"Good, you can start by washing all the dirty dishes in the kitchen, drying them, and putting them up. There aren't many. In the meantime, I will wash a few loads of clothes, and bed linens." As she worked, she was confident that Lennie was leaving plenty of fingerprints everywhere.

She cleaned the bathroom, and even the bedroom, where the terrible incident happened. Everything she wiped down made her feel even more confident that she was covering her tracks.

She saw that letter again, there on the dresser. The Letter to Belinda. She picked it up and looked at it, wondering what it said. What was the last thing that Leon said to his wife? Was it even from Leon? Of course it was. Who else could it be from, being that it was there on the bedroom dresser, probably the most likely place for Belinda to find it when she returned from her European Cruise. What was it that Leon wanted to tell her? She examined the seal, but it was secure. Any tampering would be noticeable. She held it up to the light, but the contents was several pages, so it was too thick to read through the envelope. She could probably steam the seal open, but it would look opened, so she didn't want to mess with it. She wiped off any possible fingerprints, and left it there in the middle of the dresser, obvious to Belinda when she gets home.

She did not know what to do with Leon's wallet, but she knew that if it were found here, it would indicate that the judge had not gone anywhere. She put it in her pocket, for the time being. She would dispose of it later, perhaps by weighting it down, and sinking it in the river. She washed his clothes, dried them, and was putting them away, as a load of sheets and linens were washing. This was going to take longer than she had antic.i.p.ated, but there was no rush. Neither she nor Lennie had anything better to do on a Wednesday night. And no one was expected to show up here, she hoped.

Lennie had long since finished washing the dishes, and she found him in the livingroom, picking up things and looking at them, perhaps never realizing that he was leaving his fingerprints on everything he touched. But that was good, because later when they began hunting the Judge, Lennie would be a prime suspect.

Or was that a good thing? With Lennie's mentality, and his eagerness to help anyone, it would be dangerous for the police to converge on him with pointed questions. Hmmm, Miranda thought, maybe I should go back and wipe down everything that Lennie touched too. If the police go after him, he is too dumb to not inadvertently say something that could point to me! This caused a new round distress and anxiety that made her almost nauseous. What she hoped might happen was irrelevant. The reality was, once the police began questioning Lennie, she was done! No matter how hard Lennie tried to not incriminate her, she knew it was going to happen. Lennie was simply too helpful and good-natured to not blow her cover.

Lennie's own words stung her, every time she thought of them. Miranda, they gonna' mess you up in prison!

But what could she do? What were her options? With all her lottery money, she should be able to do something, but what?

A thought hit her. I can buy him a plane ticket to somewhere far away, like . . . maybe Hawaii. I can call ahead and make arrangements for him to stay at a nice hotel on the beach for a month or a year, or how ever long it takes for this mess to blow over, and then . . . then what? Hawaii is a part of the United States, so the FBI could still reach him there. No, Lennie would have to go out of the country. I need to take him and apply for a pa.s.sport, and get him out of the country, to somewhere like . . . India, or Bangladesh, or somewhere! Anywhere that he can't be tracked down! I could accompany him there, and just leave him there! If he can't speak the language, and has no concept of how he got there, and how far he is from home, and has no money, how can he possibly get back home?

Miranda chuckled at her reasoning. She remembered when she was a little girl, and unwanted stray dogs would sometimes just 'take up' with them. Her Dad would put them in the back of his truck, and carry them far away, and put them out, usually up a dirt road, or near another community so that they couldn't find their way back to their house. At the time, she thought that was cruel, and hated when her dad did it, but she understood why he did it. They simply couldn't afford to feed every stray dog that took up with them. But it was effective in riding them of the excess dogs. They never saw them again. And now, what she was thinking about doing with Lennie was exactly the same thing.

I'm trying to get rid of him, like a stray dog!

Lennie stood there before her, mute and obedient. If he had a tail, he would have been wagging it. Just like a stray dog, hoping to find favor, and a permanent home, yet never suspecting that this benevolent human was considering a different fate.

She knew that Lennie was not a stray dog, but facts were facts: Lennie did not need to be around when the police started asking questions.

