Plum Spooky

TWO

I PARKED MY Jeep in the lot behind my apartment building, and Carl and I crossed the lot and pushed through the building‘s rear entrance. We took the elevator to the second floor, and Carl waited patiently while I opened my door.

“So,” I said to him, “do you miss Susan?”

He shrugged.

“You do a lot of shrugging,” I told him.

He studied me for a moment and gave me the finger. Okay, so it wasn‘t a shrug. And giving and getting the finger is a way of life in Jersey. Still, getting the finger from a monkey isn‘t normal even by Jersey standards.

My apartment consists of a small entrance foyer with hooks on the wall for coats and hats and handbags. The kitchen and living room open off the foyer, a dining area is tucked into an extension of the living room, and at the other end is a short hallway leading to my bedroom and bathroom. My décor is mostly what ever was discarded by relatives. This is okay by me because Aunt Betty‘s chair, Grandma Mazur‘s dining room set, and my cousin Tootsie‘s coffee table are comfortable. They come to me infused with family history, and they give off a kind of gentle energy that my life is sometimes lacking. Not to mention, I can‘t afford anything else.

I hung my tote on one of the hooks in the foyer and stared down at a pair of scruffy men‘s boots that had been kicked off and left in the middle of the floor. I was pretty sure I recognized the boots, plus the battered leather backpack that had been dumped on Tootie‘s coffee table.

I walked into the living room and stared down at the backpack. I blew out a sigh and rolled my eyes. Why me? I thought. Isn‘t it enough that I have a monkey? Do I really need one more complication?

“Diesel?” I yelled.

I moved to the bedroom, and there he was, sprawled on my bed. Over six feet of gorgeous, hard-muscled, slightly tanned male. His eyes were brown and assessing, his hair was sandy blond, thick, and unruly. His eyebrows were fierce. Hard to tell his age. Young enough to be lots of trouble. Old enough to know what he was doing. He was wearing new gray sweatsocks, tattered jeans, and a faded T-shirt that advertised a dive shop in the Caicos.

He rolled onto his back and smiled up at me when I came into the room.

“Hey,” he said.

I pointed stiff-armed to the door. “Out!”

“What, no kiss hello?”

“Get a grip.”

He patted the bed next to him.

“No way,” I said.

“Afraid?”

Of course I was afraid. He made the Big Bad Wolf look like chump change.

“How do you always manage to smell like Christmas?” I asked Diesel.

“I don‘t know. It‘s just one of those things.” The smile widened, showing perfect white teeth, and crinkle lines appeared around his eyes. “It‘s part of my appeal,” he said.

“You were in Martin Munch‘s house earlier today, weren‘t you?”

“Yeah. You came in the back door, and I went out the front. I would have hung around, but I was following someone.”

“And?”

“I lost him.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Are you sure you don‘t want to roll around on the bed with me?”

“Rain check,” I told him. “Really?”

“No.”

Here‘s the thing with Diesel. I‘d be crazy not to want to take him for a test drive, but I‘ve already got two men in my life, and that‘s actually one too many. Truth is, I‘m a good Catholic girl. The faith has always been elusive, but the guilt is intractable. I‘m not comfortable having simultaneous intimate relationships… even if it‘s only for a glorious ten minutes. And Diesel isn‘t a normal guy. At least, that‘s his story.

If Diesel is to be believed, there are people living among us with abilities beyond normal. They look just like anyone else, and most hold normal jobs and live relatively normal lives. They‘re called Unmentionables, and some are more unmentionable than others. From what I‘ve seen, Diesel is about as unmentionable as a guy could get. Diesel travels the world tracking Unmentionables who‘ve gone to the dark side, and then he pulls the power plug. I don‘t know how he accomplishes this. I‘m not even sure I believe any of it. All I know is, one minute he‘s here, and then he‘s gone. And when he leaves, the barometric pressure improves.

Diesel stood and stretched, and when he stretched, there was a tantalizing flash of skin exposed between shirt and low-riding jeans. It was enough to make my eyes glaze over and my mouth go dry. I struggled to replace the image with thoughts of Morelli naked, but I was only partially successful.

