Wicked Business by Janet Evanovich

Author:Janet Evanovich
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780755384952
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2012-06-27T21:46:19+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Boston Museum of Science isn’t huge in comparison to the Louvre, for example. It doesn’t take all day to see it. We covered the first floor and didn’t find anything with clue potential. We were about to go downstairs, and Carl started squirming in the backpack.

“He’s probably hot in there,” I said to Diesel. “Maybe we could take him out and disguise him as a kid. We’re next to the gift shop. I could buy him a shirt.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than a shirt,” Diesel said. “He’s hairy and bowlegged, and he has a tail.”

“Work with me,” I said. “Think positive. Not every kid is Opie Taylor.”

I slipped into the gift shop and found a toddler-size shirt with a dinosaur on it, overalls to match, and baby Uggs. I took Carl into the baby-changing room, got him dressed, and held him up to the mirror so he could see himself.

“Eep,” Carl said, pointing to the green dinosaur on his chest.

“Dinosaur,” I told him.

He looked at his feet in the Uggs.

“Shoes,” I said. “You have to wear shoes in the museum.”

I set him down. “You can walk, but you have to hold my hand.”

“Eep.”

I took him out and showed him to Diesel. “What do you think?”

“I need a drink.”

“I think he’s cute.”

“I bet you dressed your cat when you were little.”

“Everyone dresses their cat.”

We went to the lower level and looked at the dinosaur exhibit. There were several people milling around. One of them was Hatchet, in full Renaissance regalia. He was slowly moving through the room, touching everything, searching for hidden energy.

“Find anything?” I asked him.

He gave a gasp of surprise at seeing Diesel and me, and he looked down at Carl. “What brings thee to this place with your . . .”

“Monkey,” Diesel said, filling in the blank. “And he’s not from my side of the family.”

Hatchet was wearing a large Band-Aid on his neck, a green tunic, brown tights, his hives were gone, and his scabbard was empty.

“Where’s your sword?” I asked him.

“I was requested to check it upon entry. I fear my life as a minion in this century is complicated.”

Carl tugged at my hand. He wanted to keep moving. He had his eye on Triceratops.

“Did you dig up Peder Tichy?” I asked Hatchet.

“I did not. There was no need.”

“Someone thought there was a need.”

“A beast without our unique talent.”

“Beast is a strong word,” I said.

“’Tis a beast. I know this as a certainty. And this beast doth destroy with pleasure.”

“Eeeeep,” Carl said, stomping his feet in his Uggs, pointing to the dinosaur.

“Hey!” I said to Carl. “Chill. I’m having a conversation.”

“Does the beast have a name?” I asked Hatchet.

“It does. My master has warned thee.”

“Anarchy,” Diesel guessed.

“I know nothing more than that,” Hatchet said. “Only that it is fearful.”

Hatchet moved on, continuing to leave his fingerprints on every surface.

“Do you think there really is a beast named Anarchy?” I asked Diesel.

“Do I think there’s a fire-breathing dragon named Anarchy? No. Do I think there’s a dangerous lunatic out there calling himself Anarchy? Good possibility.

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