The Murder of Crabby Crenshaw

Due to popular demand, we are going to do another 'mutual' story like we did on September 5th. I want each of you to contribute something to the story, please. I'll start out, the next person will pick up where I left off, and so on. Let's see where we end up! Please, keep any blue language to a minimum unless it's absolutely necessary. There are kids that will be reading this. ;o)

The air was thick and hot, and shimmered like quicksilver in the midday sun. In front of me stood Dot's Diner; an old-fashioned stand-alone metal restaurant that looked like Paul Bunyan's trailer.

I was investigating the murder of Crabby Crenshaw, the circus performer. Crabby was a nickname. His real name had been Archibald, so I kinda understood why he preferred to be called Crabby. His other nickname had been Lobster Boy, due to his being born with a strange birth defect that had formed his hands into claws. But Crabby was just one of many strange denizens down here in this little, steamy town in Florida. This is where all the retired circus folk came to live. You could walk down the street and pass a retired Bearded Lady, a Wolfman, and there were dwarves everywhere (we're supposed to call them Little People now, but I feel silly doing so).

Crabby had made many enemies down here. I suspected that the murderer w0uld be one of these sideshow performers. I was beginning my investigation at the hub of the town. Everyone came to Dot's Diner for breakfast. Everyone who was anyone, that is.

I squared my shoulders, and walked toward the diner.