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I lost all hope. I had searched every room in the house and didn’t find her. I had to face facts: She wasn’t here. I sighed heavily, the heaviest sigh I’ve had the displeasure of sighing. I made one last search of the house, ending my investigation with the closets. The front closet made me stop. The back of the closet was a cleverly disguised door, the hinges and handle hidden by the arms of hanging coats. I opened the door and was greeted with a dark staircase. I could only imagine what was at the bottom of that rank set of steps. I steeled myself before descending, all sorts of terrible ideas flooding my mind. What kind of extra perversion needed a secret door when they were perfectly happy to rape their family upstairs? Were there whips and chains? Some sort of bondage dungeon? Or was it somehow worse than that? I reached the bottom of the stairs, a concrete floor exuding cold air. I stepped forward, running my face into a string with a weight on the end. I gave it a tug and the. Look. I gotta get in costume for the next show. Good seein' ya, Michelle." "Likewise Larry," I handed him one of my cards, "Gimme a call when you're back in town, we'll have a beer." "Can do," he said and ran off. Life sure takes some weird turns.McGinty had scored some good tickets, one row back from the center ring. It was like being a kid again watching the aerialists, animal trainers, acrobats, jugglers, and then it was time for the clowns. They rode in a little car, with others running alongside, into the center ring. As they cavorted and played tricks on each other, one of them looked right at me and waved. It was Larry, white face, greasepaint smile, red nose, baggy pants, big flat shoes and all. I waved back.Two days later I was going through some paperwork in my office and my desk phone buzzed."Hammer Investigations." "Michelle?" It was Larry."Yeah Larry, what's up?" "There's some sort of scam going on around here. A guy I'm in the clown show with is involved somehow, I'm.
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