"That's right. Cory was driving safe when we were with him, Mom."

"Thank goodness for that!"

Thursday morning, Penelope's lawyer met her at the jail to discuss her case. He had been appointed by the court to represent her, since she had no money for a lawyer. He was a young lawyer, just out of law school, and was eager for any case, even if it was pro-bono. He was eager to prove that he was capable of defending a client, so Penelope's case provided him with a challenge. After hearing all the details, he was sure that he could convince a jury that she was not guilty of murder, but only self defense. He was meeting with her to go over the details one more time, and to present her with her options.

"Penelope, tell me one more time what happened at your father's house that day."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do. Start with when he entered the kitchen, and cut off your escape."

"Like I told you before, he had me trapped in the kitchen. The window over the sink was too small for me to get through, so I was going to have to get past him somehow. I was desperate. I grabbed the biggest kitchen knife I could find off the counter, and told him to leave me alone, or I would kill him!"

"But that didn't deter him?"

"No! He kept coming, telling me that he loved me, and that things could be just like old times! I was terrified! It was like reliving my worst nightmare all over again! He reached out to grab the knife, but I s.n.a.t.c.hed it away. I was NOT going to let him rape me again! I slashed at his hand and cut him pretty badly, and he stepped back. That was when my terror turned to rage! I saw my chance, and lunged forward with the knife, and buried it deep in his chest! He tried to say something, but he couldn't. He tried to grab the handle of the knife, but he didn't have the strength to pull it out. He toppled over on me, getting blood all over me, then dropped to his knees and fell forward on his face. When he hit the floor, it drove the knife even deeper into him, and I saw the tip of the blade come out his back! I said it before, and I will say it again: I am GLAD he's dead! I am GLAD that I killed him! I just wished I could have killed him a thousand times, once for every time he raped me!"

She broke down crying, and her lawyer let her cry for awhile, then said, "Okay, after he fell on the knife, what did you do?"

"I wanted to get rid of him, of everything! Him, the house, all those bad memories! I wanted to wipe it all off the face of the earth, so I turned on the eyes of the stove, and moved a pan of bacon grease onto one of the eyes. Then I grabbed a dish towel, and some paper bags, and threw them on the stove, so there would be a big enough fire to burn the house down! I hoped the whole place burned to the ground!" She burst out crying again, and again the lawyer let her cry until she got it out of her system.

"Okay, I know you told me all this before, and you told some wild things to the police. In fact you told so many different versions to the police, that frankly, they do not believe anything you have said, which could be good. But sit up and listen to me for a minute."

"Okay.'

"At your trial, I intend to bring out all the sordid details about how your father abused you when you were a child. I want to build up Bob Deason to be the most loathsome, vile creature that ever walked the earth! I want the jury to see what kind of man he really was, so that they will hate him as much as you did. When I get through telling about your father, I want them to believe that he deserved to die the way he did, and that you had the right to kill him! I want the jury to be sympathetic to you, to the point that they would forgive you for anything you might have done in the heat of pa.s.sion, to hasten his demise! But then, once you have their sympathy, I will prove that, even though you had the moral right to kill him, that you actually didn't do it! I will prove that his death was the result of a series of freakish accidents, and that, even though you were glad that he was dead, you actually did nothing to kill him!"

"But I did kill him, and I don't care who knows it!"

"No, no, you can't be saying things like that, not of you want to get out of this! I am going to tell you what to say, and how to say it, and if you do as I tell you, you can walk away from the trial a free woman! Is that what you want?"

"I don't care anymore!"

"Well I care! This is my first trial, and I want to win this thing for you, and for my career! Now will you go along with me on this, or not?"

"Oh, I guess so."

"Okay, I am going to 're-work' your testimony a bit. I will tell you what really happened at your father's house that day, and you will stick to that story. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any problem with that?"

"No, I guess not."

"The first thing is, you never touched the knife that killed him. The fire destroyed any fingerprints, so there is no way they can prove that the knife was ever in your hands. So deny that you ever touched the knife.

"Secondly, you don't know how the house caught on fire. You will testify that when your dad caught you, there was a struggle that toppled both of you over on the stove top, where it was highly possible that one of you may have accidentally turned a dial to the 'on' position, which could have later burned the house down.

"The third thing, which you will reveal when I question you on the stand, is that Bob Deason had the knife in his hand, and that he was coming after you to kill you. In the process of fleeing from him, you threw chairs and pots in his way, to slow him down. This caused him to trip and fall, and as luck would have it, he fell on the knife, which stabbed him deeply. When he fell forward, impact with the floor drove the knife deeply into his chest. You are scared. You grab a coat, to cover the blood on your clothes, you grab your Bible, which was the whole reason for being there, and flee the scene, unaware that the stove was on, and would later burn the house down." He let that sink in for a few seconds, then asked, "Do you understand now what really happened?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"There is not going to be any guessing about it! Now I want you to spin this story back to me, but this time in your own words. Remember that I will have you on the stand, and will be questioning you, so the questions I ask will be your cue to inform the jury of what really happened, just like I told you. I want you to tell what happened, in your own words, and if it doesn't sound right, we are going to tweak it until it does. And then we are going to rehea.r.s.e it every day! Every day before your trial, I will come back here, and you are going to rehea.r.s.e what you will say on the stand, so that when the real trial comes, you will know exactly what to say, and how to say it! You will say it so much, that you will start to believe it yourself, and then the jury will believe you too! Between your testimony, that you didn't kill him, and me building your dad into a monster, I see no way the jury could find you guilty!"

