CHAPTER 24
I whirled around but quickly swallowed my words when I saw the security guard's face. I was good at reading people but needed no special training for open hostility. The stocky man's narrowed eyes and aggressive stance were especially alarming on a peaceful Sunday morning in a beautiful place like Vizcaya. Although I believe women apologize too much, like everything's our fault, apologizing beat starting an argument any day.
I glanced at his name tag. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wiggins, I shouldn't have gotten so close."
He glared at me, suspicious that I knew his name, and didn't acknowledge my apology. "Those books are a hundred years old," he scolded, red-faced. "You can't touch them."
If he ever won the award for crankiest man his acceptance speech would end with: And you rotten ki
