Wicked Appetite (Lizzy and Diesel 1)

It was seven o’clock, and Cat and Carl were back in front of the television. Diesel was on a stool in the kitchen, one leg extended, one leg bent, arms crossed over his chest, watching me work.

I was rearranging my pantry, checking expiration dates, lining up cereal boxes and jars of jelly. It was a lame attempt to convince myself I had some control over my life. Okay, so I might not be able to get rid of Diesel and his save-the-world deal, but dammit, I could set my pantry in order. And when I was done with the pantry, I was heading upstairs to the sock drawer.

“I’m surprised you’re hanging out,” I said to Diesel. “Shouldn’t you be thumb wrestling Wulf for the last charm?”

“Yes, but it’s more fun watching you decide if the jelly should be color coordinated or alphabetized. And when you reach for stuff on the top shelf, I get to see skin between your shirt and your jeans.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in fun.”

“Honey, I’m all about fun.”

“It looks to me like you’re all about responsibility.”

Diesel stood and took his cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s a phase. And you’re right about Wulf. I should be thumb wrestling with him.” He tapped a number into his phone and waited while the connection was made. “We need to talk,” Diesel said into the phone. He listened for a long moment and stared down at his shoe. “Understood,” he said. And he hung up.

“Is he going to give you the last charm?” I asked.

“I’ve never understood the function of the charms, only that they would either lead us to the Stone or that in some magical way they would become the Stone. Apparently, that’s Wulf’s ace in the hole. Wulf figured out that the charms were keys. And he knew what the keys opened. And unfortunately, he has that object in his possession.”

I had a horrifying flash of insight. “Uncle Phil’s casket.”

“Yes.”

It took Diesel twenty minutes to collect the three charms. Just enough time for me to finish straightening my sock drawer. I’d tried my best to stay calm by keeping busy, but my stomach was churning. Carl and Cat had refused to stay behind, so we had them with us in the Lincoln.

The sun was setting on Salem when we rolled into town with the windows down, the idea being that the rush of air might save me from going gluttonously nutty.

“How are you doing?” Diesel asked me.

“Doughnut,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m fine,” I told him. “I’ve got it under control. Hot dog.”

Crap! Did I just say hot dog?

“Try to hold it together,” Diesel said.

“You know how you get that tickle in the back of your throat when a killer cold is coming on? I have that tickle everywhere.”

The address Wulf gave Diesel was close to Pickering Wharf Marina. It was a two-story, warehouse-type building with a corrugated metal roof and cinder-block sides. FRUG SEAFOOD STORAGE had been painted onto the cinder block. The lettering was weathered and faded. There was a FOR LEASE sign in the small downstairs window beside the front door. Diesel parked in the adjacent lot, and we all trooped into the building.

Hatchet was waiting in the front office. He had a Band-Aid across his nose and a chunk of skin missing from his forehead.

“Who goes there?” Hatchet said.

“Sir Diesel, Sir Monkey, Sir Cat, and Maid Lizzy,” Diesel said.

Hatchet motioned to a corridor. “My Lord awaits you.”

At the end of the corridor was the large room that Lenny and Mark had described. White walls. No windows. High ceiling that was painted black and had exposed ductwork. A casket rested in the middle of the room, and Wulf stood at the head of the casket.

“If I’d known there was going to be a parade, I’d have brought my elephant,” Wulf said, taking in Carl and Cat.

Diesel looked at the casket. “How long’s Uncle Phil been sitting out here?”

“Not long,” Wulf said. “I’ve had him in the frozen fish locker.”