But I wasn’t blown down for long.

As Bones closed the door and headed back up the stairs, I shouted after him, “That was probably all a setup!”

“How so?” Bones said once we were back in the living room.

Before I could respond, the dog lay down on the hardwood part of my living room floor and began rolling back and forth energetically.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Sorry,” he said, still rolling, as though he neither could nor wished to control himself. In fact, he didn’t sound sorry at all. “But I need to do this a few times a day. You have your naps; for me, it’s all about a quick roll on the floor. Plus, it just feels good.”

“That man,” I said, trying not to be distracted by all the annoying rolling. “You must have, I don’t know, paid him off to come here and give you that piece of paper.”

The dog, at last, stopped rolling and rose to his feet. “Any why would I do that?”

“Because, for some reason, you want me to believe you’re a detective.” I paused. “Which you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“Then prove it,” I said.

“And how shall I do that?”

“I don’t know. You’re the detective. Do something … detective-y.”

“Very well. That man who was just here?”

I nodded.

“He had a lot of eggs for breakfast this morning, but he’s still hungry. He also lives at home with his mother.”

“How do you know all that?”

“The profusion of yellow specks on his shirt. The fact that his stomach was growling. Oh, and the tie.”

“The tie?”

“Yes. No grown man would pick out such a hideous tie for himself. Had to be the mother.”

Huh.

“I didn’t notice any of those things,” I said, disbelievingly.

“How could you not have?” the dog said. “They were pretty obvious.”

“OK,” I granted, “so maybe you’re a little more observant than I gave you credit for—”

“The china we ate our lunch on,” he continued. “It was your best china, even though you never said so. You took too much care with it for it to be something you use every day. The oregano was stale. You really should use fresh if you can get it. Absent that, you should buy smaller bottles. You know, spices do lose something if left on the shelf too long.”

I was about to point out that Mr. Javier always buys in bulk to save on trips he has to make to the market, but Bones cut me off with, “And that turtle.” At this point, I was too stunned by him to point out that the turtle had a name. “He’s one hundred and forty-seven years old.”

“How on earth did you know that?”

“Turtles have growth rings,” he said, as if everyone should know this. “They’re like trees in that, you know. Just count the growth rings on a turtle or a tree and you have the age.” He paused. “Plus, I asked him while you were napping.”

“HAH!” I may have been HAH!-ing at him, but in truth, I was astounded. I never would have guessed Mr. Javier was so old. Also, I’m embarrassed to admit, it had never occurred to me to ask him.

“And when you’re annoyed with me,” he said, pointing a paw at my face as he squinted one eye, “you squint your right eye just a little bit. It’s always the right eye, never the left.”

“I do not—” I started to object but then stopped myself as I felt my right eye starting to squint. “Still,” I said, “that’s not very much.”

“It’s enough. It’s more than most creatures or humans can claim. I can identify thousands of items by smell. I can remember every face I’ve ever seen, however briefly. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of all sorts of subjects.” He glanced at the telegram again. “And now I know that a fresh murder has been committed.”

Then he crumpled up the telegram and tossed it aside.

“I also know,” Bones said, “that I’m not going to bother trying to solve it.”

What?