Wicked Appetite (Lizzy and Diesel 1)

I blew out a sigh. “I don’t have a point. My life is out of control. Everything was looking so good a couple days ago, with my own house and a terrific job. And now everything’s facaca.”

“Your life isn’t out of control,” Diesel said. “It’s expanded.”

I rolled the concept of an expanded life around in my head for a couple miles, and by the time we parked in front of my house, I was almost buying it. The Spook Patrol was back on the sidewalk, cameras and Spook-detection gadgets at the ready. I stepped out of the car, everyone rushed up to me, and everyone gasped and fell back.

“Smells like ecto-slime,” one of the Patrollers said, holding his ghost gizmo at arm’s reach, pointing it at me.

“It had to be a really nasty spirit,” another guy said. “Like a level five.”

Spookmaster Mel spotted Carl getting out of the SUV. “What’s with the monkey?”

“We’re babysitting,” I told him.

The gizmo guy wanded Carl with his ghost-o-meter. “No demonic possession registering.”

“Maybe you need new batteries in that thing,” Diesel said, opening my front door, shoving Carl into the house.

“So what does he do?” I asked Diesel. “Does he use a kitty litter? Do we need monkey diapers?”

Carl looked at me and gave me the finger.

“He uses the bathroom,” Diesel said.

I didn’t know if that was good or bad. I wasn’t excited about sharing my bathroom with a monkey.

Cat 7143 strolled into the living room and went into killer cat mode when he spotted Carl. Arched back, bushy tail, hair on end, bloodcurdling growl.

Carl went rigid, eyes wide. “Eeeep!”

“Be nice,” I said to Cat. “This is Carl. He’s a houseguest.” I turned to Carl. “This is Cat 7143.”

Carl took a cautious step forward and smiled his insane, scary-monkey smile at Cat. Cat hissed and slashed at Carl, and Carl scampered up Diesel’s leg and hunkered down on his shoulder, digging his boney monkey fingers into Diesel’s shirt.

“You’re going to have to deal with this,” I said to Diesel. “I have to take a shower.”

Diesel swung Carl down off his shoulder. “No problemo. Let me know if you need help. I’ve been told I’m good with soap.”

I thought about rolling my eyes, but I’d been doing a lot of that lately. I also refrained from sighing, grunting, or doing what I really wanted to do, which was take him up on his offer. I ran upstairs, stripped, and decided the clothes were unsalvageable. I found a garbage bag under the sink, stuffed the clothes into the bag, and tossed the bag out the second-floor window. The bathroom instantly smelled better. Huge relief. The smell wasn’t originating with me.

I stepped into the shower and let the water beat down on me. It took every drop of hot water in the house and a lot of shampoo to get the oil out of my hair. I did a fast blow-dry, got dressed in clean jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and I went in search of Diesel.

I found him talking on his cell phone in the kitchen. Cat was hiding somewhere, and Carl was sitting on one of the bar stools. Somewhere toward the end of the shower, I was overwhelmed with a craving for chocolate. Now that I was in the kitchen, the quest for chocolate occupied my entire brain. I snatched three bars of baker’s chocolate from the cupboard and cracked one open.

“As much as I would like more muffins, we don’t have time for baking,” Diesel said, ey

eing the chocolate.

I shoved some chocolate into my mouth and put the other two bars in my jeans pocket. “I’m not baking. I’m eating.” I looked around. “I need fudge and marshmallow. Make a list. We need to go to the store. Costco. We can buy cases there, so I won’t run out.” I broke more off the chocolate bar and nibbled at it. “And I really need some Snickers bars. A couple cases of those. Are you writing this down?”

“You’ve got gluttonitis again,” Diesel said. “I’ve got the charm on me, and it looks like it’s leaking out to you.”

“I do not have gluttonitis. That’s ridiculous. I’m just making a food list. Suppose there was a hurricane, and I didn’t have any Snickers, and the stores ran out? What then?” I opened a jar of peanut butter and ate it with my finger between munches of chocolate.

“Stop eating,” Diesel said.

I swooped a big glob of peanut butter onto my finger. “Mind your own beeswax.”

I had the finger with the peanut butter almost to my mouth, and Diesel grabbed my wrist.