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“And who would that person be?” asked Chase.

Heiko quickly glanced to the door, then lowered his voice.“You didn’t hear this from me, but Dave never talked about what would happen when he was gone, okay? I guess he was superstitious that way. Or maybe he thought he’d live forever, just like his turtle. But I know for a fact that Flint saw himself as the man who would lead Tollie into the future and beyond. Only he had the feeling that Dave was hanging on too tight, and wasn’t willing to let go. Flint has been ready to take over for a long time. First he thought Dave would retire when he turned sixty-five, then when he turned seventy. But the guy didn’t show signs of slowing down—onthe contrary. He worked as hard as ever. And it looked to me as if he was prepared to go on until he dropped dead. And Flint isn’t getting any younger. The guy is ambitious, and he wants to be in charge, and he increasingly felt that Dave was getting in the way of his ambitions.” He leaned back, feeling he’d said enough.

“So what are you saying?” asked Chase, who clearly felt the artist hadn’t said enough.

“I mean, Flint is like that English guy, you know—that prince.”

“What prince?”

“You know. Prince Charles. He’s been wanting to be King for so long and he just keeps getting older and his mom just keeps on going. Soon he’ll be dead, since women always live longer, and she’ll still be on the throne. That pretty much describes Flint’s position.”

“So Flint was getting impatient, is that what you’re saying?”

Heiko shrugged.“He once told me that if Dave didn’t hand him the keys to the kingdom soon, he’d have to go and pursue other options.”

“Other options? What did he mean by that?”

Heiko gave Chase a significant look.“If a man won’t take a step back, the only solution is to make him.”

“So you think Flint killed Dave?”

“I didn’t say that. You told me that this Jayme person killed Dave. And she probably had her reasons. But if she didn’t do it, I think Flint is as good a candidate as any, is all I’m saying.” Then a look of concern came over him. “You’re not recording this, are you?”

“No, we’re not, Mr. Palace,” Odelia assured him.

“Cause if Flint takes over, he’ll be the boss, and I wouldn’t want him to think I called him a killer.”

“We won’t tell him.”

Heiko blew out a sigh of relief.

“So this is a routine question, Mr. Palace,” said Odelia. “But where were you last night between six and eight?”

“Is that when Dave was killed?”

Odelia nodded.

“I was home with my wife and kid. We were having dinner.”

“Now I have one final but very important question for you,” said Chase.

Heiko’s face took on a look of concern. “What is it?”

“Will there be a Tollie the Turtle cartoon in tomorrow’s paper?”

The man’s smile was something to behold. “Oh, yes, detective. And it’s going to be a beaut. I may not like Flint very much, and think he’s way too ambitious, but you gotta admire the man’s artistry. That guy can draw, and he’s really outdone himself this time.”

“Who wrote the comic?” asked Odelia.

“Flint did.”

“He wrote and drew tomorrow’s comic?”

Heiko nodded.“Like I said, it’s always been his dream to step into Dave’s shoes, and today he’s finally achieved his goal. And I have to say that for a man supposedly consumed by grief, he wrote the funniest Tollie ever. The beginning of a new era. The era of Flint.”

Chapter 13

While Odelia took a detour to her office, and so did Chase, Dooley and I decided to drop by our good friend Kingman, and see what he thought of this murder business.

Kingman’s human runs the General Store on Main Street, and is usually a fount of information on anything and everything that goes on in our small town. He was seated in front of the store, looking very vigilant for his doing. Usually he likes to find a nice spot in the shade and sort of vegetate, but now he was watching the street as if he was fresh out of police academy and aspiring to become a traffic cop.

“Hey, Kingman,” I said as we walked up.

“Can’t talk now,” he announced curtly. “Have to keep a look out.”

“A look out for what?” I asked, my interest piqued.

“Ghosts,” he said, surprising me a great deal, I have to say. I’d never pegged Kingman as the spiritual type. In fact as far as I know he doesn’t have a spiritual bone in his body.

“Ghosts?” I asked. “What ghosts? What are you talking about?”

“I swear there’s a ghost that’s been on my case, Max,” he said. “It’s been harassing me—haunting me—keeping me awake at night.”

“Oh, you mean a poltergeist?” asked Dooley.

I stared at my friend.“What do you know about poltergeists, Dooley?”

“Well, they like to haunt places, and if they don’t like you, they cause a lot of trouble: knocking on walls, rattling doors… It’s not much fun to share a house with a poltergeist.”

“But surely poltergeists don’t exist,” I said. “Or any ghosts, for that matter.”

“They do exist, Max,” Dooley assured me.

“Don’t tell me you saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel about ghosts.”

“Well, yes, I did, and it was really scary.”