Mustard on Top by Wanda Degolier

when she went outside, she dutifully protected herself with sun-block.
    Now, at a time in her life when she least expected it, she felt handsome. “Good for you,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. A boost of confidence would help her in the game she and Moe were playing.
    Jeremy had, no doubt, told Moe she had money. Did Moe really think he’d lure her into giving away her savings? She’d never become an iconic, little old lady who’d been ripped off. No, she had other plans like running her own sting operation. Her days of paying off men like Moe were over.
    Agatha pulled on a white blouse and wrapped a thin, deep-purple scarf around her neck. The purple contrasted with the silver of her hair and her light skin drawing attention to her face. She stepped into pressed, size-ten, black slacks. Thanks to walking a two-mile loop each day and meticulous eating choices, she’d been the same size for thirty years. Pecking through her jewelry, she settled on a pair of pearl, stud earrings. Satisfied, she checked the clock. Moe should arrive in ten minutes.
    In the hallway, she stopped at Jeremy’s door. He was inside, probably sleeping or perhaps seething in anger. She didn’t believe he would have cut her car’s break lines if he’d been clean. To confront him in his state of mind would get her nowhere. One way or another, things would be over soon. She was too old and too cantankerous to put up with Moe or Jeremy. If she played her cards right, Moe would be behind bars and Jeremy would be in rehab.
    Her experience dictated men like Moe were slippery. The police would be ineffective until she had the right evidence.
    The ringing doorbell pulled Agatha from her mental tug-of-war. She went to the front door, took a deep breath, and, plastering a smile on her face, greeted Moe. His eyes widened as if pleasantly surprised, and Agatha grinned inwardly.
    Moe wore a tailored sport coat, which fit his broad shoulders and relatively narrow waist. He was handsome for an older man in a rogue sort of way. “My, isn’t it a lovely evening?” Agatha asked.
    “Not as lovely as the sight before me. Are you ready?”
    “One moment.” Agatha picked up her small, black clutch.
    “Can I lead you?” Moe offered his arm.
    “Oh you.” Agatha giggled like a schoolgirl and weaved her hand around his unnervingly solid arm. Moe led her to a Lincoln Continental, and before stepping in she glanced toward Helen’s house. She was relieved Helen and Ben were out of view. When Moe followed her gaze, she asked, “They are making a racket aren’t they?”
    “Indeed.”
    Moe opened the back door, and Agatha gazed at him quizzically.
    “We have a driver for the evening,” he announced.
    Agatha hinged at the waist and peered in the front passenger window. The driver gave her a nod. Agatha climbed in and, sitting stiffly, grasped her clutch in both hands. She would have preferred Moe to be distracted by driving. “You sounded so mysterious on the phone. What are our plans for the evening?” she asked got in.
    Moe smiled. “I thought we’d have dinner at MaGilicutty’s then take a walk along the beach at sunset. After, if you’d like, there’s a late-night showing of Indiscreet at the Nalley Theatre Playhouse.”
    “Sounds terrific.” She loved the theatre and wondered if Moe had guessed or somehow knew that fact.
    “I have you pegged as an avid reader. Am I right?” Moe asked.
    “You are. I’m impressed. How’d you draw that conclusion?”
    “Ah, tricks of the trade.”
    Agatha thought for a moment. “Moe, what trade are you in exactly?”
    Moe cleared his throat. “I guess you could call me a venture capitalist.”
    “Venture capitalist,” Agatha repeated. “So you loan money to aspiring entrepreneurs. Why would you be working with my son?”
    Moe smiled sadly. “Simple business arrangement. I loaned him money, and now I’m trying to collect.”
    “You loaned him money because Jeremy was planning on starting a