“They were all great. What happens when you get all your recipes together?”
“I hope by then I’ll have sold the book, and the publisher will take over.”
“Have you sent it out to anyone yet?”
“I’ve been sending a query letter with a sample chapter. So far, there haven’t been any takers, but some of the rejection letters have been encouraging.” I pulled a shoe box from under the counter and opened it. It was crammed with responses from editors and agents.
Diesel picked a letter off the top and read aloud. “This is a great idea, but it won’t fit into our publishing program at this time.” He chose another. “This is not for us, but we wish you the best of luck placing it elsewhere.” He pawed through the rest of the box. “Here’s one written in crayon on a cocktail napkin.”
I knew that one by heart. All it said was NO! I closed the box up and put it away.
“The important thing is that I stay positive,” I told Diesel. “I read a book about getting published, and it said persistence would pay off.”
Diesel grabbed me and kissed me on the top of my head. “Works for me.” His phone buzzed, and he opened the connection. “Yeah?” He stood and listened for a couple minutes, staring down at his shoe. He glanced over at me, not looking happy. He nodded in silent confirmation to whatever the caller was telling him. “I’m on it,” Diesel said. And he disconnected.
“Bad news?” I asked him.
“When Wulf feels the need to kill, he uses an ancient Chinese technique called Dragon Claw. To my knowledge, he’s the only human alive who kills like this. We can both channel energy to our hands, but Wulf can channel enough to burn flesh. You already know this. His signature move is to break his victim’s neck and simultaneously brand him with his handprint. The man assigned to guard Steven Hatchet, your crazy counterpart in Florida, was just found stuffed into a trash can. His neck was broken, and he was branded with a handprint. And Hatchet is missing.”
I felt myself sway, and I reached for Diesel. The blood had all rushed out of my head and settled in my feet, and there were a lot of cobwebs and clanging noises in my brain.
“Good night,” I whispered.
Diesel sat me down on a bar stool and forced me to bend at the waist. “Head lower than your heart. Keep breathing,” he said. After a minute, he pulled me up by the back of my shirt and looked at me. “I get this reaction a lot from women. Are you okay?”
I nodded. “The burning flesh thing got to me.”
“You wouldn’t mind if he used his skills on a pot roast,” Diesel said. “Think pot roast.”
“How about if I think this is a nightmare?”
“Think what you want, but we need to wrap it up here and get over to Shirley’s. My source said it looked like Hatchet was snatched this morning. That means Wulf could be back in the area with him by now. We need to talk to Shirley before Wulf gets to her.”
“Shirley can’t talk.”
Diesel had me by the hand, tugging me to the door. “We’ll work around it.”
I dug my heels in. “I need to put my muffins in a container.”
Diesel yanked me forward. “Later.”
The Spook Patrol was still on th
e sidewalk in front of my house when Diesel shoved me out the door. They were joined by the guide from the ghost tour and four senior citizens who I assumed were with the guide.
“It’s the ghost man!” one of the old people said.
Everyone went cameras-up and took Diesel’s picture.
CHAPTER TEN
It was almost four o’clock when Shirley opened her door to us.
“Frack,” Shirley said, holding a three-pound roasted turkey leg.
I looked over her shoulder into her apartment. “Are you alone?”
Shirley nodded and gnawed on the leg.