"Why do you say that?"

"Because there was a strange number on my answering machine. She didn't leave a recording, but I looked up the area code, and it was Kellerman."

"It didn't say Monroe?"

"No, it was something strange, like Roseberry, or Rasberry, or something like that. She hasn't changed her last name, has she?"

"Not that I know of. Is it still on your machine?"

"No, I deleted it, because I thought it was a wrong number."

"Oh well. What time of the day was it?"

"In the afternoon, not long after you left for work. I was gone to town, I think. My first thought was that you had engine trouble going to work, and tried to call me, but Kellerman is on the other side of where you work, isn't it?"

"Yes it is."

"But I'm glad you're home. I'm going to bed now. I am bone tired."

"I'll be there shortly."

He went to his study and signed a few books before going to bed. He probably knew whom it was that had called. It was Miranda, calling from Judge Rosewood's bedroom, while she was still handcuffed to the headboard. She called in the afternoon, trying to catch him before he went to work, but missed him. He needed to check the phone recorder himself, before he left for England, to be sure it was really deleted. He didn't want any link between him and Judge Rosewood, because after the Judge is found to be missing, every lead would be pursued. No doubt the FBI would get involved in the disappearance of a Federal Judge, especially one that had at one time been considered for appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court.

That brought up another chilling thought. Couldn't Ma Bell retrieve from their database, all calls made to or from a phone number in question, even if it had been deleted from all home recording devises? Unless he was mistaken, they could. They were not in the habit of doing it, because it infringed on a person's First Amendment Right to Privacy, but the FBI could abridge that right when they deemed it necessary. And guess what? A high profile Federal Judge coming up missing would deem it necessary. The FBI would surely check out all calls made to and from Judge Rosewood's phone, especially the last ones. And where were those last calls made to? Travis' home phone, and Travis' place of employment, Savage Creek #2 Mine. Put those two numbers together, and what you had, was a big red arrow pointing back directly to him! Hmm. That was certainly something to think about. Next question, was there ever a call from Rosewood to Miranda's home phone? He didn't know. But he knew there were calls from Miranda's new phone to his house, because he had deleted them. Right there was all the connection the FBI needed to suspect both he and Miranda. If they combed her property, they would no doubt find evidence of a body disposal. (What was she thinking, when she cut up the body with a chainsaw? That added a gruesome and deliberate aspect to the disposal.) And finding that little crumb of DNA evidence (like that speck of meat he saw on her shoe at the store), would be all the evidence they would need to bring in the bulldozers and turn her property upside down, looking for the Judge. And of course, then they would find him, under her newly constructed pool.

He sat tapping his fingers on his book, deep in thought. Why did she have to get involved with a Federal Judge? If this had been some unimportant Joe, it might be possible to make him disappear, and no one would look for very long. But a Federal Judge? This would make national, maybe international news. Things could go very badly from that point onward, because the Feds could be tenacious when they wanted to be. Very tenacious.

He wondered if he should warn Miranda not to bury the body under her pool? There were a lot of precautions he wanted to fill her in on, but he certainly couldn't call her from his home phone, because it would leave an un-erasable phone record. He would have to call her the next day from a pay phone, while going to work, and offer her instructions on what to do, and not to do. They might ought to consider an entirely different method of disposal.

This was getting far too complicated for Travis. He continued autographing books, but he couldn't help worrying about it.

10.

Janice was thankful that for the next two days, she heard nothing from Penelope Jones. Obviously the woman needed help, and apparently she had found someone to provide for her immediate needs. Frankly, Janice didn't care where she had gone, or what she was doing, as long as she never called her again. She did not like being made a fool of. She had her hands full, trying to raise their teenagers, and teach them right from wrong, and handling the secretarial duties of Travis' writing career. She didn't need the stress, headache, or embarra.s.sment of trying to explain to her children, the 'dirty laundry', and the stark skeletons hanging from the Deason's family tree. Maybe she had lived a sheltered life, but she never knew that such incest and debauchery existed in real life, especially so close to home. It was scary to think that such things had been going on, not in Hollywood or San Francisco, but within a couple miles of where they lived.

Travis, meanwhile, was hoping Miranda didn't call him back at his home. He tried to call her twice from a pay phone, on his way to work, to fill her in on his fears, but she wasn't at home either time he called. So he had no choice but to go on to England without talking to her, and hope that things worked out.

Sat.u.r.day morning, Janice was driving them to Arlington, where Travis, his mother, Lois, and Drew were catching the charter bus to Atlanta International Airport. Before they left, Joey approached them.

"Hey Dad, I need to ask you something before you leave."

"Does it involve money?"

"No, it's about that casket in the garage."

"What about it?"

"Well, I thought about using it in the church play we're doing Wednesday night. It's a play about Jesus' miracles. I thought we'd use it for the part where He raises Lazarus from the dead. I thought about having Lazarus rise up out of that casket."

