Detective Randazzo couldn’t keep a low profile; the pet detective jokes were inescapable. She’d already been dubbed Grace Ventura. It couldn’t get worse.
Then came the call.
Her case, solved. The monkey – sorry, golden lion tamarin – that disappeared before its scheduled talk show appearance, located. Lumpy was discovered tucked inside an apple box, clutching an empty bottle of scotch and stiff as plywood.
Gina eyed her mug of cold coffee, her untouched file on that Mexican cartel while trying to drown out the sounds of uproarious laughter.
No luck there, Gina thought.
She needed to get out of Pensacola stat.
The Weekday One Hundred 