If I did send him away, she thought, it wouldn't be forever, because he is dying. I could send him away for a nice 'vacation', and keep him there until the tumor kills him. Then the police would never get to question him, but because of the circ.u.mstantial evidence found here, he would be blamed for the murder. And then, there will be nothing pointed toward me. If there is any question about where he got the money to go on 'vacation', I can say I gave it to him, in exchange for him doing ch.o.r.es for me. I can say I knew he was sick, and wanted to do something nice for him before he died. But of course, I will be shocked to hear that he might have something to do with Judge Rosewood's disappearance. Hmmm. Maybe I should have hidden the b.l.o.o.d.y chain saw I used to cut up the judge, somewhere around Lennie's house, instead of sending it to the land-fill.

Yes, I need to send him as far away as possible. India or Bangladesh would be a nice obscure place to send him. But a pa.s.sport would take six weeks to get for him, and Mrs. Rosewood is due back from Europe in 11 days. So out of the country is not an option. What about Oregon or Washington?

"Miranda, what'cha thinking about?"

"What makes you think I'm thinking about anything, Lennie?"

"I can tell you're thinking about something real hard, by your 'spression."

"Lennie, have you ever wanted to travel? To see the world?"

"What for?"

"Just so you can say that you have been somewhere before you die."

"I been to Birmingham."

"No, Birmingham is nothing! I mean traveling to exotic places, like California, or Oregon, or even to Seattle, Washington."

"I don't know n.o.body in Seattle, Washington."

"That's the beauty of traveling to new places! You get to make new friends."

"I don't need no new friends. I got you."

"But if you go to Washington, you can make new friends. You might find friends that you like better than me."

"Naw, I don't think so. Why? You goin' to Washington?"

"No, not right off. But I will come see you after you get there."

"Why don't you just go with me?"

"I've got some things I have to do, before I go there."

"Well, I can wait, and then we can go together!"

"No, Lennie. You need to leave right away. As soon as possible."

"You wanting to get rid of me, ain't you?"

"No, it's not like that, Lennie."

"You're afraid I'll say the wrong thing to the police, huh?"

"Well Lennie, you did admit yourself that you sometimes say the wrong thing. That you mean to say one thing, but it comes out meaning something else."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm stoopid."

"No, you're not stupid! You are just mentally challenged, and your vocabulary limits your ability to express things like you should. Therefore, it is best that you avoid situations in which you could face difficult questions."

"Yeah, because I'm stoopid! That's what I'd call somebody like me, is stoopid!"

"Well, however you prefer to see yourself, you don't need to be around when the police start asking questions, so where would you like to go?"

"I told you, I don't want to go nowhere. I like it right here in Kellerman. The Doc says I ain't got long to live no how, so I want to live all my life right here!"

"Okay Lennie, I respect that, because we are friends. But maybe we should change our plan then."

"What plan?"

"In case the police want to question you about the Judge. Here is the new plan. You just say nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That's right, nothing. Pretend that you don't even have the ability to speak, or understand their questions. Just don't say anything."

"But what if . . ."

"No, there are no exceptions. Pretend that you are deaf and mute. Don't tell them anything. Not even your name!"

"So you don't want me to help the police at all?"

"No, not at all."

Lennie looked confused.

"Lennie, look at me! This is very important. You can't say anything at all to the police. I know, you have always been taught that the police are there to protect you, but in this case, the police are our enemy."

"No, that ain't right. I know better than that."

"Lennie, do you want me to be your friend, or do you want to be friends with the police?"

"Wasn't you friends with the Judge?"

"Yes, in a way."

"I see how he ended up. When I die, you gonna' cut me up too?"

She was aghast at the very thought, but the pause was enough to cast doubt over whatever answer she gave, so she said nothing, and the silence was heavy.

"When this here tumor kills me, like the Doc says, are you gonna' cut me up and put me in the freezer?"

"No, no! Of course not!"

"Then why did you do the judge like . . ."

"I told you why I cut up the Judge! You don't remember me telling you that?"

"Naw, I guess I forgot."

"See? That is what I'm talking about! You can't remember things like you should. That's why you need to let me send you somewhere far away, for a nice vacation. That way, the police can't ask you hard questions!"

