Chapter 89

Early the next morning while I clambered down the stairs to Sunray's garage, my stomach rumbled loudly. One of Studmuffin's concoctions teased my nose. It smelled vaguely fruity, but when I checked the waiting area, it was empty of desserts.

"Studmuffin," I called, hoping the sound of my voice would hurry him up. "It smells like heaven. Are you finished with it yet?"

The door with postage-stamp windows that separated the waiting area from the garage opened. In stepped Boxy with his cane, his wispy silver hair looking freshly scrubbed beneath his railroad cap. Both his real eye and his fake one sparkled in the early-morning light, likely the effect of a certain bookmobile driver in town named Isabella Stevenson. She'd put a little extra skip in my favorite one-eyed ninja's hip.