“Thanks,” I said, standing up. “Now that we both know that the other is just trying to clear their client’s name, we can maybe call it a truce on the stalking.” I held my hand out for him to shake. “I’m done if you are.”

  He brushed his palms off on his jeans then shook my hand, and my arm hairs stood on end. Had it really been so long that even a handshake and polite conversation with a man sent shivers up my spine?

  “I’m glad to hear you’re giving up your Angela Lansburg routine,” he said.

  I shook my head. “It’s Angela Lansbury. And who said anything about that? Now that I know you’re a private detective, we can share notes. I bet you know a lot about this investigation that didn’t make it in the papers, huh?”

  He chuckled, like I had been joking. “Call the number on the card. The guy’s a friend of mine, owes me a favor. I, uh, also put my personal number on the back, in case you have any problems.” He looked me up and down, shaking his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’re pretty brave, that’s all.”

  I sucked on my lips like Grammy so my smile wouldn’t grow crazy-lady large. I was getting compliments left and right. I was gifted and brave now.

  He continued, his blue eyes almost sparkling in the sunlight. “Coming here. Coming on the cruise. You didn’t know I wasn’t dangerous.”

  “I still don’t know that,” I said.

  “Thing is, this isn’t a game. That note wasn’t meant to be funny. It does seem to be getting dangerous.”

  My heart pounded into my throat. There was definitely something different, probably even dangerous, about this man.

  “So, my suggestion is to leave the investigating to the professionals, and stop stalking. No more cruises. No more going into Earl’s backyard.”

  My face dropped. “You knew about that?”

  “Of course. We knew you had to be around there somewhere. You’re not exactly sly. We saw you get into the Prius. Then, the Prius never left.”

  Rats. I should’ve thought about that. I hid in a nasty bunker for nothing.

  Brandon looked over at the house. Someone was peeking through the plastic of the duct-taped window. “I gotta go,” he said. “I promised I’d fix a leaky faucet and a window. Now that I’m back in touch with Patsy, I’m going to try to fix whatever I can around here.”

  “If she didn’t kill her dad, then she’ll inherit his house, and then she and Grammy will have a brand new start.”

  “That and the insurance money will come much quicker if I can prove who did it,” he said. “She deserves it. So, I should get going…” He put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet.

  Realizing about a second too late that was my cue to leave, I quickly turned and almost fell off the porch. I heard Patsy cackling through the plastic covering on the window when I slipped. She was an awful person and I still wasn’t sure she wasn’t guilty.

  Brandon jumped off the porch, just missing the couch spring, and followed me down the hill where George and Tracey were waiting in the Prius.

  “One more thing,” I asked before we reached the car. “So you said all those things in the backyard on purpose? Knowing I was there somewhere? About taking care of the niece and all of that?”

  He nodded.

  “What about the lemons? Are you really allergic to those? That can’t be a thing.”

  He stopped. His lip curled just enough to let me know how he felt. “Honestly?” Looking back at the house, he lowered his voice. “I just can’t stand them. If I say I’m allergic, no one will ever make me anything with lemons in it. Patsy’s already mentioned some sort of pie like three times.”

  “I knew it.” I said, pointing my finger at him.

  He didn’t let me finish. “Promise you’ll call the guy. You seem like a nice person. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  I opened the car door. “I am a nice person. A good one, who’s just misunderstood sometimes. That’s why, even though you’ve been a jerk, I’m going to prove to you how yummy lemons are. I’m going to make you a lemon meringue pie.” I called back over my shoulder. “I make my pie with stolen lemons. Everything’s sweeter when it’s stolen.”

  He waved good-bye. I got in the front seat.

  “Did you just tell a police officer everything’s sweeter when it’s stolen?” George asked, turning on the Prius. “Let’s go pick up your car before we get arrested for something. You owe me big time for this. Big time. I’ve had to pee for almost an hour, but there was no way I was asking to use the facilities.”

  I kissed George’s cheek. Stubble scraped my lips a little. I tried to slow down my heart, taking deep breaths while I smoothed out my slacks even though they weren’t wrinkled. “It’s been 20 years, but I think I may just have flirted a little, or I tried to.” I felt my cheek. It was trembling. “Hope you don’t mind that I flirted with your date,” I said to Tracey.

  “Completely okay, but that was not flirting,” she said from the backseat. “And why would you want to flirt with him, anyway? Police officer or not. Didn’t you just divorce a lying jerk? Maybe, you should stop… doing whatever that was… with lying jerks and find a different type.”

  She did have a point.

  Chapter 23

  Pay-dirt

  Sitting at home that night eating Rocky Road straight from the carton for dinner (because when there are no kids, there’s no need to pretend I’m a role model), I replayed the handshake Brandon gave me earlier in the day. Over and over, and all the tingles that came with it. Every cell in my body knew Tracey was right and I shouldn’t be attracted to that guy. He had treated me terribly. He was more than a little dishonest and sketchy. And probably dangerous. But just like Rocky Road ice cream, sometimes you just crave the stuff that’s not good for you.

  I leaned back into the cushions of my cat-scratched-up couch. Maybe I was just a lonely, desperate old woman who read way too much into business cards and handshakes.

