“He might if someone dared him,” I said.
“That was high school,” Connie said. “Did Plover report it to the police?”
“Yep. So far, they haven’t had any results.”
“That’s a real bummer to get robbed twice on the same day,” Lula said. “What are the chances?”
“Maybe the robberies were connected,” Connie said.
“Who’s this Nutsy guy?” Lula asked.
“I went to school with him,” I said. “He would do anything on a dare. He went to clown school after graduating. He wanted to travel the country with a circus, but it turned out there aren’t very many traveling circuses anymore.”
“Was he a happy clown or a creepy clown?” Lula asked. “It makes a big difference in my opinion of a clown. I wouldn’t mind talking to him. I’ve got a bunch of clown questions. Like, can they breathe through that big red clown nose? And what kind of makeup remover do they use? I think we should go find this guy.”
“He lives with his parents. I thought that would be a place to start.”
“I’m all about it,” Lula said. “We don’t get a lot of chances to go hunting down clowns.”
“What’s happening with Duncan Dugan?” Connie asked. “Has he been transferred to the prison ward?”
“He’s sort of missing,” I said. “He disappeared this morning and the hospital hasn’t been able to locate him.”
“Say what?” Lula said. “How’d he go missing? He must have broken every bone in his body.”
I shrugged. “He left a note saying he felt better and he was going home.”
“He had to have help,” Lula said. “I bet it was that woman who tried to talk him down.”
“What about medical?” Connie asked. “Can he manage without nursing care?”
“Mary Jane Sokolowski was the charge nurse on Dugan’s floor. She said Dugan’s leg was in a cast, and he had a couple cracked ribs. He was on painkillers and antibiotics.”
“I guess you could manage that at home,” Lula said. “These days they don’t keep you in the hospital very long anyway.”
“Can we hack into the hospital’s security cameras?” I asked Connie.
“I don’t have that ability,” Connie said, “but you know someone who can hack into anything.”
Ranger. If I couldn’t get a lead on Dugan by the end of the day, I’d ask Ranger for help. And I wanted to talk to him about Nutsy Manley, anyway. Bonus.
“What are we doing first?” Lula asked. “I’ve got an interest in both these cases.”
“I’m starting with Nutsy. His parents are only five minutes away. We can do a fast stop, talk to his mom, and move on to Duncan Dugan.”
Lula stood and hiked her massive tote bag purse onto her shoulder. “That’s a good choice. What are you going to do with Bob?”
“Bob is going with us.”
“Like he’s a K-9 bounty hunter,” Lula said. “This would be a good television show. Two badass women and a killer dog. I bet Netflix would snap it up in a second. It could be a reality show and we could star in it.”
This was wrong on several levels, not the least of which was that Lula and I weren’t badass, and Bob wasn’t a killer dog. Bob was a goofus.
We walked to my car, Lula opened the front passenger-side door, and Bob pushed past her and jumped in.
“Hey,” Lula said to Bob. “I get to sit in the front. Dogs sit in the back.”
Bob pretended not to hear.
Lula grabbed Bob by the collar and Bob growled at her.
“He’s pulling attitude on me,” Lula said. “That don’t work with Lula. I’ve been around the block. It’s not my first rodeo.” She leaned in at Bob. “Get your furry orange ass out of there.”
Bob held his ground.
I ran back to the office, got a doughnut out of the box on Connie’s desk, returned to my car, and threw the doughnut into the back seat. Bob jumped into the back and ate the doughnut.
“Problem solved,” I said to Lula.
My research listed the Manley house at 170 Greentree Street. I left Hamilton Avenue, found Greentree Street, and idled in front of 170. It looked a lot like my parents’ house. Two stories. Single-car detached garage. Postage-stamp front yard. No white Corolla parked in the driveway. No sign of the Yamaha bike.
“This here’s a nice neighborhood,” Lula said. “It looks real conservative. You wouldn’t think a clown could come from a neighborhood like this. Not that I’m thinking something derogatory about clowns, but they’re out of the box, if you see what I’m saying.”
I pulled to the curb and cut the engine. “Stay here,” I said to Lula. “Keep your eye on Bob.”
“I’m not staying in the car,” Lula said. “What if Nutsy is in the house? You might need backup.”
“I won’t need backup.”
“You always need backup,” Lula said. “You don’t even carry a gun. And anyway, I want to talk to Mrs. Manley. I want to know what it’s like to have a son who’s a clown.”
“Forget the clown thing. We’re going to focus on finding Nutsy. If you’re coming with me, we have to get information fast. Bob will start eating upholstery if he gets bored.”
I gave Bob a stern warning and cracked the window for him. Lula and I walked to the Manleys’ front door and rang the bell.
A pleasant-looking woman answered.
“Mrs. Manley?” I asked.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “Stephanie Plum. This is a surprise.”
She reminded me a lot of my mom. Brown hair cut into a bob. An inch or two shorter than me. Average weight. Wearing a neat blue untucked shirt and jeans.
“I’m looking for Andy,” I said. “Is he home?”
“No,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be disappointed when he finds out he missed you.”
A black cat tried to sneak out the door and Mrs. Manley reached down and snagged it.
“Come in, and close the door before my kitties escape,” she said.
Lula and I stepped inside and closed the door. I looked around. There were cats everywhere. Orange, calico, black, tiger-striped, gray.
“Wow,” I said. “You have a lot of cats.”
“I don’t usually have this many,” she said. “There seemed to be an explosion of cats at the shelter, so I took as many as I could manage.”
“When do you expect Andy to be home?” I asked her.
“Goodness, you never know about Andy,” she said. “He goes off on his adventures.”
“What does he do on these adventures of his?”
“I don’t know exactly,” she said.
“Maybe it’s clown related,” Lula said. “Like he could go on clown cruises, or he could be part of a secret clown society.”
“He’s never mentioned anything like that,” Mrs. Manley said.
“I haven’t seen Andy in a while,” I said to Mrs. Manley. “Is he still friends with Steven Palmer and Jason Wiggs?”
“No. I believe Steven is living in North Carolina and Jason has a young family.”