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Hare! Knocks: in our house, "door" is a four-letter word.

Article Excerpt
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Doors are a marvelous invention that one doesn't fully appreciate until they are removed from one's home for several months. And held hostage. By Dog the Bounty Hunter. At least our door man looked like Dog: white-blond mullet, dried-riverbed complexion, wraparound shades. The kind of guy who can work the ear cuff, put his stink on a pair of leather wristbands. A guy who has stuff on his belt--useful, manly stuff.

Dog--the door man, not the bounty hunter--came to be in my employ thanks entirely to a freakish form of ESP that I possess that allows me to root out and hire the one person on earth guaranteed to bring maximum drama and minimum productivity to whatever job is at hand. It's a gift. I didn't ask for it. I never try to profit from it. I just have it. It's how I found Missus Graciela, the house cleaner. All was well until her husband tried to poison her. How else could she explain the mysterious headaches? The alarming feeling of being drugged? The...

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