At seven-thirty Ammon called everyone into the living room and drew their attention to me.
“I would like to introduce Lizzy Tucker,” Ammon said. “Ammon Industries will be bringing out an entirely new line of products inspired by Lizzy Tucker and her magical kitchen skills. Every recipe in her brand-new cookbook, Kitchen Magic, will eventually be available under the Ammon brand.”
Everyone applauded, and I had to grip the serving trolley to steady myself. Wulf’s warning that Ammon now owned me was echoing in my brain.
“Miss Tucker will now be performing culinary magic, serving bananas Foster,” Ammon said. “Enjoy.”
He gave me his dazzling white smile, turned on his heel, and marched off to mingle.
Glo was beside me. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You went white just now. Was it because you were standing next to a demon?”
“He’s not a demon.”
“We don’t know that for sure. His skin is a strange color.”
“It’s spray tan!”
People were clustering around me, lining up for bananas Foster.
“You’d better get cooking,” Glo said. “These people don’t look like they have a lot of patience. And I hope you brought a lot of bananas because everyone in the room is in line.”
“I could use an assistant. Stay here and help me serve.”
I had a single burner on the serving trolley, and there were two hundred people waiting for their bananas. I lit the burner, grabbed a sauté pan, melted unsalted butter, and mixed in brown sugar and spices. I added sliced bananas and reached for the rum. No rum.
“Where’s the rum?” I asked Glo. “It’s not on the trolley.”
“I’ve got it,” Glo said. “I’m ready to assist.”
“Okay, sprinkle a little rum on the bananas, and I’ll light the butane torch.”
I flicked the torch on, and Glo dumped half a bottle of rum on the bananas.
“Too much!” I said.
She jerked the bottle away and rum went everywhere. The bananas burst into flame, and the blue flames leaped from the pan, ran down the legs of the trolley and across the Oriental carpet, and ignited the heavy brocade drapes behind me.
It was instant mayhem. The fire alarm was blaring. People were screaming, shoving, running out of the room onto the terrace. A lot of black smoke was coming off the drapes. Little runners of fire were racing across the wall. I’d like to think I’d be good in an emergency, but truth is I stood frozen, rooted to the spot, watching Rutherford and half a dozen employees rush in with fire extinguishers.
“I think the party is over,” Glo said. “I just got a text from Josh saying that Diesel has the motor running.”
I looked around the room. The fire was mostly out, and it hadn’t spread beyond the back wall. I didn’t see Ammon.
“I guess we could leave,” I said. “The bananas Foster station is closed.”
We put our heads down and quickly walked into the hall, through the empty kitchen, and into the garage where Josh was waiting, making hurry-up motions. We crossed to the van, Josh and Glo climbed into the back, and I took the seat next to Diesel.
“Why the rush?” I asked Diesel. “Did you get the map?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, when you set the house on fire, Ammon rushed up to his study to save the map and caught me leaving with it. There was a brief discussion over who was going to retain ownership, and Josh smacked him with a serving tray.”
“I saw him leave the room, and I followed him,” Josh said. “Good thing I did.”
“Omigosh. Was he hurt?” I asked.
“He be a bit stunned,” Josh said, reverting to pirate talk.
“More like he be a bit knocked out,” Diesel said, putting the van in gear, “but he was coming around when we left.”
Police cars and fire trucks were screaming in the distance.
“We need to get out of here before we’re blocked in,” Diesel said.
It wasn’t a very long driveway, but there was valet parking and cars were lined up on either side. Diesel carefully drove toward the gate, and halfway there a man burst out from between two cars and jumped in front of us. It was Martin Ammon. He was crazy mad, waving his arms and shouting.
“Help! Police! Rutherford!”
“This is a real pain in the ass,” Diesel said.
Diesel inched the van up to Ammon, but Ammon wouldn’t budge. He banged on the hood and kept shouting.
“What are you going to do?” I asked Diesel.
“Run him over,” Diesel said.
“You can’t do that! You’ll kill him.”
“And?”
“You don’t have permission to kill.”
“Extenuating circumstance,” Diesel said.
Ammon gave the hood one last thump and moved to the driver’s side door, trying to pull it open.
“You’re not leaving with my map,” he yelled.
“My Magic 8 Ball is telling me that in five minutes this place is going to be swarming with police,” Glo said.
“I’ll have you arrested, and you’ll rot in jail,” Ammon said. “The police are on their way. I can hear their sirens.”