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shut up. The snooze alarm would allow her ten extra minutes of much-needed sleep, though now that she was awake, her mind had started to race like a gerbil on an exercise wheel.
    Her head emerged from under her pillow and she groaned. She had been up until three in the morning frantically cleaning the cottage, doing laundry, and packing for her eviction. Slowly she eased out of bed.
    Fumbling her way to the kitchen, she switched on the flame under the teapot, then emptied a can of Fancy Feast into Bingo’s bowl. As she sipped a cup of Earl Grey, she wrote a list of what she had to accomplish before moving in with her parents that afternoon. At the bottom of the paper she wrote: “Figure out how to buy Xanax without a prescription.” She would need strong drugs to make it through the next ten days.
    After a quick shower, she threw on a pair of denim shorts and an orange University of Illinois T-shirt, then scraped her hair into a ponytail. There was no use bothering with makeup; the weather was supposed to be hot and windy, and she’d be outdoors most of the day checking on the various booths and tables along the five-mile stretch of Scumble River’s portion of the Route 66 Yard Sale.
    The sale started in the north at Scumble River Road and followed Route 66, which became Maryland Street as it wound its way through the business district. Then it passed Up A Lazy River Motor Court, Brown Bag Liquor Store, and Great Expectations Hair Salon before exiting onto Rolling Water Road and heading into Brooklyn, the next small town along the legendary highway.
    As Skye drove to work down Basin Street, Scumble River’s business district glowed watercolor bright in the morning sun. The old redbrick and wood-framed buildings with their snapping banners and just-swept sidewalks glistened, ready for the guests that would arrive the next day.
    She noted the preparations for the Yard Sale. The police had already placed sawhorses across the intersection at Adams Street. Merchants weresetting up tables in front of newly painted storefronts, and city crews were stringing WELCOME posters from one side of the freshly cleaned road to the other. Scumble River was putting its best foot forward. Skye just hoped the town wouldn’t trip and fall on its face.
    When she reached the city hall, she exchanged her Bel Air for one of half a dozen golf carts that the town had rented when Mayor Leofanti had realized that Scumble River’s downtown would have to be closed off to vehicular traffic for the duration of the event.
    As she transferred her supplies to the basket behind her seat, she caught sight of a tall, lean woman dressed in jeans and a short-sleeve chambray work shirt crossing the small parking lot. Her nut-brown hair was cut sensibly short, and her hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence.
    Skye was supposed to meet the health inspector at eight-thirty and drive him around to the various food booths, toilets, and trash facilities so he could give them his final approval. Could he be a she? Was the twenty-first century catching up to Stanley County?
    Skye straightened and asked, “Inspector Pantaleone?”
    “Yes. Call me Andrea.” The woman held out a tanned hand. “You must be Skye.”
    “That’s me. Nice to meet you.” They shook. “Where would you like to start?”
    The inspector checked her clipboard. “The Lemonade ShakeUp stand.”
    “Great. I know that one’s in good shape.” Skye smiled. The lemonade stand was sponsored by the high school’s
Scumble River Scoop
newspaper; in her real life as a school psychologist, Skye was one of the faculty sponsors. Her best friend, Trixie, the school librarian, was the other. She and Trixie had spent several evenings the past week helping the student staff assemble the booth and prepare for today’s inspection. “Hop in. It’s on the corner of Maryland and Basin.” Which was, not coincidentally since Skye had assigned the sites, a prime location in the heart of downtown.
    Once Andrea