were the chances of finding half of a tablet in the endless, dark, confusing tunnels?

“I wish you would stop sighing and harrumphing,” Diesel said. “It’s starting to creep me out.”

“Well, excuse me, but this moronic mission is creeping
me
out. And I’m not diving into that pool of black water. I’ll wait at the end of the tunnel. You can bring the tablet to me if you can find it.”

“We’re not going in that way. We’re going in the way we came out.”

“It was a maze. We’ll get lost and die. And there were rats! Remember the rats?”

“We won’t get lost. The tunnels were marked. We’ll be fine if we read the markings going in and going out. And I’ve taken precautions.”

“What kind of precautions?”

“Spray paint and rope.”

“Oh boy.”

We pulled into Hanover a half hour later. The sun had just set, but there was still lots of light. Students were on the move to and from dorms, going to eat, heading for the library.

Carl was making restless sounds in the back, anxious to get out of the car.

“What are you going to do with Carl while we’re in the tunnels?” I asked Diesel.

“He’s coming with us. I have a leash.”

“Eeep?” Carl said.

I contemplated my life choices and wished I had something calming and comforting. Catholics have rosaries and things they can chant, but I was raised Presbyterian, and we have bupkis. I guess there’s prayer, but that takes some thought. Smoking would be another way to go. Smokers always look so happy when they suck on a cigarette. I might even be willing to risk lung cancer, but the wrinkly, oxygen-deprived skin issue is a big turnoff. And I’d hate to smell like my Aunt Rose, who died with a Marlboro Light hanging from the corner of her mouth. Although they tell me she died smiling.