OUT OF CONTEXT: If you find a bag of cash, give it to me. I'm calling dibs.

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By Carleton Bryant

I came home from work the other night to find my wife huddled with our daughter on the living room couch, gazing at the far wall as if an ax murderer were standing there with a chainsaw.

"Where is it?" I said.

"On the wall," my wife said, pointing fearfully. "Over the window."

I turned to look at the window. "Where?" I said, frustrated.

"Closer to the corner."

I scanned the top of the wall, focusing on the area where it meets the ceiling and the adjoining wall.

Then I saw it. I shook my head.

You see, I expected this. I had called ahead.

On the way home, I had stopped at the neighborhood supermarket to pick up a couple of things, and I called the house to find out if we needed anything else.

"You've got to come home right now!" my daughter cried over the phone.