While there are other entries in the series--each of which I actually own--I'm officially done. I quit. The "Reigning Cats and Dogs" series began with tremendous potential and quickly jumped its own shark. I've vented elsewhere on the problem characters and actions in this series (esp. Jess Popper's boyfriend, the ever-pushy, thin skinned Nick Burby), on their idiocy (e.g., you're facing death at the bottom of Hawaii's equivalent of the Grand Canyon without benefit of water, food, or shelter, so you--once again--pressure your commitment-phobic girlfriend about the status of your relationship). Admittedly, while mysteries aren't the equivalent of Great Literature, mystery readers deserve well-written stories, with consistency, aren't totally lame (oooh, the faux pharmaceutical company has developed a hybrid that looks like hibiscus but has all the properties of cocaine) and, most egregious, books that don't rush a 300+-page mystery to an inanely abrupt end (termination vs. conclusion) as though the author has just discovered she only has a few sheets of paper left. What a bummer. Enough already.