“We’d like to talk to you.”
“Hah!” Shirley said. “Grape lucky.”
“Has a guy named Wulf been here?” I asked her.
Shirley looked confused.
“Gerwulf Grimoire,” Diesel said. “My height, long black hair, pale skin, smells like fire and brimstone.”
Shirley shook her head no.
“You have something he wants,” Diesel said. “And we need to get it before he does.”
“Dog off,” Shirley said. And she slammed the door closed and threw the bolt.
Diesel put his hand to the door, the bolt slid back, and he pushed the door open.
“Nice,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s good to be me,” Diesel said.
Shirley stared at her dead bolt. “Quack?” she asked. “How stucky rag it?”
“I don’t know,” Diesel said. “It’s a mystery.”
Shirley turned to me. “Quack?”
“No clue,” I told her.
“If you can’t talk, you at least need to listen,” Diesel said to Shirley. “This is important.”
Shirley vigorously shook her head no. “Da, da, da,” emphasizing the last da by poking Diesel in the chest with her turkey leg.
“I could be laying in the sun on a beach somewhere, but no, I have to save the world,” Diesel said, snatching the leg.
Shirley reached for her turkey leg, and Diesel held it high over her head. “No talk, no turkey.”
Shirley kicked him in the knee and ran to her refrigerator. Diesel beat her to the refrigerator and held the door shut.
Shirley narrowed her eyes at Diesel. “Duck pecker.”
“Sticks and stones,” Diesel told her.
I grabbed the turkey leg from Diesel and gave it back to Shirley. “Here’s the thing,” I told her. “Diesel thinks you have an object in your possession that has special power. This object represents gluttony, and it might be the reason you’re hoarding food.”
That got Shirley’s attention. “Greely?”
“Problem is, we don’t know what this thing looks like. Do you have any ideas?”
Shirley made a zero with her thumb and forefinger.
“Let’s start with the secret inheritance,” Diesel said. “Was it money? A car? A necklace?”
Shirley made a sign like she was locking her lips and throwing the key away.
Diesel was hands on hips. “You gotta be kidding.” He looked at me. “She’s kidding, right?”
“Guess she believes in the bad luck thing,” I said.