"I don't think they had shiny metal caskets in Jesus' day. They buried the dead in stone tombs."

"I know, but hey, this is like, creative license. This is a modern day adaptation of the story of Lazarus, so a real casket would be a nice touch!"

"Okay, I see no problem with using it. But don't mess it up! I plan to use it one day. Not any time soon, I hope, but when the time comes, I don't want to buried in a used casket!"

"Sure Dad, we'll take good care of it."

"All right then. I hate that I'm going to miss your play. Can one of your friends video-tape it for me?"

"I think Cory's Mom has a video camera. I'll see if we can get it recorded for you. Have a great time in England, Dad! Remember that I want to go to Italy next year, for my senior trip!"

"Right, Italy! I'll start looking for a trip to Italy as soon as we get back. Joey, you'll be the man of the family while Drew and I are gone, so take care of the women. Take your responsibility seriously."

"I will, Dad."

It was true that Joey and his friends planned to use the casket in their play, but if Travis had known what they had planned for after the play, he would have canceled his trip to England.

Lois, Travis' mother, was surprised by talk of the casket.

"Is that the same casket that Janice bought for you when she thought you had been killed in that plane crash in Colombia?"

"Yes, Mom, the same one you and Dad encouraged her to buy."

"But I thought she sold it back to the funeral home?"

"They wouldn't take it back. They said all sales of caskets were final. No refunds, no exchanges. They said they had never had complaints from casket owners before. I didn't argue with them. I just stored it in the garage until we needed it. It's like buying a truckload of toilet paper. It might seem unnecessary at the time, but you'll use it eventually."

"That's good." She clearly had another question on her mind, so she went ahead and asked. "Travis, are you sure this is such a good idea, me coming on this trip with you and Drew? You know I can't get around as well as you two can."

"It was your decision, Mom. It is a guided tour, which means they pretty well take care of you wherever you go. If your legs start to hurt, they'll get you a wheelchair."

"A wheelchair! I'm not handicapped! Only cripples have to use a wheelchair!

"No one said you're handicapped. But if you need a wheelchair, or if I need one, they will get us one."

"I hardly think you would need a wheelchair!"

"I didn't think I needed a casket either, but I got one! Don't worry about the trip. Everything will be fine. They will take good care of us. At times, you and Drew will be out touring London's sights, while I'll be stuck in a bookstore signing books!"

"I thought we would all be together?"

"We will most of the time, but sometimes I'll be doing book signings for Jester Books, while the rest of you will be gone doing more fun things. I'll be with you when I can. I told Jester Books when I was going to be there, and they set up my book signings around my schedule, when they could. But some of the places you go, I won't be able to go. So take a lot of pictures."

The sun was barely up as they loaded their luggage on to the charter bus and found a seat. They had earlier received a list of fellow travelers that would be making the trip, but not until they boarded the bus did Travis realize that most of them were college age young people. There were four other adults, one was Nikki, the English Department secretary, who had also gone on the trip to Greece, the year before. Two of the adults were college English professors, whom Travis had not met before, and the fourth was a retired teacher, Mrs. Parker, who was Lois' age. Lois sat across the aisle from her and struck up a conversation.

Drew smiled when he realized that most of the college students were girls.

Travis sat down in the seat behind Nikki and asked, "So you're the chaperone for all these girls?"

"Me? I don't think so! That's more trouble than I can handle! How have you been, Travis?"

"Staying alive."

"How is your leg?"

"My leg?"

"Yes, remember? You were still in the hospital in Athens, when the rest of us left. When we visited you there, you had a leg injury."

"That's right, I had a 'foreign object' buried in my leg, by the gas explosion. But it was no problem. It healed right up." (Travis saw no reason to bring up the fact that this 'foreign object' was actually a false eye, blown from its socket when the old sorcerer was vaporized in the explosion.) Deliberately changing the subject, he asked, "Who are the two English professors? I don't know them."

"The older man is Professor Fred Cunningham. He's a real character! His students love him!"

"And the younger, black-haired one?"

"He's Professor Steve Foust. He just joined the UCA staff this past year. He came in a stranger, and was immediately promoted to head of the English Department."

"I'll bet that caused some resentment."

"No, not really. The position was offered to Cunningham, and to most of the other English professors, but they all turned it down. Foust got it by default."

"You would think one of the existing professors would have taken it, for the raise in pay, if nothing else."

