I gave him a paper towel and a ham meat pie. “You want a beer?”
“Aye. A tankard of ale would be fine.”
“How about a bottle?”
“Whatever,” Hatchet said.
“Here it is. I found it,” Glo said. “It’s a mid-level charm that improves self-esteem. You won’t feel subservient to Wulf after I put this charm on you.”
“But it is my destiny to be subservient,” Hatchet said.
“Piggle wiggle little weewee,” Glo read.
“I doest not have a little weewee,” Hatchet said. “That is an untruth. An affront to my weewee.”
Glo followed along with her finger. “Think large when anger calls, when thoughts are small, when doubt assails, let thy body bloat, release all foul within.” Glo reached into her messenger bag and took out a little plastic bag that held a small amount of black powder. She sprinkled the powder onto Hatchet and clapped her hands twice. “Powdered frickberry to seal the deal,” she said.
Hatchet sneezed and farted. “Sorry,” he said. “I got frickberry up my nose.” And he farted again.
“Are you sure you read that right?” I asked Glo. “It sounded more like a charm for intestinal problems than for self-esteem problems.”
“I even followed with my finger,” Glo said.
I looked at the charm she’d just read. “I think you might have inadvertently changed a word. You said
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Maybe you should undo the charm,” I said to Glo. “Just say it the right way.”
“It’s not that easy. I’ll have to find the bloat charm and then find the antidote. And that was the last of my frickberry powder. The charm won’t stick without frickberry.”
Hatchet finished his ham meat pie. “I thank thee for the savory pie,” he said.
“Jeez Louise,” Glo said. “You’re going to have to take it outside. My eyes are burning.”
“Yeah, and I haven’t got any clues,” I told him. “I’m fresh out.”
“I think thou doth fib,” Hatchet said, “but I will take my leave for now, as this evil wench hath cursed me with foul flatulence.”
Hatchet swooshed out the door with sword in hand, I locked the door after him, and Glo lit a match.
“He was cuter before he started farting,” she said.
I ate a meat pie and popped a mini strawberry cupcake into my mouth. “I suppose we need to send Diesel into the crypt to check out the ninth bell.”
“Maybe the Luxuria Stone is there, too. That would be so cool, because we wouldn’t have to worry about hell anymore. We could have a kegger to celebrate.”
I helped myself to a second cupcake, and Carl scampered into the kitchen, followed by Diesel.
“What’s up, little dude?” Glo said to Carl.
“Eeh,” Carl said, and he gave her the finger.
Diesel went straight to the refrigerator and got a beer. “That sums up my day, too.”
I gave Carl a meat pie and pushed the rest of them over to Diesel. “Couldn’t find your bad guy?”
“Eighty-six years old, and he’s making me look silly. And I don’t think he’s even trying. He’s so old, he’s not giving off any markers. I can’t track him. And he’s not following a pattern. I don’t think the guy sleeps. He just wanders around creating havoc.” He took a pie. “What have you been up to?”
“We found the clue that leads to the Luxuria Stone,” Glo said. “And I met a really cute guy.”
Diesel’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and he looked over at me.
“It turns out Glo was able to see the hidden message in the painting.”
“I’m special,” Glo said. “I have hope, and I’m going to find true love.”
“The message also contained nine numbered bells. And there was a man’s name,” I told Diesel.
“Charles Duane,” Glo said. “We Googled him and found out he was the rector of Old North Church a long time ago. So we went to the church, and I got a date with the bellringer, and we’re just inches from saving the world.”
Diesel leaned against the counter and ate his pie. “I have a feeling there’s some stuff missing from the middle of that.”
“There are eight bells in the bell tower of Old North,” I said. “The painting showed nine numbered bells, and we learned that Charles Duane asked to be buried with a small replica bell that’s sometimes referred to as the ninth bell.”
“I bet there’s a secret message on the bell, just like on the painting,” Glo said. “Or even better, the Luxuria Stone might be stashed away with the bell and Charlie.”
Diesel finished his pie and moved on to a chocolate cupcake. “The perfect ending to the perfect day… I get to go grave robbing. Could it get any better?”
“The church is going to be locked,” I said. “It’ll have an alarm system. And last time, you didn’t have such great luck with the alarm. It might be better to go in during the day, when there’s no alarm. Glo and I can distract people away from the stairs that lead to the crypts.”
“How am I going to get a bell out to the car?” Diesel asked.
“Maybe it would fit in a backpack.”
I couldn’t believe I was now plotting to steal the bell, when less than an hour ago, I’d almost run off the road in a blind panic over stealing the painting.
“I like it,” Diesel said. “I’m comfortable with procrastination. And the Bruins are playing again tonight.”
Diesel fills up a house. He’s surprisingly quiet, but his energy permeates every nook and cranny. The house feels masculine and safe, although truth is, he probably draws more danger than he scares away. I feel compelled to maintain my independence and shoo him back to his own apartment, but the disturbing reality is that I like having him here.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Thursdays are usually quiet at the bakery. It was one o’clock and the lunch rush was done rushing. I had the dishwasher loaded and baking trays stacked in the sink for scrubbing. Clara had just put the day’s last loaves of bread into the oven. Glo was alone in the shop, reading
We had the door to the kitchen open for air. It was sixty degrees out, with a brilliant blue sky and a hint of a breeze. I heard a car pull into the little back lot, two doors opened and closed, and Diesel ushered an old man into the work area.
The man was about 5?10? and bony. He had pure white hair, beady eagle eyes, and huge old man ears.
“I don’t know why I’m getting dragged around like this,” he said. “You get to be an age where you should do what you want and not have someone telling you to do this and do that and don’t do this and don’t do that. You’re lucky I’m so easygoing, or I’d be complaining to somebody. I’ve got rights, you know. And I’m no slouch, either. I can do things. Did I ever tell you I could bend a spoon? Alls I have to do is think about it. How many people could do that one, eh? I could bend a fork, too, but a tire iron is a tough one. I gotta have a good night’s sleep before I could bend a tire iron.”
“This is Mortimer Sandman,” Diesel said. “I’m hanging with him until his son comes to pick him up tonight.”
“He’s babysitting me,” Mortimer said. “Won’t let me out of his sight. Like I’m decrepit or something. Thought he was going to offer to wipe my behind in the men’s room. Feed me my soup so I don’t dribble. How about if you chew my sandwich for me?”
“You tried to sneak away on me, twice,” Diesel said.
