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“Poor Tollie,” said Dooley. “Far from home and with his best buddy now dead. Life will never be the same for the old turtle.” He turned to me. “We have to find him, Max. We have to bring Tollie home.”

“Unless…” I said, thinking the unthinkable.

“Unless what?”

“Unless they killed Tollie, too,” I said, speaking the unspeakable.

Dooley’s eyes went wide. “And turned him into turtle soup? Oh, Max, no!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, Dooley. For all we know Tollie was turtle-napped, and so our first priority should be to find him and bring him home safe.”

Though where was home for Tollie now? With Dave gone, and Veronica and her son detesting him as much as they did, home just might be in a zoo from now on, or with some other benefactor. Though if Tollie was included in Dave’s will, and most probably he was, perhaps Jayme was Tollie’s new mom from now on. If she was innocent, of course.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, Dooley,” I said in conclusion as we turned away from Tollie’s home and joined Odelia and Chase once more.

“Good thing we’re only co-stars in Harriet’s new cartoon,” said Dooley, “or else we’d have to pose for her. Now we can focus on the investigation… spider.”

I smiled.“Yeah, a good thing indeed… Odie.”

Chapter 10

As we were checking around, Odelia and Chase had gone upstairs to take a look at the crime scene—a privilege I decide to forego, as I’m not all that keen on looking at dead people, unlike that kid inThe Sixth Sense. Suddenly there was a sort of commotion or ruckus at the front door, and a strikingly beautiful and statuesque blonde walked in, followed by a sullen-looking teenager. The blonde wouldn’t have looked out of place inSports Illustrated, modeling swimwear, and the kid resembled her to such a great degree that this could only be the now infamous Veronica James and her son Danny.

“Who’s in charge here?” the woman demanded heatedly as she addressed the first person she saw, a hapless lab technician, carrying a laptop around.

“Um… that would be Detective Kingsley, ma’am,” said the lab techie, and pointed in the direction of the staircase.

The blonde, instead of stomping up the stairs and going in search of Chase, instead hollered,“Detective Kingsley!”

“Yup!” immediately Chase’s voice came from one floor up.

“I want a word with you, Detective—now!” she bellowed, and in view of this vocal performance I amended my opinion that Veronica James was a swimwear model and now assumed she must at some point in her life been a very effective drill sergeant.

Chase now came hurrying down the stairs, clearly thinking that another member of the James household must have fallen prey to foul play, but when he saw Veronica, looking very much alive, halted in his tracks, no doubt struck by the woman’s frankly stunning good looks. “Yes?” he said, examining her with a puzzled look on his face.

“I demand to know what all these people are doing in my house!” the woman said. “And why I had to show my ID before I could enter the place where I live!”

“Mrs. James, I presume?” Chase asked, his mind quickly making the necessary leap.

“Of course I’m Mrs. James. Who else would I be?”

“I think Chief Lip talked to you on the phone?”

“He did.”

“And explained that your husband…” Chase looked a little awkward now. It’s never a fun prospect having to explain to the next of kin that their loved one is no longer amongst the living.

“I know my husband is dead, detective. But what I fail to understand is what you’re still doing here. At the very least a recently widowed woman should be able to find solace and comfort in the sanctity of her own home, and not having it crowded with more people than can fit into a Beyonc? concert!”

“We’re still examining the exact circumstances of your husband’s death, Mrs. James. But we’re making good progress, and we hope to be out of your hair in another hour or so.”

“Another hour! The Chief assured me this was an open-and-shut case. That you’ve already identified and arrested my husband’s killer. That Jayme girl.”

“Yes, about that—if it’s not inconvenient to you, Mrs. James, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Now?” said the woman, her lips forming a perfectly practiced pout.

“If that’s all right with you.”

“Well…” Mrs. James glanced around, at the cops coming and going, and at the crime scene technicians in white coveralls doing whatever it is that crime scene technicians do. “Okay, fine. How long will this take?” she asked, glancing at a very nice gold wristwatch.

“Not long,” Chase assured the woman. “I’ll get my partner and we can find ourselves a quiet spot where we won’t be interrupted.” And without awaiting her response, he walked back up those stairs, taking them two at a time, and leaving Veronica looking very much like a swimwear supermodel whose photographer has just told her he’s run out of film and he needs to fetch another one in town and can she hang around and keep looking beautiful and be careful not to mess up her hair and makeup in the meantime.