It was hot under the seats of the old Tropicaire horse track, but no one expected otherwise. Events like the Around the World Fair are always hot and sticky in the nether reaches of suburban Miami. I was wearing a long-sleeve white shirt because the sun would destroy my skin, so white I always said that any paler would be regarded as a skin condition. So as I sorted through the old books that were tucked away in the rummage section, 2 for a dollar, I was dripping with sweat. Anyone else would have melted, but not me. I was on a treasure hunt. As is the first rule of a treasure hunt, victory belongs to the persistent regardless of how sticky their shirt becomes. So it was only a matter of time before I found it.