“You were worried about me,” Diesel said.
“Yes.”
Diesel handed the broken tablet to me. It was marble, with engraved writing, and if it had been whole, it would have been the size of a legal envelope.
“Is this the tablet?” he asked me.
“I can’t say for certain, but chances are very good. Its energy is identical to that of the stone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“You’ve been frozen in one spot, staring into that bowl of frosting, for the last ten minutes,” Clara said to me. “Are you asleep?”
“I had a late night. I don’t know how I used to do it when I worked restaurant shifts and got by on four hours of sleep.”
The back door opened and Glo walked in. She dropped her messenger bag on the floor, along with Broom and her jean jacket, and she shuffled off to get her bakery smock.
“I’m done,” Glo said. “I didn’t sleep all night. I need coffee.”
Clara wiped her hands on a towel. “I could swear I hear music.”
“It’s Hatchet,” Glo said. “He followed me here. I can’t get rid of him. He was outside my window all night, playing his lute and singing embarrassing songs to me. I couldn’t get him to stop. If he keeps this up, I’m going to get evicted.”
Clara and I went to the door and looked out at Hatchet. He was dressed up in his Sunday best, wearing a slouchy green velvet hat with a big plum-colored plume.
“O Glo, O Glo, I love thee so,” he sang. He strummed a couple notes on his lute and bowed to us. “I bid thee morning, fair women. Wouldst fair Glo wish to hear my tune?”
“No!” Glo yelled from inside the kitchen. “Go away!”
“She jests,” Hatchet said. “Glo is witty. Glo is pretty. Glo doth make my heart sore, my manhood sing.”
Clara closed and locked the back door.
“I’m going to throw up if I have to hear any more about his manhood,” Glo said. “It’s just wrong to be singing about it while you’re playing a lute.”
She went to the front shop, turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN, and unlocked the front door. I brought out the last tray of cupcakes and transferred them into the display case, and spotted Hatchet on the sidewalk. I could see him through the front window, strumming and singing to people passing by.
“My love’s lips of cherry make me merry. Turgid nipples and tongue like a cat. I’d doth give her my hat for one hot kiss. Kiss, kiss, I miss my Glo,” Hatchet sang.
Glo looked down at herself. “What’s a turgid nipple? Is it good?”
Mrs. Kramer bustled into the bakery. “There’s a strange man outside singing about turgid nipples.” She looked at Glo. “I think he’s singing about your turgid nipples.”
Glo stormed out of the bakery and yelled at Hatchet. “Stop it this instant. You have no business singing about my nipples. You’ve never even seen them. And besides, nipples are private. How would you like it if I sang songs about your johnson?”
“I would like it,” Hatchet said.
“If you keep this up, I’m going to turn Broom loose on you.”
“How doth my johnson love thee?” Hatchet sang. “Let me count the ways. Upside down and round and round . . .”
Glo stomped back into the bakery and slammed the door shut.
“I’d like a loaf of seeded rye, sliced,” Mrs. Kramer said. “And two strawberry cupcakes.”
Diesel rolled into the bakery at noon, looking fresh as a daisy.
“You slept all morning, didn’t you?” I asked him.