But where was her car? Craning her neck, she looked to the right, then to the left- Oh, no.

Had she really thought her day couldn’t get worse?

Her fifteen-year-old tomato-red Escort coupe, temperamental and spunky at the best of times-of which this wasn’t-was gone all right. It had rolled down the steep hill.

And smashed into a plush, very new-looking BMW sports car.

HER ANSWERING MACHINE had just clicked on when Ally wearily made her way into her apartment.

“Ally?” came a cranky, smoke-ladened voice. “I know you’re there, pick up the phone this instant!”

“I don’t think so,” she said, grateful to have avoided Mrs. Snipps, landlady from hell.

“Listen missy, I sold the building.”

Ally dropped her purse and stared at the machine.

“I’m retiring to the Bahamas.”

Ally sank to her couch.

“And you have until next month to get out,” the cragly voice continued. “Six weeks. Don’t cause me any trouble, girl.”

At the sound of the dial tone, Ally let out a choked laugh. “Trouble?” she muttered. “It’s only my middle name.” She was jobless, and now soon to be homeless as well. Not to mention the major dent her car had put into that brand-spanking-new BMW. She had insurance, but she also had a very high deductible that might as well be a million dollars for all her ability to pay it.

Another mirthless laugh escaped. Her life was not only over, it was pitiful.

The phone rang again.

What now? Dammit, she was tired. Tired of jumping at the sound of the telephone, tired of being insecure and mousy all the time. Suddenly mad, she straightened on the couch.

No more doormat, she decided as she yanked up the receiver. “Hello!” And because being forceful felt so good, she added, “Who is this and what do you want?”