"Well, I don't want to leave home. I ain't goin' nowhere!"

"Lennie, . . ."

"But don't you worry 'bout nothin', Miranda! I won't say nothin' to the police!" Lennie got on his bike, and pushed off down the driveway toward home, leaving Miranda frustrated. After going a few feet, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Miranda?"

"Yes, Lennie?"

"I want you to know somethin'."

"What's that, Lennie?"

"I may be stoopid an' all, but I know one thing for sure."

"What?" she said impatiently.

"I know that I love you!"

"Oh Lennie, don't complicate things by going down that road! Just go!"

Lennie peddled off in silence, leaving her to wonder what in the world she was going to do with him. As she headed home herself, creeping through the dark forest, she couldn't help thinking how perfect and convenient it would be if that tumor killed him sometime in the next 11 days, so he wouldn't be around when the police started asking questions. But oh no! She knew that wouldn't happen! He wouldn't accommodate her by dying in a convenient manner. He would live long enough to tell the police anything they want to know, to put her in prison. That was just her luck! And on top of that, now he says he loves her! Like that phrase hasn't come back to bite her over the years! For her, I love you had been the kiss of death in all her relationships.

She had a horrible thought.

Why don't I just kill Lennie, and make it look like an accident?

The very thought of that, left a bad taste in her mouth.

That's absurd! I am no murderer! I didn't kill the judge, that was just an unfortunate circ.u.mstance. But now to cover it up, I'm considering killing Lennie? That's crazy!

But it certainly would uncomplicated things. Along with the circ.u.mstantial evidence she had already planted to incriminate him, there wouldn't be any other conclusion for the police to draw. But what would be Lennie's motive to have killed the Judge? Who cares, She thought. And would it really be murder to kill Lennie? After all, he is dying anyway. By killing him, I could save him from a lot of pain and suffering later, as the tumor starts to snuff out his life. It could be seen as a mercy killing. Once he starts having excruciatingly painful headaches, he will probably be considering suicide anyway, to stop the pain. I would just be helping him out.

No, murder was still murder, and it had a bad taste. But the more she tasted the thought, the more the taste grew on her. No, I shouldn't even be thinking such a thing! It's wrong!

As she was emerging from the woods, into her own yard, she heard a noise from the highway. The loud screech of rubber on asphalt, as someone slammed on their brakes. Then there was a sickening 'thud', followed by a crunching sound.

"Oh my G.o.d!" she said out loud, "Someone hit Lennie!"

As they neared Montevallo, Cory pulled over to the side of the road.

"Okay, Chris, it's show time!"

"Yeah," Joey said, "Into the casket!"

They piled out of the truck cab, and opened the lid to the casket, and the still mummy-wrapped Chris climbed in. "Remember," Cory reminded him, "Be still and don't say a thing until we get to McDonald's. You'll hear us outside talking, and when we open the lid, that's when you do your thing!"

"Okay! Only one thing though," Chris said, "Can I breathe inside this thing? Isn't it supposed to be air-tight?"

"Yeah, I think so." Cory replied. "But it doesn't latch. You can push it open from the inside to get fresh air when you need it."

"I just thought I would ask."

"Just be cool and lay there, till we gather a crowd."

They closed the lid, and the three boys climbed back into the cab, and they continued on into town. On Main Street, they pulled into McDonalds restaurant, and parked. Just as they antic.i.p.ated, the place was packed with young people. "This is going to be great!" Calvin said.

"Joey, you stay out here and flag down people. Ask them if they want to see a dead body. I'll go inside and get people. Calvin, you get in the back. When we get ready to raise the lid, you slowly raise the lid. But don't let n.o.body peek before we get up a crowd."

Cory went into McDonalds and announced, "Hey everybody! We've got a dead body out here in a casket, if anyone wants to see it!"

There was skepticism among the college kids. One asked, "Where did you get a dead body?"

"Hey, my dad is the undertaker in Laurel Grove. I borrowed his truck, but he forgot he left a casket in the back! If you don't believe me, come out and check it out!"

"That is so creepy!" one girl said.

"Yeah, let's go see," her girlfriend said. Of the approximately 35 people in the restaurant, all but four or five crowded outside to see this corpse.