“Names?” he asked.
“Maggie, Booger Slammer, Ice Cream,” Shirley said. She rolled her eyes and thunked herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Mix Master, Matches, Nail File.” She squinched her eyes closed and tried again. “Candle, Piss Pot, Queen Elizabeth.” She opened her eyes and grunted. “Fruck.”
“They’re stepbrothers,” I said to Diesel. “Their last name is probably More.”
Shirley nodded. I’d guessed right.
“We need to keep your charm,” Diesel said to Shirley. “We need to put it someplace safe.”
“Good riddleness,” Shirley said, popping a Peppermint Pattie.
Diesel called a contact for information on Shirley More’s stepbrothers, and by the time we reached the Cayenne, Diesel had his answer.
“Leonard More is the stepbrother with the silver Camry,” Diesel said. “He lives in Salem. His brother, Mark, lives in Beverly. We’ll visit Leonard first. He’s a claims adjuster for an insurance company and should be home from work by five o’clock.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lenny lived in a medium-size colonial on a tree-lined street in north Salem. A plaque on the house proclaimed it to have been built in 1897. The Camry was parked at the curb when we arrived. A FOR SALE sign was stuck in a patch of sketchy grass in the front yard. Diesel found a space half a block away, parked the Cayenne, and we walked back to Lenny’s house.
“According to my source, Lenny’s recently married and recently divorced,” Diesel said. “He was a junior exec in a bank, got fired six months ago, and picked up the claims adjuster job at the end of March.”
Lenny answered the door in dress slacks and a rumpled dress shirt. He had a drink in his hand, his breath was hundred-proof, his eyes were bloodsho
t, his thinning, sandy blond hair was mussed, and he was wearing a thick, spiked dog collar around his neck.
“Had a hard day?” Diesel asked him.
“Not necessarily,” Leonard said, “but things could pick up. What can I do you for?”
“I’d like to talk to you about your inheritance.”
“You and everyone else.”
“Who’s everyone else?” Diesel asked.
“My brother, for starters. And some cool dude who looks like he has real pain potential.” Lenny slurked down his drink and stared into the empty glass. “Uh-oh, all gone.” He turned and walked into the kitchen, and we followed.
“Do you know the cool dude’s name?” Diesel asked.
Lenny poured more whiskey into his glass. “Wolf. Is that a badass name, or what?” He blinked up at Diesel. “You want some hooch?” He squinted over at me. “You want some?”
“No,” I said. “But thanks. This thing you inherited, it was a ladybug, right?”
“Wrong. And I’m not telling anybody anything, because then I’ll have bad luck forever and ever.”
“That’s baloney,” I said. “No one can put a whammy on you and give you bad luck forever.”
“Hah!” Leonard said. “You didn’t know Uncle Phil. He was a scary kookadoo. He could give you the stink eye.” Leonard held one eye closed with his finger and looked at me with his other bloodshot eye. “And one time, I saw him turn a cat into a fry pan.”
Two days ago, I wouldn’t have believed that was possible, but now I didn’t know what to believe.
Diesel was handing me things off the kitchen counter. Egg timer, key ring, Ping-Pong paddle. I held each of them for a moment and gave them back. Spatula, pot holder, saucepan.
“What’s with the dog collar?” Diesel asked.
“It’s an accessory,” Lenny said. “Some men wear ties. I prefer a dog collar.”
“Fondle it,” Diesel said to me.