Sheriff Daniels house was neat, orderly and clean. Beth's womanly touches could be found throughout the warm structure. Especially in her newly planted rose garden that ran along the far outside wall. They could also be seen in the precise manner in which she carefully folded their laundry.

Approaching the house the first thing Bee-Bo noticed was a Superman kite angling from the top branches of a tree. The massive Savannah adorned the well manicured, freshly mowed front lawn of the home. With one look The Clown knew who the kite belonged to. He almost shimmied up the tree to retrieve the toy.

But, because it wasn't The Joker, he left the kite where it was. Perhaps its owner would soon join the discarded contraption? Especially if Bee-Bo had anything to say about the situation!

The Clown made his way to the basement door just off the kitchen. So far he remained unnoticed. In seconds Bee-Bo popped open the door. He was inside the Sheriff's house.

A thousand words could be written about how Bee-Bo felt being in Sheriff Daniels basement. The Clown fought to control the onslaught of emotions overpowering him and drawing him closer to his doomed target.

Controlling his breathing, and his heartbeat. Bee-Bo focused on his mental image of Brock Daniels. In Bee-Bo's warped mind it was the Sheriff who was to blame for all the evil The Clown had ever performed. The fury deep inside Bee-Bo was dangerous! That's why Bee-Bo knew he must destroy his enemy!

In one corner of the basement stood Brock Daniels woodworking station complete with miter saw for the finest cuts of wood, downdraft table, work station, and tool rack.

Another corner housed a felt-covered pool table. Cody was becoming a regular hustler with billiard balls all lined up in a row. He often beat the Sheriff in their little one-on-one encounters. Winning fifty cents a game.

"Hey, it all adds up to more spending money for me," Cody boasted every time the Sheriff coughed up the cash after a game ending in the boy's favor.

Besides, it was a fun opportunity for them to enjoy time together. What Cody did not realize was most often Sheriff Daniels allowed him to win. It helped keep the boy interested in the game and was a good way to keep him occupied.

Excitement flushed over Bee-Bo. His diabolical plan was unfolding much easier than he planned. There were no windows in the basement, but Sheriff Daniels prized gun collection hung on a nearby paneled wall.

Bee-Bo wanted no part of the weapons. Not the Sheriff's valued Heckler and Koch MP5 rifle, that is so popular in most law enforcement agencies, or the Sheriff's Uzi. The Clown even left the Remington pump-action shotgun alone on the hooks where it displayed. If the weapons were blades they would have drawn Bee-Bo's keen interest.

"It must be wash day," The Clown thought to himself.

Bee-Bo picked up the top item on the stack of clothes in the wicker laundry basket Beth left sitting on top of the washing machine. The Clown softly rubbed them all over his face, then gently fondled and sniffed Cody's snow-white Fruit of the Looms. Fixated, Bee-Bo attempted to inhale Cody's very essence.

Beth had asked Cody to carry his clothes upstairs, and put them away where they belonged, before he went over to play with his best friend. Matt Cochran lived two houses down the street from where they resided.

But, typical of the bundle of energy that was Cody, he forgot. He would get a not-so-gentle reminder from Beth when he came back home. Perhaps a properly boxed ear would help him remember to do his chores better!

"1313 Maid Marion Lane," Bee-Bo reminded himself. That was the address of the Daniels residence.

The Clown liked peculiar notions such as the uniqueness of the address. They reminded Bee-Bo of himself. Odd was the normal for him. It warmed his cold heart. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he'd once been a very funny clown. Now he found pleasure in a much different way. As people who crossed him soon found out. And Brock Daniels topped that list!

He may have rescued Cody from the burning abandoned shed. But, Bee-Bo decided Daniels got lucky. That's all!

(NOTE: Many of you may not have read this part yet. But, at the moment please do not ask me about this. You will get the opportunity to read this chapter as well. But according to site policies I can not say anything more about that right now. So, please do continue enjoying the rest of this chapter of my new book.)

However, The Clown wasn't finished with Brock Daniels, Beth Sorenson, or especially Cody Schroder. That was why he came to their house that day. He wanted Daniels to know he was close by. And his visit was no social call.

"If only I could reach up under Cody's third rib, and show Brock Daniels his heart before the boy died, my fun in this one horse-town would be complete!" Bee-Bo contemplated to himself.

The Clown desperately wanted to destroy Brock Daniels and everything he held dear. That lofty intention was his lone desire. The coup de gras would be shredding Cody Schroder into teeny-weeny particles of sawdust and blowing him away like a leaf in a gale! Bee-Bo knew he must control his excitement. The thrill of the chase was overwhelming.

It was going to happen again. The infamous cold-blooded mass murderer, and kidnapper of young boys, was about to strike with a vengeance he knew would blow everybody's mind. Bee-Bo the Clown was going to make national headlines again in his own special little way! With a sigh, he folded his hands in front of him and slowly trekked up the stairs leading to the main living area in the Sheriff's home.

Bee-Bo decided he was hungry and a cold brew would taste good too. He remembered how much Brock Daniels always enjoyed an iced down can of Coors. "Colorado Kool-Aid" as they called the beverage when they were young boys in Portland. Especially at the forbidden parties they crashed looking for girls they pursued.

Slowly Bee-Bo extracted his favorite box cutter. This was going to be the most fun The Clown could have in his old lady costume. The same one he'd worn visiting Cody Schroder's hospital room shortly after arriving in Astatula. Who would ever suspect a little old, grey-haired lady of breaking into such a wellknown home?

"Ready or not," Bee-Bo laughed to himself, "here comes grandma!"