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“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.
