“Of course I’m okay,” she mumbled, disentangling herself.

I sniffed back a tear of relief. “Where were you?”

“At Hattie’s. I was trying to get her lasagna recipe, but the old bat wouldn’t let it go. Said her mother brought it from the old country. Baloney. I know for a fact she got that sucker off the back of a Ragu jar.”

I couldn’t help it. I hugged her again.

“What happened here?” she asked, her gaze pinging around the room, unsure where to focus.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I think someone broke in.”

“Wait, what was that?” Aunt Sue asked. “That sound?”

I froze. But before I could answer her, Aunt Sue picked up a frying pan off the counter and lunged toward me, screaming like a banshee.

On instinct, I ducked.

Unfortunately, the guy behind me didn’t.

“I got him!” Aunt Sue yelled, a sickening crunch filling the apartment as her frying pan connected with his nose.

“No!” I grabbed Aunt Sue’s arm, pulling her back.

Cal grabbed his nose. “Sonofabitch!” he groaned.

“Oh, God, Aunt Sue, that’s not the intruder. That’s Cal.”

She cocked her little pink head to the side. “Who’s Cal?”

“My bodyguard.” I grabbed a towel from the kitchen, quickly pressing it to Cal’s nose, which was oozing red stuff all over the linoleum. Not good.

“Are you okay?”

“I think she broke it,” he said, sounding like he had a cold.

“Why do you need a bodyguard?” Aunt Sue asked.

I snatched the frying pan from her hand. “Because someone’s been threatening me. Do you need to sit down?” I asked Cal.

He shook his head. “Ice.”

I picked my way over the broken debris on the floor, filling another towel with cubes from the icemaker.

“Who’d want to threaten you?” Aunt Sue asked, her wary gaze still ping-ponging between the frying pan and Cal.

“Someone who doesn’t like my column. Here.” I handed Cal the icy towel. As he switched them out, I got a good look at his nose. Yikes. Marcia Brady had nothing on this guy. He was right. I think she broke it.

Cal winced as the cold hit him.

“Thanks.” “Sorry,” I said. Then nudged Aunt Sue in the ribs.

“Sorry,” she echoed.

Cal looked from Aunt Sue to me, to the frying pan. “That’s it. I’m charging Felix double.”

Three hours later we’d eaten pizza for the second night in a row—much to Aunt Sue’s delight—managed to clean most of the broken glass off the floor, and I’d explained as best I could to Aunt Sue what was going on with my creepy caller turned vandal. Not that I was entirely convinced she’d remember by tomorrow.