Crap. I didn’t need another surprise.
Ammon crossed to an elaborate silver and glass serving cart positioned against the wall. The serving cart held a single canister, which I now realized had my picture on it. Below the picture, in gold and black lettering, were the words LIZZY TUCKER GOODIES. Ammon lifted the lid of the canister and helped himself to a cookie.
“Mint chocolate chip cookies,” Martin said, holding the cookie aloft. “From page 101 of your manuscript. As soon as I read that page, I had to try the cookies to see if they were really as good as the recipe looked.”
“You made them yourself?”
“Don’t be silly. I had my chef make them. But I told him to follow the recipe exactly, no embroidering, no improvising.” He took a bite. “Fantastic,” he said. “These cookies will be the first in our product line.” He smiled so wide I was almost blinded by the brilliance. “Lizzy Tucker, you’re going to be rich beyond your dreams. We’re going to be an unstoppable team.”
I supposed this was good. This was sort of what Diesel wanted, right?
I gave him a forced smile. “Yep, we’ll be a team.”
“One last thing,” he said. “The cupcakes. I probably wouldn’t have looked at your cookbook if I hadn’t eaten the cupcakes. They were wonderful. They made me feel happy. They were the best cupcakes I’ve ever had, and I fashion myself to be something of a cupcake expert. I had my chef make your cupcake recipe, but they weren’t the same. Did you leave out an ingredient?”
“I left out the magic.”
—
Diesel and Carl were in my kitchen eating cookies when I rolled in. Diesel was eating Double Stuf Oreos, and Carl was eating Fig Newtons.
“How’d it go?” Diesel asked.
“Okay, I guess. It was weird. Not what I expected.”
“How so?”
“He hated my idea for a cookbook, but he liked my writing style. And he thought I was cute.”
“And?”
“And he offered me a big bag of money.”
“What did he want you to do for the money?”
“Rewrite the cookbook.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
I took a couple Oreos from Diesel. “It feels off. And I don’t like him. He’s creepy.”
“From what I read, no one likes him.”
“His butler likes him.”
“He has a butler?”
“Actually I don’t know what the guy is. His name is Rutherford, and he said he was Ammon’s devoted assistant. Devoted. Like he lived to suck Ammon’s toes.”
Carl ate the last Fig Newton and stared into the empty bag. He turned the bag upside down and shook it. No Fig Newtons fell out. He looked over at Diesel and shook the bag some more.
“You ate the whole bag,” Diesel said to Carl. “There aren’t any more.”
“Eeep,” Carl said, and he gave Diesel the finger.
I took another Oreo from Diesel’s bag. “I think I saw the treasure map. It was hanging over the fireplace in Ammon’s home office. The office is on the second floor, and it opens onto a wonderful balcony that looks out over the ocean.”
“Did you see the diary?”
“No. And there wasn’t an opportunity to insert it into the conversation.”
“Clara’s going to take us to talk to Gramps tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll still have his piece of the coin.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Diesel sauntered into the bakery a little before one o’clock. Clara had just finished scrubbing down her workstation, and I was bagging leftover muffins.
“Give me a minute to change my clothes, and I’ll be ready to go,” Clara said to Diesel.
Clara lives in the little apartment over the shop, so a wardrobe change was easy. Mine was even easier. I took off my apron and chef coat and stomped the flour off my sneakers.
“Are you going to be okay here alone?” I asked Glo.
“No problem,” she said. “I brought Broom to keep me company, and Clara will be back to help me close.”
I followed Diesel out of the shop and stood staring at the bright orange Dodge Charger parked in the lot.
“Yours?” I asked him.
“Yep.”
“What happened to the SUV?”
“I don’t know. The cars come and go.”
“That’s very strange.”
“No stranger than anything else in my life.”
Clara exited the building by her private entrance. She locked the door and walked over to us.
“Gramps is at the Salem Aquarium today,” she said. “He has a day care lady who takes him there once a week.”