Bang! Help! My dog s been shot. Mrs. O Reilly, living with Arnold Really O Reilly, in a cozy Cape Cod bungalow overlooking the Atlantic in late November was moderately frantic over her wounded pet Arnold, who d always wanted to write a mystery, had a fine collection of unpublished poetry, philosophy, and Quaker theology. Arnold was a tall man, thin as a rail, with deep set sleepy eyes, wispy hair on top, and a savage pink scar across his left cheek His hands were... The dog? What about Mrs. O Reilly mourning her favorite pet who d just been shot? Not to worry. She didn t like the dog much anyway and Whiskers had only been nipped in the left hind paw. But... As I was about to say, Arnold s hands were his favored visible physical feature. Grey-veined they put him in touch with his beloved computer and a hundred other little....
