“DID YOU!” Aunt Melba tapped her toe, a harsh staccato sound that hurt Jack’s ears. “Or did you maybe, just maybe, drag it home from that horrid shop? You’re nothing but trouble, Jack! Looks like trouble has found you again!”

‘That horrid shop’ was the local junk store, Fumblebee’s. Crammed from floor to ceiling with other people’s castoffs, it was dusty and grimy, and it smelled funny when the weather turned warm. Mr. Fumblebee opened the shop two years previous.