On Tuesday, when it hails and snows,

  The feeling on me grows and grows

  That hardly anybody knows

  If those are these or these are those.

  “That honey has gone straight to your stuffed head.” Rabbit did not seem happy. “Maybe you suffered one too many falls on one of our expeditions.” He pointed at Eeyore, still hanging from the tree behind his den. “This is not a murder.”

  “Burrow your head into the ground Rabbit, if it makes you feel better.” I felt a spark of anger grow into a small flame inside me. “It’s what you’re good at, right?”

  Rabbit’s face screwed up and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, the big guy left me in charge.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that’s going real well, isn’t it Rabbit? Just splendiferously.” I walked up to Eeyore. His body swung ever so slightly in a barely-noticeable breeze. “You’re the bigshot Rabbit, so you tell me. If Eeyore hung himself. How the fuck did he reach his own goddamn tail? Hmm?” I turned back to Rabbit. “You tell me how he did it. Because I will wait right fucking here until you do.”

  I jabbed a finger at the crowd of small forest creatures that had gathered on the edges of Eeyore’s home. Rabbits and rodents among them. “And for fuck’s sake Rabbit, get your fucking friends and family out of here. Christ, we’re not selling tickets.”

  “I didn't ask them," explained Rabbit carelessly. "They just came. They always do.”

  Rabbit waved his arms as if to encapsulate all of existence, instead of just the immediate surroundings. I saw his age in those movements. Slower than ever, Rabbit was.

  “If he were murdered Mr. Great Winnie the Pooh, master detective. How come there are no tracks? Hmm?” He pointed at the ground. “If someone killed him, wouldn’t someone have to have, I don’t know, actually come over and done the dirty deed?”

  I turned and glared at the assembled forest creatures and they shrank back toward the woods. Then I turned back toward Eeyore. I tried to soak in every detail. Create a picture in my mind just in case I needed to refer to it later. But I knew one thing for sure.

  “I want to take a look inside.”

  Rabbit laughed. “And I want to be the king of the north pole.”

  I whirled on him. “I was not asking permission Rabbit. I was informing you of my strong desire. Then I will go in. This is not ‘Mother May I.’ I took two steps toward him. Neither of us were very big to begin with, but size is all relative, and I was certainly bigger than he was. He shrank back.

  “But … But…” he stuttered. “I was left in charge.”

  I pressed my advantage and slowly he stepped back until he was sandwiched against the wall. I could see his large brown eyes search instinctually for an exit. I could see the calculation occur in his mind. Would he have enough time to escape if I finally turned on him? It was a fair question. I had never given him a reason to try before.

  “Fine.” Rabbit whispered. “Fine. You do your little search.”

  I smiled. If there was any one thing I could still count on in this wretched and pathetic excuse for a woods, it's that Rabbit was, and always will be, a feckless coward. There was an odd comfort in that. I turned to a wide-eyed Piglet.

  “Let’s go.”

  I walked back down around the front of his Den. Rabbit was right though. There had been absolutely no tracks. Not even in the front of the burrow.

  “You said you visited yesterday?”

  Piglet nodded. “I knocked on the door but no one answered. I just assumed no one was home.”

  I nodded. “Did you bring anything?”

  “A small cake.” He sighed. “I wanted to boost his spirits.”

  I sniffed. “Any particular reason why?”

  Piglet just looked down. “Because he’s Eeyore?”

  “Fair enough.”

  I pushed at Eeyore’s door and it swung gently open. No locks. That was less about Eeyore trusting other people and more about him never having the desire to put in a door that actually locked. It was also highly unlikely anyone would want to break in, since it was well known that Eeyore didn’t really possess anything of value. Sure, he was the proud owner of a lifetime of worries, and a head full of sadness. But those weren’t worth any more than what Eeyore had been willing to ascribe to them.

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  I stepped inside. Piglet followed me closely. I knew he was nervous. He was always nervous. But less so when we were together, I knew. I scanned the small single room. Dark, dank and generally gloomy, Eeyore probably found it the perfect place to do his moping.

  There was a small pile of hay and stray that I presumed was his bed. A cracked, wooden table with three original legs and one large rock to serve as the fourth. And a series of large roots that served as shelves. There were little items on them, knick knacks from Eeyore’s life in the 100-acre wood. I glanced at Piglet.

  “Do you see your cake?”

  Piglet shook his head. “I brought it in a small cloth too. It should be here.”

  “Maybe Eeyore ate it and tossed the rest.” I offered.

  Piglet put his hand on his chin. Then he shook his head. “No. He would save the cloth. He always does.”

  Piglet was right. I paced the perimeter of the room. I tried to hold on to every detail like a man desperately clinging to a life raft after the Titanic sank. It was impossible to know what would be useful later. And I would be a Heffalump’s uncle if I forgot something later that would help me figure out who killed Eeyore.

