Wicked Appetite (Diesel) by Janet Evanovich

Author:Janet Evanovich
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Bakeries, Mystery & Detective, Paranormal, Fiction, Romance, Occult fiction, Women Sleuths, Witches, Bakers, Armageddon, General
ISBN: 9780312652913
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2010-09-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter EIGHTEEN

Clara had me sitting on a stool in the middle of the bakery kitchen. There was food all around but nothing I could reach. If I got off the stool, Clara and Glo yelled at me to get back. Clara was washing down work spaces, and Glo was tending the shop. Without warning, several of the machines turned themselves on. Excess frosting in the big mixer spewed across the room, the top popped off the blender Clara was using and rasberry puree exploded out at her, and the food processor danced across the counter.

Glo rushed into the kitchen. "Omigosh, did I do this? I was trying to memorize a translation spell, but I might have accidentally read something from the mechanical transportation spell on the next page."

Personally, I was going with power surge. I didn't want to think Glo could turn appliances on by mumbling a few words.

Clara pulled the plugs on the blender and the food processor, and the mixer shut itself off. Puree dripped off Clara's nose, and her hair was dotted with butter cream frosting.

Clara put two hands flat on the island and did a ten-count. She took a deep, cleansing breath and looked at Glo. "Isn't it time for you to go home?"

"Officially, I have ten minutes left on the time clock," Glo said.

"I'm excusing you early. If you don't leave in the next two minutes, I might strangle you."

"That's excellent," Glo said, "because I thought I'd visit Shirley as soon as I got off work. I'm pretty sure I found a translation spell. It won't reverse the spell I put on Shirley, but it will translate gobbledegook."

"You should leave bad enough alone," Clara said to Glo. "If the spell doesn't work, it could make things worse."

Glo tucked her book under her arm and hung her tote bag on her shoulder. "Yes, but if it does work, it'll get Shirley talking again."

"Take Lizzy with you," Clara said. "I can't watch her and clean up this mess at the same time."

Glo drove a slightly used Mini Cooper that had been painted to look like a yellow cab. We squeezed ourselves into the car, and Glo drove the short distance to Shirley's apartment.

"I hope she's home," Glo said, parking at the curb, looking over at Shirley's building. "I really think I've got it this time."

We took the stairs, and Glo led the way down the hall to Shirley's door. I knocked, and Shirley answered immediately.

"Beetle ears," Shirley said, all cheerful.

I looked past her and saw she was at work packing food into cardboard boxes and grocery bags. There were boxes loaded with Pop-Tarts, jars of jam, bags of cookies, canned corn, tomato sauce, and mayonnaise. It was a glutton dream come true, and I felt my heart quicken and my eyes glaze over.

"What are you doing with all this stuff?" Glo asked Shirley.

"Shoe horn for poor poopers."

"That's nice," Glo said. "They'll be happy to get all this."

"Anyone would be happy to get this," I said. "Poor poopers, rich poopers, and in-between poopers.

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