Diesel looked at his watch and then at me. “How much longer until you’re done?”
“I have to decorate this last batch of red velvet and do a little clean-up. Maybe ten minutes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By the time I had my workstation clean and I was ready to leave, Clara had returned and was measuring the broken window with George Henley from Henley’s Hardware.
“See you tomorrow,” I said to Clara. “Have a nice day, George.”
“Back at ya,” George said. “Make sure you’re on your game tomorrow. I’m getting paid in cupcakes. I got a whole week coming to me.”
I put together a box of meat pies and cupcakes, grabbed my purse and sweatshirt, and walked through the shop. Glo was behind the counter, reading Ripple’s, periodically glancing up to make sure no customers had sneaked in on her.
“See you tomorrow,” I said to Glo. “I hope your broom comes back.”
“Fat chance of that,” she said. “It hates me.”
Diesel was parked at the curb, looking bored behind the wheel. Carl was in the backseat, sitting in a booster chair, strapped in, watching a movie on a small DVD player. He had a box of Froot Loops and a sport bottle of water on the seat next to him.
“You’re spoiling him,” I said to Diesel, sliding onto the passenger-side seat.
“I’m in survival mode. Since we can’t seem to get rid of him, I’m doing whatever it takes to neutralize him.”
Carl looked up from his movie and gave Diesel the finger.
“What’s he watching?” I asked Diesel.
“Madagascar. He likes the monkeys.”
I handed out meat pies and put the cupcake box on the floor between my feet. “We’re going home, right?”
“Wrong,” Diesel said, pulling into traffic. “Mark was fried last night. I got the high points out of him, but I want to see if he remembers more now that he’s calmed down. I called him a couple minutes ago. He’s at Melody’s house.”
“Mark gave up the charm. What else can he tell you?”
“I don’t know, but it feels like there’s more.”
Diesel went through three meat pies and two cupcakes en route to Melody’s house. He parked at the curb, behind Lenny’s Camry, and we got out and stood on the sidewalk, looking at Carl in the backseat.
“He should be okay,” Diesel said, locking the Cayenne. “He’s got about forty minutes more on the movie.”
Melody’s front door banged open and a kid stuck his head out.
“Are you visitors?” he yelled.
“Yes,” I said.
“I can’t let you in,” he yelled back.
And he slammed the door shut.
Diesel walked to the door and rang the bell.
“What?” the kid yelled from inside.
“I want to talk to your Uncle Mark,” Diesel said.
“No.”