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“Yeah, and of course it’s important to stay fit, but the kind of life I was leading wasn’t exactly conducive to good health. All this running around, traveling the globe, shooting videos, entertaining people—it’s worn me down, Chase. Anyway,” he said, waving a hand. “That’s not important. What is important is that I told my people that I was quitting. Or at least taking a year or so off to have a think. And that’s when all hell broke loose.”

“What do you mean?” asked Odelia.

“I’m not sure. All I know is that from the moment I said I was taking a well-deserved break, I started getting threatening letters in the mail, weird phone calls in the middle of the night, and a barrage of emails and private messages on my social media pages.”

“Saying what, exactly?” asked Chase.

“Wait, I’ll show you,” said the fitness man, and took out his phone. “Here—read this.”

Chase and Odelia leaned in, and read from Randy’s phone. It must have been a doozy, for I saw two jaws drop, and Odelia even clutch a shocked hand to her face in dismay.

“They’re all like that,” said Randy. “Dozens and dozens of them.”

“Randy Hancock we know where you live and you’re a dead man,” Chase read. “Randy Hancock prepare to die.”

“Nice, huh?” He took his phone and scrolled for a moment. “And then last night this came.” He placed down the phone and once more Chase and Odelia leaned in curiously.

“Randy Hancock better make your final arrangements for you will die in exactly five days,” Odelia read from the man’s phone.

“Look at the video,” said Randy, patting his fluffy frizzy-haired mane.

Odelia tapped the phone, and a video started playing. All I could hear was the sound, which was awful enough. Like the score of a horror movie, which it probably was.

“Oh, my God,” said Odelia.

“No way!” said Chase.

“What’s going on!” cried Dooley.

“So you see?” said Randy. “If you don’t help me I’ll be dead in exactly four days!”

Chapter 4

Vesta was happy for this opportunity to spend some time at the beach. When you live all your life in a beach town you’d think you spend every waking minute enjoying the surf, or lazing about on that same beach. The opposite is true. Vesta could count the number of times she’d been to the beach this year on the fingers of a single hand.

“Are you sure your turtle wants to go to the beach, Brutus?” she asked now as she put her foot down on the accelerator, her little red Peugeot hurtling through town.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” said Brutus. “In fact she can’t wait to take a dip in the ocean. Isn’t that right, Pinkie?”

The turtle probably said something, though it was hard to hear over the noise of the engine whining and complaining about the treatment Vesta was putting it through.

“What did it say?”

“She says she’s never been, but she’s heard a lot of good things!” Brutus shouted over the din.

“Never been? I thought turtles lived in the ocean?”

“She was born in a pond,” said Brutus. “Though I have no idea what pond she’s talking about. None of our neighbors have ponds, have they?”

“Nah, not that I’m aware of,” said Vesta as she overtook a particularly slow driver—a real turtle—then yanked the steering wheel abruptly to the right to get back to the correct lane as one does, almost causing the turtle to crash into her, the doofus. If there was one thing she hated it was bad drivers. “So didn’t Harriet want to come?” she asked. Brutus and Harriet were usually inseparable, and it surprised her to see them apart now.

“No, Harriet is trying out a new diet,” said Brutus.

Vesta darted a keen eye in the rearview mirror.“Had a fight again, huh? Should have known.”

“No fight,” said Brutus. “It’s just…” He sighed and said, “Can you keep a secret, Gran?”

“Does a dog like to lick its own ass? Course I can keep a secret. Come on—out with it.”

“Harriet is having problems with her eyesight.”

“Her eyesight, huh? Join the club!”

Brutus gave her a worried look.“You are wearing the right glasses, aren’t you, Gran? The ones you need to drive?”

“Absolutely,” she lied, having once again forgotten to take off her reading glasses and put on her regular ones. “So what does Harriet having trouble with her eyes have to do with you wanting to take your turtle to the beach?”

“She wants to go on a diet,” said Brutus. “A carrot diet. She figures it will clear up her eyesight once and for all. And she wants me to join her.” He directed a forlorn look at her. “But I don’t like carrots, Gran. I’m not a rabbit. I can’t live on carrots alone.”

“Nor should you,” Vesta grunted. “I’ll take Harriet to Vena tonight, don’t you worry.”

“Vena?” said Brutus as if she’d just told him he was about to die. “Please don’t.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Brutus. I’m taking her to the doctor and that’s all there is to it. Now tell your buddy that we’re nearly there and ask her if she’s got her bathing suit. This is not a nudist colony and they don’t like skinny-dippers around these parts.”