  I shook my head. It was a damn shame. Even though I believed that someone had ended the sad donkey’s life and sent him back to whomever stitched him in the first place, it was still a tough pill to swallow. Eeyore didn’t have enemies. He had pitiers. To the extent that people were upset at Eeyore at any given time was only because his depression was the serial killer of endless good moods. But to actually take the step required to kill Eeyore … well …

  Something was up.

  I saw a small bottle and I picked it up. I popped the cork and took a whiff. My head swam. I put the cork back on the bottle.

  “What is it?” Piglet craned his neck to see.

  I turned with the bottle and showed it to him. “20 year aged reserve. Hints of oak and caramel. This … this is some nice honey.” I slipped it into the pocket of my trench coat. It’s not like Eeyore would need it anyways, and better me to enjoy it then some of the ghoulish friends and family of Rabbit who will surely tear this place apart as soon as we left. “It’s odd that Eeyore would have something that nice.” I added for Piglet’s edification.

  I finished my circuit around the room. There was something missing. Something important. Something I knew Eeyore had always kept with him. Something I knew he would never throw away. And yet, it wasn’t there.

  “Someone was in here.”

  “Someone?” Piglet looked around. “Are they still here?”

  I pushed my annoyance back down into my stomach. “No, Piglet. They are not. But this place has been carefully ransacked.”

  “How can you tell?”

  I waved a hand. “Some stuff was taken.” I patted the fine honey that nestled in my pocket. “But not the good stuff. The valuable stuff. Come Piglet.”

  I stepped outside and felt the brightness of the sun as it neared the midpoint. I put a hand up to shield myself from the glare while the other fished in my pocket for the mediocre honey and I popped the cork. I took another drink and felt the warmth. I sighed.

  “Ouch.” Piglet hopped up and down on one foot.

  I eyed him. “What happened.”

  Piglet rubbed at his one foot. “I stepped on something sharp.” He stopped hopping and gingerly put one foot down. Then he reached into the mud and pulled something small out. He looked at it and then showed it to me.

  A feather.

  I stared at it and some of the fragments in my mind began to fall into place. I had a puzzle of a murder to solve, and I began to feel like I had just found the corner pieces. I took it from Piglet and rolled it around in my hand.

  "It's a very funny thing," I whispered.

  “What is?” Piglet looked up at me.

  “There are a good many things I want to know about Eeyore’s murder.” I said, slipping the feather into my pocket. I started walking away from Eeyore’s house, Piglet hopping along at my side. Rabbit’s friends and family began to descend on the place, their chittering and squeaking echoing through the forest and around in my mind. I would be hearing those noises for a while, I knew, deep in my nightmares. I could hear Rabbit yelling, but I didn’t care much for what Eeyore had left behind.

  But I had the clues. And the feather.

  "And if anyone knows anything about anything," I said to myself, "it's Owl who knows something about something, or my name's not Winnie-the-Pooh. Which it is," I added. "So there you are."

  Piglet just stared at me. “I worry about you sometimes Pooh.”

  It was not a long walk until we arrived at The Chestnuts, an old-world residence of great charm, which was grander than anybody else's, or seemed so to me, at least, because it had both a knocker and a bell-pull. Underneath the knocker there was a notice which said:

  PLES RING IF AN RNSER IS REQIRD.

  Underneath the bell-pull there was a notice which said:

  PLEZ CNOKE IF AN RNSR IS NOT REQID.

  Underneath both of those, was a suitcase, half full. The door was open and items were flying out through the door and into the waiting luggage. Trinkets and clothes. An old toothbrush, although why an Owl would have need of a toothbrush was beyond me at that moment. I stepped in front of the door and caught the next item to fly out. A small file. I tucked it in my pocket and cleared my throat. I heard something scramble around inside, the fluttering of wings distinct to my sharpened hearing. I took another swig of my honey and called out.

  “Going somewhere, Owl?”

  More fluttering. I might even have detected a squawk. But no one answered from within the tree.

  “Owl! I require an answer! It's Bear speaking." And the door opened, and Owl looked out. His eyes were wild and his head tilted from side to side like an out of control tilt-a-whirl run by an alcoholic carney. It made me dizzy just watching him. He looked the very definition of a man in a hurry.

  "Hallo, Pooh. How's things?" Owl’s voice was scratchier than I had remembered. He was also far more nervous than I remember him being before.

  I took a step into his house, and Owl stepped backward.

  "Terrible and Sad," I said. “You want to know why?”

  Owl shook slightly. “Uh, uh, of course.”

  I took another step inside. Slow and deliberate.

  "Because Eeyore, who is a friend of mine, has been murdered. By whom? I am not quite sure. And for what reason? I am again not sure.” I leaned in close to Owl.

  “So could you very kindly tell me how your feather wound up at his murder scene?"