“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.
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.”
“This is ridiculous,” Veronica scoffed. “I always knew Dave was funny in the head, with his love for his stupid turtle, and that girl must have seduced him, playing on his Tollie fixation. And the worst part is that she’s only seventeen. Imagine an old codger like Dave falling for a teenager! Isn’t that illegal?” She glanced out the window. “I’ve already had to fend off three reporters for national papers and a couple of TV stations wanting to do interviews. I’m thinking about getting one of those gag orders and trying to stop this scandal from spreading. It won’t do my husband’s reputation any good, nor the value of his legacy.” She looked back to Chase and Odelia. “Tollie the Turtle mostly appeals to kids. Can you imagine what will happen when Dave is revealed as some kind of sick pervert? It’ll be game over for Tollie—and all because Dave couldn’t keephis pecker in his pants.”
“You really believe Dave had an affair with Jayme Ziccardi?” asked Odelia.
“Of course he did. Why else would he sign over his entire fortune to a teenager?”
“Because she was a talented artist and he thought she might be his successor?”
“Oh, please. I saw the girl’s drawings. Dave had plenty of them in his office. All about a giraffe and a lion. Just lazy, lousy work.”
“Dave seemed to think she had potential.”
Veronica directed an icy look at Odelia.“Oh, she had potential, all right, but not as an artist.”