“I‘m hungry,” Diesel said. “What time is it? Is it lunch -time?” He looked at his watch. “It‘s after noon in Greenland. Close enough.”

He ambled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where Carl was sitting on the counter, staring into Rex‘s aquarium.

“What‘s with the monkey?” Diesel asked, his head in the refrigerator.

“I‘m babysitting.”

Diesel gathered up some cold cuts and sliced cheese and turned to me. “You don‘t strike me as especially maternal.”

“I have my moments.” Admittedly not very many, but probably they‘re just waiting for the right time to pop out.

Diesel found bread and made himself a sandwich. “He got a name?”

“Carl.”

Diesel flipped Carl a slice of bread and Carl caught it and ate it.

“Are you a monkey man?” I asked Diesel.

“I can take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

Carl shot Diesel the finger, and Diesel gave a bark of laughter. Diesel ate some sandwich and looked my way. “You two must get along great. You taught him that, right?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Visiting.”

“You never just visit.”

Diesel got a Bud Light from the fridge, chugged it, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I‘m looking for a guy who has been known to hang with your friend Munch.”

“Does this guy drive a black Ferrari and have long black hair?”

“Yes. Have you seen him?”

I shook my head. “No. I‘ve talked to Munch‘s neighbors, and apparently he was Munch‘s only visitor. Munch didn‘t have much of a social life.”

“What kind of leads do you have?” Diesel asked.

“The usual. Nothing. And you?”

“I tracked my man to Munch‘s house but missed him by minutes. I‘ve been trying to tag him for over a year. He can sense my approach, and he moves on before I get too close.”

“He‘s afraid of you.”

“No. He‘s enjoying the game.”

“His name?”

“Gerwulf Grimoire,” Diesel said.

“Wow, that‘s a really bad name.”

“This is a really bad, really powerful guy. Somehow he connected with Munch, and now they‘re palling around together with Munch‘s magnetometer.”

“Why was Whatshis name in Munch‘s house?” I asked Diesel.

“Gerwulf Grimoire, but he goes by Wulf. I suppose he went back to get something. Or maybe he was playing with me. The house was clean when I got there. I followed Wulf‘s breadcrumbs to Broad Street, and then they disappeared.”

“Breadcrumbs?”

“Cosmic debris. Hard to explain.”

“Do I leave cosmic debris?”

“Everyone leaves it. Some people leave more than others. Wulf and I leave a lot because we‘re dense. We both carry high energy.”

“That‘s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Diesel said. “You should walk in my shoes.” He crossed to the foyer, took my bag off its hook, and stuck his hand in.

“Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”

“I want to read your case file on Munch.”

“How do you know it‘s in there?”

“I know. Just like I know you‘re wearing a pink lace thong, and you think I‘m hot.”

“How? What?” I said. “Lucky guess,” Diesel said, pulling the file out of my bag, scanning the pages.

“I do not think you‘re hot.”

“That‘s a big fib,” Diesel said.

“I can save you some time,” I told him. “There isn‘t anything in Munch‘s file. Only a grandmother.”

“Then let‘s talk to the grandmother.”

“I‘ve already talked to her.”

Diesel shoved his feet into his boots and laced up. “Let‘s talk to her again.”

I changed my shirt, and we headed out.

“Your car or mine?” I asked him when we got to the lot.

“What are you driving?”

“The Jeep that used to be red.”

“I like it,” Diesel said.

“What are you driving?”

“The hog.”

I looked over at the black Harley. No room for Carl, and it would wreck my hair. “Probably it‘s easier to follow cosmic dust when you‘re on a bike,” I said.

Diesel settled himself into the Jeep‘s passenger-side seat and grinned at me. “You don‘t really think there‘s cosmic dust, do you?”

I plugged the key into the ignition. “Of course not. Cosmic dust would be… ridiculous.”

Diesel hooked an arm around my neck, pulled me to him, and kissed me on the top of my head. “This is going to be fun,” he said.