Rococo left me with a stack of corporate tax forms and a lingering kiss on the cheek.

Something about this case was giving me the creeps. I felt strange, like when you're enjoying a very delicious turkey and ham sandwich which then turns out not to be a sandwich at all, but a severed head.

Or tuna fish.

It was time to call in the big boys. I went to see Knowledgeable Pete, a hermit crab I knew who lived on the outskirts of Crab City.

If anyone could figure out the crazy, mixed-up hullabaloo this dame had gotten herself into, it was good ol'Pete.