Free Wicked Business by Janet Evanovich

Gogh?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Borrowed?”
    “Yep.”
    “Borrowed what?” Glo asked, coming in from the front shop.
    “A painting,” Clara said. “It’s under the sheet.”
    Glo pulled the sheet away, and we all looked at the painting.
    “It looks like wallpaper,” Glo said. “My grammy had wallpaper like this in her bedroom, but it wasn’t 3D.”
    “What do you mean 3D?” I asked.
    “Well, there’s the branches and flowers, and then in front of them, there’s writing and some bells with numbers and musical notes, and then a man’s name.”
    “I don’t see any of that,” Clara said. “You haven’t been smoking mushrooms, have you?”
    “No,” Glo said, “but I had some on pizza a couple days ago.”
    “What does the writing say?” I asked her.
    “ ‘Hope endures in the reader of this message. Love comes to those who still hope,’ ” Glo said. “I’d like to think that’s true, because I haven’t had great luck so far in the love department.”
    “Yes, but you’re such an optimist,” I told her. “Every time you meet a man, you’re sure he’s going to be your perfect match.”
    “What else do you see?” Clara asked. “You said there were bells and a man’s name.”
    “Charles Duane.”
    “Draw a picture of the bells, so I can see them,” I said to Glo.
    “Sure, but they’re just plain old bells that are numbered one through nine.” Glo’s eyes went wide. “This is about saving mankind, isn’t it? I bet this is some kind of clue to finding the Luxuria Stone. And I’m the only one who can read the clue. This is definitely a sign of wizardry. This is so awesome .”
    “The clue is only good if you can figure out where it takes you,” Clara said. “Just reading the clue isn’t enough.”
    “True,” Glo said. “But I still feel special. And I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”
    I returned to the meat pies, and Glo sketched the bells on a napkin and went back to tending the shop.

CHAPTER TEN
    Diesel called at noon and said he was having problems.
    “My boss has me looking for a guy named Sandman. He’s one of us. His specialty is putting people to sleep and robbing them.”
    “One of us?”
    “That’s what I’m told. In the registry, his ability is listed as mid-level metal bender, but clearly he has something new with the sleep thing.”
    “There’s a registry?”
    “Yeah. That’s how I found you. A lot of people slip through the cracks, but for the most part, it’s all documented.”
    “How?” I asked him.
    “Don’t know. Don’t care. I just do my job, and after twenty years of service I can retire, and I’ll have my own island in the South Pacific.”
    “Where’s all this going?”
    “I can’t find him,” Diesel said. “He’s not where he’s supposed to be. Take the painting with you when you leave work, and I’ll hook up with you later.”
    I cleaned my area, wedged the painting into the backseat of my car, and headed for home. I had my radio tuned to a news station, and they were talking about an art theft. A rare Van Gogh had been boldly stolen in broad daylight from a Boston town house. No one saw the robbery take place. The owner was overseas at the time.
    I wondered how such a thing could happen … a robbery like that in broad daylight. And then I realized they were talking about the Van Gogh I had in the backseat. Good God, I was the one who’d committed the robbery.
    I had a moment of dizziness, followed by nausea. Stay calm, I told myself. Don’t panic. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The painting wasn’t actually stolen. It was borrowed . Probably, I wouldn’t have to do more than ten years for borrowing. Time off for good behavior might have me out before I turned forty. A sob inadvertently escaped from somewhere deep in my chest, and I changed the radio station to seventies rock.
    I parked in front of my house and hustled the painting inside, being careful not to let the bedsheet slip away. Ilocked the door behind me, carried