  Who knew anymore? I gulped down another bite, giving myself brain freeze.

  The business card was sitting on the coffee table in front of me. I picked it up and flicked its edge. Who else had known I was headed to that dinner cruise? No one. I hadn’t mentioned it to Vernon, or Judith. Or maybe I had mentioned it to Vernon…

  Then it hit me, and I dropped my spoon. Chocolate ice cream plopped onto my SDSU sweatshirt.

  But why?

  I picked up the phone and called George. “We’re going to church tomorrow.” I told him as soon as he answered, my mouth half-full of ice cream.

  His voice was surprisingly calm. “Unless this is God Himself, I am not setting my alarm clock.”

  I quickly told him all about the casserole lady and the shoe confrontation, and his voice rose to the high pitch I was hoping to hear. “So you think she wrote the note and slashed your tires?”

  I swallowed another bite of ice cream. “Well, she knew I was going on the cruise. She knew what kind of car I was driving because she threw her sandal at it, and she gave a dead man a casserole facial. Who does that?”

  “All very strange, but why?” George asked. “Why would a little old church lady go and slash your tires?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  “Before I do yet another favor, did you read any of that book?”

  I didn’t even pause. “Of course,” I said. I could tell by the exasperated sigh he hadn’t believed me.

  George complained the whole way to church the next morning. “Why am I the first person you call when you suddenly think of something dangerous to do?”

  “How on earth is going to church on a Sunday morning dangerous?” I asked.

  He barely looked up from his steering wheel. “So let me get this straight,” he said, checking his hair in the rearview mirror at the stop sign, fluffing it up. It didn’t look any different when he was done fluffing. “You think this elderly church secretary went downtown Friday night, drove around street after street until she spotted your minivan. Then she got out of her little-old-lady car with her dainty, little-old-lady knife so she could slash your tires.”

  I bunched my lips to the side. When he said it like that, it did sound a little crazy. “She’s not a little old lady. She’s like your age, and you’re barely able to play a grandfather in the Christmas play.”

  “Very good point,” he said. “I didn’t know she was so young.”

  “Plus, she was the only person I told where I was going last night besides you and Mabel and Chris.”

  “I knew it!” he yelled, almost missing the next stop sign. He slammed on the brakes at the last second, and I flew forward into my seatbelt. “I knew it. Chris gave you that Romance and Dance dinner cruise ticket, didn’t he? Et tu, Brute? Et tu?”

  “Does it really matter at this point, Caesar,” I asked. “It’s just one more thorn in your side, really.”

  George threw his nose in the air as he pulled out from the stop sign.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m not really sure what happened between you and your brother to make you hate him so much, but if it means that much to you, I’ll only be mean to him from now on. I promise.”

  “That’s all I ask. Thank you.”

  We didn’t say anything for a while, just watched the tiny, urban storefronts go by down the main street we were on. We passed a swanky kombucha bar that probably used to be a dilapidated liquor store ten years ago. A coffee house colorfully adorned with a Mexican mural. This whole area of San Diego used to be a dump, with bars over its windows and trash everywhere. Now it was sought-after real estate.

  If only people could change with a coat of paint and some trendy lighting.

  “Did your fight with Chris have anything to do with magic? Is he a witch in good standing?”

  George didn’t answer me. I didn’t really think he would.

  “What does being a witch in good standing mean?” I asked. “I mean, I read all about it in that book but I wanted to get your perspective.”

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow at me. “The Society of Good Standing is open to all natural witches. It’s mostly just a set of rules we’ve all agreed to live by. Magic used to be out of control, darker than it is now. And don’t you dare think I’m old enough to remember such a time.”

  “Settle down, Grandpa John. You’ll get your blood pressure up.”

  He frowned at me, but continued. “It was decided that we would all call a truce and try to use our magic to benefit society.”

  “How easy and convenient for the good witches,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I mean, for us good witches.”

  “Yes, it’s harder for evil witches to be considered in good standing with their evil tendencies. But once you get control of things, mastering the art of using evil for good is very helpful.”

  “What in the world does that mean,” I asked as we pulled down the street I knew the church was on. George slowed down so he could explain.

  “Like the instant karma stuff. A man cuts off a little old lady on the freeway and almost gets her into an accident, only to get pulled over by the police. Or the times when an abusive parent gets stuck in traffic, just awful traffic, so they can’t make it to court to defend their parental visitation rights. You know, the good evil stuff.”

  After rounding a corner, we came to the white adobe-brick roofed church with the Mexican architecture and parked in the lot. Neither one of us got out even though many people were making their way into the church already.

  George rolled down the windows and pushed his car off. A light autumn breeze circled around us. “Before we get out, there’s something you should know, and I’m only telling you this because you’re an evil witch…”

  “I’m not sure calling people evil witches is being a very good good-witch,” I said.

  He ignored my lecture. “There’s still a dark society and they still try to draw evil witches to join. Stay away from it.”

  “Was that what Chris was talking about on the couch when we threw Aunt Mabel the surprise party that night?”

