Wicked Business (Lizzy and Diesel 2)

“Looking for something.”

“That narrows it down.”

We migrated to the bookcase by Reedy’s desk. He had a wide-ranging assortment of classics, some biographies, some historical fiction, and a large poetry collection that took up an entire shelf. Lovey’s book wasn’t in the collection. I went to Reedy’s bedroom and looked around. No book of sonnets. No sonnets in the bathroom or kitchen.

“Nothing seems out of place,” I said to Diesel, “but I don’t see Lovey’s sonnets.”

“CSI has already gone through here collecting prints and whatever they think might be useful,” Diesel said. “I don’t see a cell phone or computer. I guess they could have taken the book, but it doesn’t seem likely. They’d have no reason to believe it was important. It’s more likely the killer took the book.”

I walked to the coffee table and stared down at a Shakespeare anthology that had to w

eigh at least fourteen pounds. The cover was faded. The pages were dog-eared and yellow with age. A lined legal pad had been used to hold a place in the book. I flipped the book open and scanned the page.

“Reedy has this anthology turned to one of Shakespeare’s sonnets,” I said to Diesel. “And he’d taken some notes on it. He copied the line Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines and he wrote Key to Luxuria Stone and underlined it twice. And then farther down the page he has a list of professional papers and books. Lovey’s book is the last on the list.”

Diesel looked over my shoulder at Reedy’s notes. “Luxuria is Latin for lust.”

“You can read Latin?”

“Superbia, Acedia, Luxuria, Ira, Gula, Invidia, Avaritia. The seven deadly sins. That’s the extent of my Latin.”

“Do you think Reedy was killed because he was researching the Luxuria Stone?”

“People have chased after the stones for centuries, going on nothing more than blind faith that the stones exist, and they’ve done some horrific things to get them. It wouldn’t surprise me if Reedy was the latest victim in a long history of victims.”

We went silent at the sound of someone trying the doorknob. There was some scratching and jiggling. A pause. More scratching and jiggling. Another pause. Someone was trying to pick the lock and not having any success. Diesel went to the door, peeked out the security peephole, and turned back to me, smiling.

“It was Hatchet,” Diesel said. “It looks like he’s leaving.”

Steven Hatchet is a soft lump of dough with red scarecrow hair. He’s sworn allegiance to Wulf, dresses in full Renaissance regalia, and is off-the-chart crazy. He’s in his late twenties and is the only other human known to have an ability similar to mine. Supposedly, we can sense energy locked inside common objects. At first glance, it sounds like fantasyland to be able to do this, but I don’t imagine it’s much different from a farmer using a divining rod to find water underground. Although honestly, I’m not sure I believe in divining rods.

We took one last tour of the apartment, and Diesel scooped up the anthology, the pad, and the folders.

“You can’t take all that stuff,” I said. “That’s stealing.”

“Think of it as borrowing,” Diesel said. “Someday I might bring them back.”

Diesel locked the door and stuck the crime scene tape back in place. We took the elevator to the lobby and ran into Hatchet carrying a chain saw.

“Does Wulf know you’re playing with power tools?” Diesel asked Hatchet.

“My lord only knows I will get the job done. He cares not how. You and your slut need not know more than this.”

I felt my eyes narrow, and I listed a couple inches in Hatchet’s direction. “Slut? Excuse me?”

Diesel slid an arm around my shoulders and eased me far enough back so my fist couldn’t reach Hatchet’s nose.

“It’s not a secret,” Diesel said. “Everyone knows Wulf is looking for the Luxuria Stone.”

“And we will succeed,” Hatchet said. “We have the sonnets, and we will shortly secure the key.”

“Why didn’t you get the key when you took the sonnets?” Diesel asked.

Hatchet’s face flushed red. “It was an oversight.” He turned on his heel and marched to the elevator.

“He’s going to cut a hole in Reedy’s front door with the chain saw,” I said to Diesel.

“Not likely,” Diesel said. “It’s a metal fire door. If Hatchet wants to get in, he’s going to have to go through the wall.”