Jackaby (Jackaby, #1)

by William Ritter

She sent me on my way with a wrapped piece of fudge for being such a good girl, which did nothing for my self-confidence as a mature adult.

“I have ceased concerning myself with how things look to others, Abigail Rook. I suggest you do the same. In my experience, others are generally wrong.”

But the detective’s sentence was cut short by a sudden, deafening boom, and the crunch of an iron skillet lodging itself halfway through the wall, its black handle poking out into the hallway at a jaunty angle, the metal visibly vibrating from the impact. The ringing silence that followed was broken by a few tinkles and thumps from within the room, and a half-dozen ripe, red apples rolling into the hallway. “Too much paprika?”