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This wasn’t difficult, as the road north runs straight. I expected him to make a left onto Route Fifty and cross the Bay Bridge toward Annapolis , but he surprised me and continued north. I sped up to keep him in sight.
    Bob took the next right and drove parallel to the highway. This road had more turns, and for a few seconds I thought I had lost him. But then I saw his van parked on the right, next to the same palm reading outfit which Berry had mentioned earlier. There was a sign out front that read “Madame Flora’s.”
    I doubted Bob was getting his palm read. And I hoped that the palm reading place wasn’t the headquarters of Soul Identity, because there would be no work for me, and I would have to break some bad news to Berry . Was this another pickup for Bob? I drove past him, parked on the left in front of a gas station, and kept an eye on his van.

    Staking out a joint looks a lot more fun in the movies than it really is. I scanned the radio stations, fiddled with the AC controls, and played with the seat buttons. I wondered if I could take a chance and run into the gas station to buy some snacks. In about fifteen minutes, just as I was about to give up, Bob walked out of Madame Flora’s. I followed as he drove back toward my house.
    My phone rang as we neared my neighborhood.
    “Mr. Waverly, this is Archibald Morgan.”
    “Hi.” I took a stab at being friendly. “Archie, where are you calling from?”
    “Please call me Mr. Morgan.”
    My stab missed; he wanted to be formal.
    “I am calling from our Massachusetts headquarters,” he said.
    Or maybe he was hanging out at Madame Flora’s place. I could at least check his area code if he’d give me his number. “I’m about to drive through a dead zone. Can I call you back?”
    “I will call you again, Mr. Waverly. Would that suit you?”
    No number for me. “Give me two minutes.” I hung up.
    Bob’s van pulled into my driveway. I parked next to him and got out. “All delivered?” I asked.
    “Yes sir. Mr. Morgan said he’d be calling you within the hour.”
    I held up my phone. “He just called. Bob, where is he located?”
    He looked uneasy.
    “Is he in Maryland ?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “No, sir. He’s rarely in Maryland .”
    “Then how did you deliver my message?”
    “Perhaps you can ask Mr. Morgan that question.”
    “I did. He said he was in Massachusetts .”
    Bob looked relieved. “Yes sir. That’s where he usually stays. At our headquarters.”
    “I followed you when you left here. You only went to Madame Flora’s. No other stops. Are you sure Mr. Morgan isn’t at the palm reading place?”
    “Sir, I delivered your message to Mr. Morgan by using equipment at Madame Flora’s.”
    “What kind of equipment?” I waited for an answer, but then my phone rang, and Bob slipped away.
    “Is this Scott Waverly?”
    “Hi Archie.” I just couldn’t resist.
    “Please call me Mr. Morgan.”
    “Okay. Mr. Morgan, why does your delivery guy communicate to you from a palm reading joint?”
    Silence on the line.
    “You still there?” I asked.
    “Yes, Mr. Waverly. Did Bob give you a reason to follow him?”
    I didn’t want to get Bob in trouble. “No. It’s a sample of my work, free of charge.”
    “Ah yes, charges. We need to discuss your rates.”
    They were going to be high. Especially since these guys transformed my happy Santa neighbor into a shotgun-firing, crying old man. “Let’s talk about what you need me to do,” I said.
    “We offer financial services to members wishing to eternally preserve and multiply their accumulated wealth. We also offer an escrow service, providing a place for members to deposit articles for future withdrawals.”
    “You sound like a bank,” I said. “Where do I come in?”
    “Our organization wants to offer these services over the Internet. However, there are some of us inside the organization who are apprehensive about the risks inherent in this untested medium. We wish to