“It was looking bad. I didn’t like this at all. What was I going to do?
I think both my thumbs were left thumbs. Again.
There was no way to be sure. Not this time of morning. Curse my recently uncursed luck. Wanda, my witch doctor, was practically paying her mortgage unhexing me. As long as I still had one thumb on each hand did it matter?
Maybe they were both right thumbs? Who had the right to say? I’m not an armchair thumbologist on my best day, let alone a professional one on a workday.”
T.J. Washington isn’t a private detective, he’s a discreet detective.
He doesn’t even have a phone. What he does have are problems. Mummy Problems.