She hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep. Trying to avoid the B&B if Al wasn’t going to be there, she’d made Milo go out for dinner with her—which she was too stressed to eat, and then for a long walking tour of every Glastonbury landmark—which she’d been too stressed to pay much attention to, and then finally on a search for a late-night movie theatre—which, of course, didn’t exist in the tiny town. It had all exhausted her enough that she was finally able to go back to her room, turn her face to the wall, and catch a few brief winks. But it had put her in a very touchy mood. And if Goggles didn’t have anything to show them that would help bring Al home, Clare was reasonably certain she’d go Defcon One on her baggypants, hyper-bespectacled ass. The front door was once again open, and they found Goggles squirrelled away in the back room. She was perched on a stool at a workbench wearing yet another set of protective eyewear—clear safety lenses this time, with round, convex magnifying bubbles in the centre for close-up work—and her attention was focused, laserlike, on the object in front of her.