"Yeah, you would think so. But I work in the English Department. I see what goes on, and believe you me, being the department head is not worth the additional headache! Professor Foust barely made it through the spring semester without having an emotional breakdown."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm serious. He thought going on this trip to England would mellow him out, but I can see the stress building in him already!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, he thinks that he is responsible for all 14 English students on this trip, and I told him, I said: 'Steve, you can't be responsible for all those kids! They are all over 18, and they can look out for themselves! Most of them don't want an older adult hovering over them like a mother hen!' But he doesn't seem to understand that. And at the end of this trip, he will be more stressed out than before he left! Look at Fred . . . Professor Cunningham. He is laughing and cutting up with his students. He's having a good time. Now look at Professor Foust. He's tense, nervous, and afraid that something might go wrong! He'll be a mental 'train wreck' by the time we get back!"

"Maybe he'll learn the rules as we go."

"I'm surprised that Miranda is not going on this trip. She really likes to travel with you, I think."

"She just likes to travel, period! Since she won the Lottery, she's been traveling almost non-stop."

"Won the Lottery? Are you kidding me?"

"No, seriously, she won the Georgia Lottery, to the tune of 23.5 million dollars!"

"I heard that a local woman had won the Lottery, but I didn't know it was Miranda! That's great! So I guess she doesn't really miss her job at the University, huh?"

"I don't think so!"

"Won the Lottery! You can tell I don't stay up on the news like I should. So how is she handling all that money?"

Travis smiled. "Pretty well, considering the changes it caused in her life. She has bought a nice home over on the Warrior River, and was putting in a pool when I talked to her two days ago."

"Go Miranda! I'll have to go sit with her around her pool and sip margaritas, and catch up on the gossip!"

"She would probably like that. She still doesn't have many friends. She is wary of making new friends, because she thinks they might be drawn to her money."

"It's good that she is wary, because there are lots of wolves out there! I know, because I've met a few. But yes, I need to go see her when we get back from England."

Hopefully, you won't have to visit her in jail, Travis thought, reflecting on the fact that she was, as they spoke, burying a Federal Judge under her swimming pool.

As they made the quick trip to Atlanta, Fred Cunningham stood in front of the bus and played word games with his students, and in the process, taught them some of the different words and phrases they would hear used in England. Fred was a jolly man, with a red nose, and a face that always smiled. He could well have been a character in Chaucer's 'Canterbury Tales'. It was plain to see that Fred enjoyed teaching English, and saw it as a living language, that was always changing and evolving. Each word was a complex and useful tool. It was a surprise to Travis, when Fred said: "We are honored to have someone on this trip who is an accomplished writer of fiction! In fact, he is going to be doing several book signings in London while we are there! I have read his novel, 'The Relic', and it is absolutely spine tingling! Mr. Travis Lee, stand up and be recognized!"

Embarra.s.sed, Travis stood briefly and waved at the crowd. One student commented: "That is so cool! I read your book too, Mr. Lee! It was awesome!"

A girl spoke up. "Yes! I read an article in 'Whisperings' Magazine about your book! Didn't someone read your book and have a stroke, or something? It scared them to death!"

(Travis' mother just shook her head.) "Well, it really wasn't that dramatic." Travis said. "But I have been selling a whole lot of books. I'm told that last week it was up to 3rd place on the Best-Sellers list in the UK."

"Why is it doing so well in the U.K?" someone asked.

"I really don't know why. I would like to think because it's a good story, but there are thousands of good stories that never get published. I guess because it is being published and promoted by a London publisher, Jester Books. It was initially published in Canada, by Maple Leaf Publications, but they went bankrupt, and the publication rights were sold to Jester Books. So here I am, going to England to promote it."

"You must be making tons of money off it!" one of the students conjectured.

"Actually, I think what they pay in is called Pounds!"

Everyone laughed, and even Travis smiled, but behind the forced smile was the painful truth that he wasn't making a pence in royalties from Jester Books. He had been c.r.a.pped out of that by the late owner of Maple Leaf Publications, Ronald Fallon, who had sold the publication rights for 'The Relic' to Jester Books. And no doubt, for a nice sum of money, because both publishers realized the potential of the book. The only consolation was that Ron Fallon had 'bought the farm', and Travis didn't think that dollars or pounds were accepted as legal tender in h.e.l.l. He liked to think that Fallon was now making regular payments with his soul.

Though Travis was not making any royalty money off his book, he was gaining something that he hoped would eventually be worth even more. He was building a reputation as a writer of really good fiction. He hoped to parley the notoriety gained with his first book into a publishing contract with a reputable company for his second book. If he could do that, he wouldn't mind so much that his first one was a freebie.

They got to Atlanta well ahead of their boarding time. They unloaded at the Delta terminal, and everyone collected their own baggage. Drew helped Lois with hers, but she insisted on pulling the wheeled suitcase herself.

Professor Foust was everywhere, making sure everyone was off the bus, making sure they all crossed the street together, and making sure they all got into the proper line at the Delta check-in counter. Travis leaned over to Nikki and asked, "Has Foust ever led a trip like this before?"

"No, he has never been to England before either."

"So this is going to be like the blind leading the blind?"

"Fred Cunningham has been there before. He'll keep an eye on him."