Page 58 of Witch and Tell

“You’re clearly afraid. Tyrone is gone. What’s eating you?”

He tapped the wheel of his chair as he considered his words. “It’s hard to explain, more a feeling than anything. I should be safe. Byron—Tyrone, as you know him—is dead. But I don’t feel safe.”

I understood “feelings” like this.

The door burst open, and Lalena arrived with an armload of clothing. “This is what we’re going to do,” she said. “Josie, you’re Ian’s mom.”

“My mother’s dead,” Ian said.

“Honey, I’m sorry.” Lalena kissed him on the cheek. There was still so much they didn’t know about each other. “Today, Josie will be your mom. She’s come to see you because you’re planning to marry me, and she wants to check me out.”

Ian shot her an inquiring glance. “We’re getting married, huh?”

“That’s the story.” Lalena gave Ian a stern look. “It also explains why you’ve been gone. You took a few days with her in Portland. Now you’re showing her Wilfred. I’ll come, too.” She plunked a box of hair dye on the table. “Let’s get started.”

Chapter Thirty-one

An hour later, I had streaky black hair—the sheer volume and fluff of my hair made complete coverage impossible—and wore a 1990s pink velour tracksuit left in Lalena’s trailer by its former owner, her aunt, a devotee of pink.

I stuffed the last of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into my mouth and asked, “What about my face? People will recognize me.”

Lalena waved a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses with lenses shaped like large butterflies. “This. And lipstick.” With her other hand, she produced a tube. “Snow drift peony.” She uncapped it. Pink frost, naturally. “Ready?”

I felt like an extra in a 1990s sitcom. The only thing worse than life imprisonment would be life imprisonment with a bad dye job.

“My mother is rolling in her grave,” Ian said. “She was an attractive woman.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said.

“Your mother is fine,” Lalena told Ian. “What? You don’t believe me? I’m a career medium, remember?”

Ian unlocked the door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

I stood. How I hoped we’d find something, anything, to point toward Tyrone’s killer.

“One last detail.” Lalena slipped a diamond solitaire onto her ring finger and kissed Ian’s cheek. “My grandmother’s. Thank you, honey.”

For a man ambushed by a spur-of-the-moment engagement, he took it well. “Excelsior!”

Leaving Ian’s place felt like jumping from an airplane, unsure of the parachute’s rip cord. I feared someone would recognize me. Partway down the Magnolia Estates’ drive, though, I started to relax. My disguise was pretty good. Maybe it would be okay, after all.

Outside the café, we encountered our first obstacle, in the form of Patty. Her gaze fastened on me with the urgency of a bird dog in duck territory. “What’s this?” she asked.

I froze. The sunglasses obscured the top half of my face. My hair had been twisted into a tight bun, and I’d surely wiped most of the errant hair dye from my face. Hadn’t I?

Patty stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “Is that?” Another step. “Is that tracksuit Juicy Couture?”

I relaxed in relief. Of course. Patty was obsessed with the exercise culture of thirty-plus years ago. She still mourned the disappearance of leg warmers and step aerobics video tapes.

Before I could formulate a fake voice in which to reply, Lalena stepped in. “I’d like you meet Ian’s mother”—her gaze wandered the parking lot— “Escalade.”

I nearly choked.Escalade?I supposed it could be worse. Next to the showy Escalade sat a Bronco.

Patty’s eagle eye was distracted by Lalena’s ring, winking in the afternoon sun. “Oh my, you and Ian . . . ?”

“We’re getting married!” Lalena said. “I’m showing Mama Escalade around town. We get along great.” She beamed. “I feel like we’re already best friends.”

I smiled like a proud mother-in-law to be.