Wicked Business (Lizzy and Diesel 2)

Glo opened the door before we got to it. “How did it go? Were there more clues? Did you get the stone?”

“It’s complicated,” I said.

Diesel swung Carl up onto his shoulder. “We didn’t get the stone, but we might know where it is.”

“Where is it?”

“Wulf might have it,” I said.

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” Glo asked.

“It’s not good,” I told her. “How’s it been here?”

“Quiet. I talked to Clara, and she’s feeling okay. She’s going to open the bakery tomorrow. I’m going in early to help with the bread, since she’s supposed to be careful with her arm.”

“How’s your arm feeling?”

“It’s fine. The cut wasn’t super deep. It was more scary than anything else.”

“What would you like to do about tonight? Would you like to stay here again?”

“No. I need to get home. And in case you’re hungry, I had pizza delivered, and there’s still a lot left. I got extra in case you wanted some.”

Diesel took Glo home, and I went to the computer and researched Deirdre Early. I typed the name in and information poured onto the screen. Deirdre Early sitting in the front row during Fashion Week in New York. Deirdre Early dating a polo player, a rapper, a basketball player, a senator, her trainer, her pool boy. Deirdre Early arrested for protesting PETA in her sheared mink coat and nothing else.

She was the sole heir to the Early candy fortune. She’d been married three times and divorced three times. She had a 150-foot yacht that she kept in the Mediterranean. And her main residence was in Greenwich, Connecticut. I thought she seemed like the perfect date for Wulf, except that she was a homicidal maniac.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Diesel was asleep on the couch when I left the house at 4:30 A.M. He had one foot on the floor, one foot hanging over the armrest, and Carl was sleeping on his chest. It was endearing. I kissed him on his forehead, and he said, “See ya, Sunshine,” without ever opening his eyes.

No one accosted me on my way to Diesel’s car. I’d helped myself to his keys, and I hoped he didn’t want to go anywhere, because he wouldn’t have a car until I got off work.

Lights were on when I got to the bakery.

“How’s the arm?” I asked Clara.

“I’m supposed to have it in a sling, but the sling drives me nuts. All the special orders for Monday have called in for today. I hope Glo gets here soon.”

“She has an injury, too,” I said. “Let me do the heavy lifting today. Glo can frost the cupcakes.”

Twenty minutes later, Glo arrived.

“This isn’t normal,” Glo said. “Nobody gets up and goes to work at this hour. It’s nighttime. Why don’t we do the baking the afternoon before? Then we’d just have to put everything out in the racks and shelves when we open the store.”

“It wouldn’t be fresh,” Clara said.

“Well, honest to goodness, how fresh does something have to be?” Glo said. “Mr. Nelson would never know the difference. Tell him his stupid pretzels are organic, so they might taste stale. You could charge him extra.” She tied an apron on. “You’ll never guess who called me last night after I got home. Hatchet. He wanted a date. He said he really enjoyed cutting me, but he wouldn’t do it anymore if I didn’t like it.”

Clara and I were momentarily speechless.

“You aren’t going out with him, are you?” Clara asked.

“I don’t think so,” Glo said. “He’s a psycho-minion. Actually, that makes him a little interesting, but the whole poisonous snake thing puts me off.”

“Get the pans ready,” I said to Glo. “I’m starting the cupcakes.”

At ten o’clock, Glo was helping a customer, Clara was pulling loaves of bread out of the oven, and I was whipping up a cauldron of buttercream frosting when Deirdre Early burst into the kitchen. Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes were wild-woman, her hair was filthy and snarled, and her clothes were a mess.