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“I wonder who’s in his harem?” said Father Reilly thoughtfully.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and before the Chief could shout‘enter,’ the door swung open and Dolores’s head popped in. “About that witness on the red bike—any progress?”

“Not now!” Uncle Alec shouted.

“Hold your horses, Chief,” Dolores grumbled, but complied.

I could have told her never to bother a police chief whose prime suspect has just imploded and turned out to be a bust, but then she probably already knew that.

And as I let my gaze drift across the sad faces collected in the small room, I suddenly felt a powerful urge to get out of there. So I gave Dooley a slight nudge, and whispered,“Wanna go for a walk, buddy?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he whispered back.

And it was a testament to how low morale had sunk, that none of those present even noticed how we slipped out the door, which Dolores had left open to a tiny crack.

27

And so we soon found ourselves walking along, the fresh air doing us a world of good after having been cooped up inside for so long.

We saw how Raban walked out of the police station a free man, a big smile on his face, ready to start building his rocket, collect his harem, and fly to the moon. We passed Janette Bittiner at Bittiner Petals, and saw her through the window as she spruced up her storefront with some nice and colorful hydrangeas.

We passed the restaurant where Yoko Bricknell works, and saw how she placed a steaming dish of delicious bouillabaisse in front of a grateful patron. We watched Titta Riding leave the office of her family’s lawyer, looking well pleased. And finally, as we headed in the direction of the park, we passed Town Hall and Town Square and saw Hazel Larobski and her husband Amadeo seated on one of the benches, in the shade of the big trees that cover that side of the square, feeding the birds. On a nearbybench, Cher Shorn sat reading a book.

All in all, it was a testament to the truth that life goes on, even when one of the world’s inhabitants kicks the bucket, like Neda Hoeppner had done the day before.

And as we walked on, I soon found myself engrossed in thought, as I ran through some of the aspects of the case that still puzzled me, trying to make sense of the jumble of information that we’d gathered since that tragic event.

A red bike suddenly passed, and almost got hit by a car that neglected to respect the cyclist’s right of way. The cyclist, a tourist dressed in a fairly loud shirt and Bermuda shorts, nimbly darted out of the way and then pedaled off in the direction of the beach.

“I wonder if Dolores will ever discover who that mystery witness was,” said Dooley as we watched as the car, whose engine had stalled after the incident, slowly got moving again. When I glanced over to my friend, he added, “The car crash on Groveler Street?”

And suddenly, in a flash, I saw all.“Of course,” I said, thunking my head. “Duh!”

“Duh?” asked my friend. “Is that the name of the witness, Max?”

But I was lost in thought once more, as I tried to draw all the different strands of the case together in one neat tapestry.

Dooley must have felt I was in a contemplative mood, for he was very quiet after that, and didn’t try to nudge me out of my thought processes. And we’d just reached Town Hall when suddenly we detected Odelia hurrying in our direction. She was saying something, and as she drew closer, it became clear to me what it was.

“There’s been an accident!” she said as she finally joined us. “An accident at home!”

“Oh, no!” said Dooley. “It’s not… Gran, is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Odelia. “All I know is that Mom texted me telling me to come home immediately. That there’s been an accident.” She threw up her hands in a hopeless gesture. “I’ve tried calling but she won’t pick up!”

We hurried along to the Gazette office, where Odelia had parked her car, and the moment we were inside, she peeled away from the curb, going from zero to a hundred in a few seconds flat. Or at least she would have, if her aged pickup had been capable of such an extraordinary feat, and if we weren’t located in the heart of town, with its myriad pedestrians, cyclists and fellow motorists.

We were home in ten minutes flat, which probably was a new record for our human, and were out of the car and hurrying inside moments later. Chase was already there. He must have taken a shortcut—or a faster car, which was more likely.

Once inside, we didn’t see anyone or anything that appeared alarming, and so we emerged out the back and into the backyard, then into Marge and Tex’s backyard.

And that’s when we saw it: a man was lying on the grass, looking a little white around the nostrils, with paramedics hovering over him, attending to what looked like a medical emergency. The man was, of course, Jason Knauff, Gran’s diligent, if slightly eccentric, interior decorator.

“What happened?” asked Odelia, directing her question to Marge, who stood at a little distance, along with Gran and Tex.