Wicked Charms_ A Lizzy and Dies - Janet Evanovich Page 0,3

was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit with a black dress shirt. I knew him, and there had been times when I thought his soul might be black as well. His name is Gerwulf Grimoire. Mostly known as Wulf. He entered my life shortly after I moved to the North Shore. He’d introduced himself, touched his fingertip to the back of my hand, and left a burn mark. The scar is still there.

“Miss Tucker,” he said. “We meet again.”

“Nice to see you, Wulf.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Wulf said, “but I appreciate the lie. I’m here to relieve you of the coin you just found.”

“What coin? What are you talking about?”

Wulf studied me for a beat. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I assume you’re not looking for a nickel or a dime.”

“Hardly. You’ll know soon enough about the coin. I’m sure my cousin Diesel is looking for it as well and will enlist your aid. If you’re smart, you won’t get involved. Consider this a warning.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” Another lie.

“I’m the least of your worries,” Wulf said.

There was a pop and a puff of smoke, and Wulf was gone. Vanished.

A text message from Glo buzzed on my phone. Locking up in ten minutes. Going to Ship’s Side on Wharf Street for Jose Cuervo for me, and bringing cute coroner for you. Meet you there.

—

The Ship’s Side was a glorified clam shack with the requisite gray shake siding on the outside and decorated with nets, buoys, and lobster traps on the inside. We were seated at a round table on the back porch overlooking Salem Harbor. Josh was still in costume and still in character.

“I’ll have a grog,” he said to the waitress.

“Sorry, hon,” she said. “We don’t carry grog. You’ll have to settle for beer.”

“You see this?” Josh said. “This is another example of how mainstream society refuses to serve the needs of my people.”

“Your people?” I asked. “Do you mean pirates?”

“We prefer the term ‘Buccaneer Americans,’ ” Josh said.

“So does the Buccaneer American want beer?” the waitress asked.

“Aye,” Josh said.

“I can’t help noticing that you talk like a Buccaneer American even when you’re not at work,” Nergal said to Josh.

“ ’Tis a terrible curse,” Josh said. “I speak Buccaneer all day, and then I can’t stop. My brain doth think in Buccaneer.”

“I like it,” Glo said. “Sometimes he says I’m winsome.”

“True enough, ye be a winsome lass,” Josh said to Glo.

“Fortunately, I can stop speaking in coroner,” Nergal said.

Josh nodded. “Speaking in coroner after hours wouldst be a bummer.”

“It seems like an odd occupation,” I said to Nergal. “Why did you become a coroner?”

“I was in debt after med school and this opportunity happened along. I know it seems gruesome to the average outsider, but it’s really very interesting work. Why did you become a baker?”

“I flunked gravy when I was in culinary school, but I was good at making cupcakes.”

I felt someone lean into me, and a long arm reached out for the breadbasket. I recognized the arm. It belonged to Diesel. He scraped a chair up to the table and positioned himself between Nergal and me.

“So what’s new?” Diesel said, giving my ponytail a playful tug.

I was momentarily dumbstruck.

“Where the heck were you?” I said to him. “One minute you were in my house and then next thing you were gone. For all I knew you were dead. I haven’t heard a word from you in weeks. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I was on a job. And I’m pretty sure I said goodbye.”

“The last thing you said to me was ‘I’ll be back.’ ”

“And?”

“ ‘I’ll be back’ is not ‘goodbye.’ ”

Diesel took a roll from the breadbasket. “This is why I don’t work with women.”

“You do work with women. I’m a woman.”

“Yeah, but I have no choice. I only had two options and Wulf snagged option number one. He got to Steven Hatchet first.”

I thunked my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Unh!”

Steven Hatchet is the only other person with the ability to recognize a disguised stone. It’s sort of insulting that Diesel would consider Hatchet to be the number one choice since Hatchet is flat-out nuts. He looks like an underbaked dinner roll with legs. He has scraggly red hair, is around my age, and thinks he’s a medieval minion, serving his liege lord Wulf.

“You’re crowding the table,” I said to Diesel. “This table only has room for four.”

“You’re bummed, right?” Diesel said.

“Yes! Go away.”

The waitress returned with our drinks and asked if we wanted to order