Wicked Appetite - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,21

be revealing it.”

Shirley shrugged.

I was sure I’d previously fondled everything in her apartment. The object, if it existed, had to be on her.

“Let me see your necklace, your ring, and your watch,” I said.

Shirley took them off and put them in my hand. Nothing. I returned her jewelry, and I saw Shirley’s eyes flick to her purse on the kitchen table.

“Your purse,” I said.

Shirley handed it over, and I dumped everything onto the counter. Seven Snickers bars, lipstick, compact, wallet, pack of tissues, hairbrush, hand sanitizer, three Peppermint Patties, keys, notepad, pen, a handful of Hershey’s Kisses, a crumpled Whopper wrapper.

I picked everything up and held it in my hand, one by one. The lipstick, compact, wallet, hairbrush, and pen said nothing to me. The instant the keys hit my palm, they radiated heat. I dropped them onto the table, and the heat went away. I picked them up, and they warmed my hand.

“Holy cow,” I said.

“That’s it?” Diesel asked. “The Stone is disguised as a key?”

“This is too weird,” I said. “It’s got to be a setup. How did you get the keys to radiate heat?”

Diesel took the keys from me and examined them. “Lizzy, you’re the only one who can feel the heat.”

Shirley had finished the turkey leg and was working her way through the Snickers bars.

“You inherited a key,” I said to her.

Shirley vigorously shook her head.

I took another look at the key ring. There were three keys and a ladybug charm on the ring.

“It’s the charm,” I said.

Shirley nodded. “Clam bake.”

I removed the ladybug from the ring and held it in my hand. It vibrated slightly and grew warm.

Shirley pointed to the photo on the end table. “Twinkies,” she said. And she counted off on three fingers. “Huey, Dewey, Louie.”

“I don’t like what I think she’s trying to tell us,” I said to Diesel.

Diesel fixed his eyes on the photo. “Three people got inheritances?” he asked Shirley.

Shirley nodded. “Beeswax.”

I looked over at Diesel. “Don’t tell me we have to collect more charms. One is good enough, right?”

“I’m on a learning curve,” Diesel said, “but I suppose to be safe we need all the charms.”

“Maybe Wulf doesn’t know about the other charms.”

“Hard to believe. Shirley had no knowledge of the Stone. She thought she had a keepsake ladybug. So we know Shirley didn’t leak information. Uncle Phil, on the other hand, probably knew. He divided the charms as a safety precaution and tried to scare everyone into silence with the threat of eternal bad luck. Wulf had to know about the uncle and the divided inheritance.”

“Do you have addresses or phone numbers for the people in the photograph?” Diesel asked Shirley.

Shirley shook her head.

“Names?” he asked.

“Maggie, Booger Slammer, Ice Cream,” Shirley said. She rolled her eyes and thunked herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Mix Master, Matches, Nail File.” She squinched her eyes closed and tried again. “Candle, Piss Pot, Queen Elizabeth.” She opened her eyes and grunted. “Fruck.”

“They’re stepbrothers,” I said to Diesel. “Their last name is probably More.”

Shirley nodded. I’d guessed right.

“We need to keep your charm,” Diesel said to Shirley. “We need to put it someplace safe.”

“Good riddleness,” Shirley said, popping a Peppermint Pattie.

Diesel called a contact for information on Shirley More’s stepbrothers, and by the time we reached the Cayenne, Diesel had his answer.

“Leonard More is the stepbrother with the silver Camry,” Diesel said. “He lives in Salem. His brother, Mark, lives in Beverly. We’ll visit Leonard first. He’s a claims adjuster for an insurance company and should be home from work by five o’clock.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lenny lived in a medium-size colonial on a tree-lined street in north Salem. A plaque on the house proclaimed it to have been built in 1897. The Camry was parked at the curb when we arrived. A FOR SALE sign was stuck in a patch of sketchy grass in the front yard. Diesel found a space half a block away, parked the Cayenne, and we walked back to Lenny’s house.

“According to my source, Lenny’s recently married and recently divorced,” Diesel said. “He was a junior exec in a bank, got fired six months ago, and picked up the claims adjuster job at the end of March.”

Lenny answered the door in dress slacks and a rumpled dress shirt. He had a drink in his hand, his breath was hundred-proof, his eyes were bloodshot, his thinning, sandy blond hair was mussed, and he was wearing a thick, spiked dog collar around his neck.

“Had a hard day?”