It was the last thing you’d expect to find in a swimming pool. Detective Dick Richards stared at the tiny clown car as the tow truck pulled it from the water. Several policemen scrambled around it and opened the driver’s side door. Five clowns tumbled out onto the ground. There were a few dozen more inside the car.

“This wasn’t an accident,” Richards said to the policeman standing next to him.

“Ya don’t think?” The cop said, sounding genuinely surprised.

“We’re in someone’s fenced-in backyard. There are no skid marks around the pool.”

“What about a mass suicide? Think they all offed themselves?” the officer suggested.

“No way,” Richards said, “Clowns are too happy. They’d never kill themselves.”

The officer nodded. “Good point. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

Richards took out a cigarette and lit it as dramatically as he could before saying, “Someone murdered these clowns and we’re going to find out who. Round up everyone who hates happiness. Start with the Goth Kids.”