  George didn’t answer. He looked out at the trees surrounding the church as choir music started to play. The service was starting. “It’s very easy to get caught up in the Dark Society, Marcie, especially if you lose your good standing. Don’t lose your good standing.”

  “So, the Dark Society is the society of evil witches?”

  George seemed to think about that one. He nodded. “It’s not a good place to be, though.”

  “I’m just trying to get this straight for the evil witches. I’m not sure I’m one of those. But it sounds like the good witches all got together and created the Society of Good Standing, and made it so that evil witches were okay to join.”

  “They are encouraged to join. We want you there.”

  I threw my hands on my hips. “So long as they follow the rules regulating the kind of dark magic they’re allowed to do. Good dark magic. Basically, the kind that does the good witches’ bidding.”

  He turned the car back on and rolled up the windows. “I realize this seems pretty harmless to someone not familiar. But trust me, it’s not. Read the book and we’ll talk later. We should get going,” he said, getting out. “What’s our plan?”

  It suddenly occurred to me I should’ve thought of one. “Oh-kay,” I said slowly, buying time as we walked through the parking lot. “Carla has to be busy during the church service. So you keep an eye on her while I check to see if she has blue typing paper.”

  “Oh dear Lord this sounds foolproof,” George said sarcastically. “I don’t even know what the woman looks like. And your whole case hinges on blue paper.”

  The choir music grew louder as we approached the church. I ducked behind a sidewall when I saw Carla standing outside, handing out programs.

  “That’s her,” I yelled to George, pointing as I peeked in and out of my hiding spot. George nodded to me and strutted toward the small short-haired lady in front of the chocolate-bar-looking doors. He shook Carla’s hand and took a program.

  “You look so familiar,” I heard her say.

  George beamed. “I get that a lot. I’m a local actor. You’ve probably seen me in a play or two, every year, all around San Diego.”

  She smiled and welcomed him. They walked into the church together, talking about his upcoming Christmas play in Coronado. And I saw my chance to sneak in. I stood at the back, staring at a packed church, realizing I needed to cross the entire sanctuary during the service to get to Carla’s office on the other side. I looked around for George. He was sitting toward the front next to Carla.

  I sat down in the back pew and waited. In the middle of “How Great Thou Art,” I was able to move up two rows. While heads were bowed, I moved up like seven, scooting in between a tissue box and an older couple playing tic-tac-toe. George tried not to call attention to me, but I caught him looking over every once in a while. From the way he was shaking his head, I could tell, he wanted me to hurry.

  I got my break when it was time for the congregation to greet each other and introduce visitors.

  Carla took the mic. “We have a local celebrity,” she said as I snuck into her office, rolling my eyes. I knew George was eating that up. Local celebrity. He was just waiting for someone to “persuade” him to sing something.

  Please just don’t talk the man into singing, I thought. I won’t hear the end of it the whole way home.

  Carla’s desk had almost nothing on it except a cat cup full of pens, no random tissues, stacks of bills, dust. Nothing. Neat people are always suspicious to me. I could hear George belting out Amazing Grace in the background, and I shook my head. If he had to sing, he could’ve at least picked a longer song to drag the service out, buy me a little time here.

  First, I went to her computer to get a better look at that screensaver picture, except it was no longer an old picture of her hiking through the tropical forest with a man many years ago. It was a cute kitten peeking out from a pumpkin. She’d changed it. That, or she had a million pictures circling through her screensaver. I would wait to see if the photos changed out so I could get a look at the one she seemed like she didn’t want me to see before.

  Crouching down, I checked a couple of drawers in the meantime. “I bet she got rid of that blue paper,” I said as I rifled through her stuff. That’s when I saw it. The planner she had so hastily closed when I was harassing her. I pulled it out and looked around before opening it.

  What in the hell was I doing?

  “This woman slashed your tires,” I reminded myself. “No need to feel guilty.”

  The planner was just full of church scheduling stuff. Earl’s name was there, a lot, every week on Saturday. I wondered if she was Earl’s hottie.

  Papers fell from the back of the planner and scattered down by my feet. I quickly picked them up and scanned through them as I stuffed them into the planner again. There, amongst the random invoices and photos of older ladies in huge hats sipping tea, was a tattered faded photo of a couple hiking. The screensaver one.

  The photo looked to be from at least 30 years ago. I knew the woman in the picture was Carla, but who was she with? Was it Earl? The picture was fuzzy and it was hard to tell. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and went to take a picture of the picture. But I saw George had texted me one minute ago. “Carla on way. Get out.”

  Great. I stuffed the picture in my back pocket and threw the rest of the papers in the planner again. I was about to close the book when I noticed one of the papers had the words Survivalist Supplies on it… an invoice, maybe. It couldn’t be the invoice, could it? Probably not.

  That was a very swoopy H like Earl had said…

  The door to the office swung open.

  “Out!” Carla yelled, bursting in like she was about to take off her sandal. George was right behind her. Seeing me with her planner, she snatched it from my hands before I had a chance to pocket the invoice. She turned around and pointed at George. “I knew you looked familiar. I used to see you all the time, going into that witch brothel next door to poor Earl’s. How dare you come in here, pretending to be a celebrity?”