I bypassed the main exhibit hall and headed straight for Ian’s office, down the wide corridor that led to the inner sanctum. I was eager to get hold of the book he was so excited about, and envisioned myself rushing home, tearing it apart, and putting it back together again. With utmost love and care, of course.

Yes, life was good indeed.

That thought was snuffed out as a sudden, cold sense of dread permeated the very air around me. I shuddered in dismay. In any perfect apple, a worm might be found.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Shudders rippled through me at the shrill voice of Minka LaBoeuf, my archenemy.

My stomach bubbled and roiled in revulsion and I instantly regretted the Spanish omelet I’d eaten for breakfast. I turned to face her and was sorry I had. Chartreuse-and-fuchsia-striped leggings appeared to have been sprayed onto Minka’s ample lower body. As God was my witness, the leggings were topped by a matching tube top (a tube top!) and a pixie band (a pixie band!) in her hair. She looked like a demented barber pole.

I couldn’t make this stuff up.

“I was invited to come here today,” I said, shielding my eyes from the glare. “I know you can’t say the same, so you should leave. Be sure to let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

Baring her teeth, she snarled and said, “You’re such a bitch!”

I smiled with concern. “Really? Is that the best you’ve got? Pitiful.”

She moved in close-so close that I could smell her new perfume, Eau de Goat-and hissed at me. “If you don’t stop trying to take away my jobs, I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.”