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She directed an angry look at her kid, who’d draped a seemingly boneless body across the couch, slung one leg over the back, turned on the TV, and was watching a zombie movie.

“Can you not do that right now, Danny,” she snapped.

“Do what?” Danny asked, without moving an inch.

“Watch that crap. Your father just died. Show some respect.”

“He wasn’t my dad. And I’m showing him the respect he deserves. Him and his stupid turtle.”

Veronica frowned as she glanced in the direction of Tollie’s lair. “Where is that creepy turtle? Mara!” she bellowed. “Mara!”

Mara came hurrying in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

“Yes, Mrs. James?”

“Where is my husband’s turtle?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. James. The police think the person who killed Mr. James may have taken him.”

Veronica’s frown deepened. “Taken Tollie?”

“Yes, Mrs. James. Kidnapped him. For money,” she added, in case her words weren’t clear.

“Oh,” said Veronica as she gave this some thought. But before she could plumb the depths of this mystery, Chase had joined us again, this time with Odelia in tow, and the three of them repaired to what looked like a small library, which seemed about the only place in the house which wasn’t infested with cops or crime scene technicians.

“Now then,” said Chase as they took a seat in a cozy little salon, where presumably Dave had also done a lot of sitting around and thinking about new Tollie gags.

“Where is my husband’s turtle?” Veronica demanded.

“Well, he seems to have gone missing,” said Chase.

“What do you mean, missing? How can a three-hundred-pound turtle go missing?”

“Tollie weighs three hundred pounds?”

“He does. We spend a fortune feeding the damn beast.”

“According to your housekeeper, Tollie was here yesterday, but this morning when she arrived he was gone, so we assume that whoever is responsible for your husband’s death may have also taken the turtle.”

“You better find me that turtle,” said Veronica warningly. “It’s worth its weight in gold.”

“How so?” asked Odelia.

Veronica gave her a look of incredulity.“And you call yourself a detective? Tollie was my husband’s… muse, if you will. The model for his very successful cartoon.”

“Yes, I know about Tollie the Turtle,” said Odelia. If she felt insulted by Veronica’s harsh words, she didn’t show it, and neither did Chase. Then again, your average homicide detective boasts a thick skin and is not easily intimidated, not even by irate wives of recently deceased comic artists.

“My husband believed that his success was all due to that turtle,” said Veronica, studying her fingernails. “He came up with the idea when he was stranded on some desert island in the South Pacific. When he was finally rescued, he brought Tollie to the States with him, since he’d struck up some sort of weird friendship with the creature.” Her face displayed a look of distaste, which told us exactly how she felt about Tollie.

“She doesn’t seem to be a big fan of Tollie, Max,” said Dooley.

“No, on the contrary,” I said.

“How can you not be a big fan of Tollie? He’s so funny.”

“Maybe Veronica James is one of those people who don’t have a sense of humor,” I suggested. “Or maybe she simply hates animals.”

“How can you not love animals?”

“I don’t know, Dooley. Some people just don’t.”

Dooley gave Veronica a closer look, not unlike a scientist studying a strange bug.

“So as Tollie grew bigger, the success of Dave’s comic began to grow, too, and so my husband had this idea that his success was all down to Tollie, and treated the turtle like a member of the family, lavishing his attentions on the creature and spoiling it rotten. I used to tell him that he probably loved that turtle more than he ever loved me—or my son.”

“Danny,” said Odelia, nodding.

“Yes, Danny.” She glanced from Odelia to Chase. “So what’s going to happen now? As far as I understand, my husband made a will stipulating that everything he owned, from the house to the money to his copyrights, all go to this girl—this Jayme. Only now that she’s in jail, that probably won’t happen, right? I googled it, and in the state of New York a murderer can’t inherit from their victim, so this ridiculous will my husband made is null and void, correct?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not qualified to answer that,” said Chase. “You should probably talk to a lawyer.”