"That sounds good to me."

"Good! So go ahead! Tell me what really happened that day!"

The spinning and rehearsals began, and would continue until her trial.

When the book signing at Waterstone ended at 2:15, Angel took Travis out to a late lunch, at an Indian buffet restaurant, with all kinds of exotic and spicy dishes. "There are a lot of these restaurants in England, because back in colonial days, many Indians and Pakistanis emigrated to the Isles to be educated, and they all brought their way of cooking with them. London is full of ethnic restaurants."

"Do you have any Mexican restaurants?"

"Not that I know of."

"In the U.S. there are many illegal Mexicans, and so Mexican Restaurants are common. Mexican food is spicy, but not with curry, with red chili peppers."

"I must go to America one day and try them out."

"Angel, let me ask you a question that has been bothering me."

"Certainly."

"What is the connection between Jester Books, and the now bankrupt Maple Leaf Publications, from Edmonton, Canada?"

"Why, what do you mean?"

"I mean, why did Ronald Fallon, a.k.a., Ronald Gaspiano, sell my book to Jester Books, instead of any one of hundreds of other publishers that were in the Western Hemisphere, and therefore closer to him. Why Jester Books?"

"Perhaps 'closer' was not what he was looking for. Perhaps he wanted a buyer that was intentionally far away?"

"Did you know of Ronald or Curtis Gaspiano before they brought you 'The Relic'?"

"I suppose I should tell you no, but you want the truth, don't you?"

"I would prefer the truth."

"If I tell you the truth, will it make a difference in whether you sign a contract with us or not?"

"That depends on what the truth is. I just have a gut feeling that there is a connection between the two companies that I'm not getting."

"I can tell you this: Since Ronald's untimely death, his brother Curtis is going ahead with plans they had made, to move their business to Quebec, under another name."

"What name?"

"I'm not sure that he has given it a name yet, but it will be the same set-up that they had in Edmonton, and before that, in Red Rock, Montana. He intends to publish new authors, because he knows that they are nave, and egoistic. They want to see their book in print so badly, that they will not read the fine print in their contract, just like you didn't read yours. He is keenly aware of human nature, and that is where he will make his money. Just like before, he will publish their books, and will satisfy them with up to 250 books, but no more. He makes $2,500 profit on every contract he signs an author to. He provides a service, which satisfies some authors, but leaves many others feeling 'plundered', and dissatisfied. And he is always looking for that real winner! A book that will be a best seller, which he will profit immensely from, by selling it off to another, more reputable publisher, like he did with your book, 'The Relic'."

"And your father knows this, and still deals with such a company?"

"Why not? It paid off with you, didn't it? You are the third author we have gotten from Maple Leaf, but you are the first one to pay off with big dividends."

"But how can you justify dealing with a bogus company like Maple Leaf?"

"Think of it this way: In baseball terms, a company like Maple Leaf is the 'minor leagues'. They search for talent, and sort out the thousands of 'want-to-be's', from the real thing. The really talented players go on to play in the Major Leagues, which are reputable publishers, like us. You are one of the very few who has made it to the Major Leagues of the publishing world. The reason we rely on 'bogus' companies, as you call them, is because it would be foolish of us to go out and try to find new talent ourselves. We allow smaller companies to take the risk of finding the talent, then we buy them out. It is an option that is available to us, and so we use it. If you were a publisher, you would do the same thing."

"So there is no connection to the Gaspianos, other than by profession?"

"No, we are not 'kin', if that is what you are getting at."

"That's good."

"I'm glad I could clue you into yet another aspect of the publishing world!"

"So I am 'nave and egoistic'?"

"Yes, all newly published writers are. The nave part goes away with time, as you learn how the game is played. But the ego part, you must admit, is the reason you put your thoughts out there for the whole world to read in the first place. A writer must have a cast iron ego, to believe that he can write something that the whole world will actually want to read. And I might add that you must also have a hide as tough as leather, to put your work 'out there' wide open for every crack-pot, and self proclaimed critic to take their shots at you. That is why I could never be a writer. It would devastate me, to put my most intimate thoughts 'out there', and then have them scoffed and laughed at, by someone who does not even know me, or have the intestinal fort.i.tude to illuminate their own inner thoughts!"

"If they laugh at your writing, then call it comedy. If they get angry, it means you that you showed them a reflection of themselves, and they didn't like what they saw. If they scoff at you, and try to belittle your writing, it is because they are jealous of you, and wish they could write. Some people don't have the mentality to put their feelings into words, so they respond to your writing the only way they know how to respond. By making fun of you. I consider any response to my writing, positive or negative, to be good. Those who read my work, and are not stirred to some kind of emotional response, are the ones I fear."

"That is well put. Perhaps I should try writing again."

"Sure, go for it."

"We expect large crowds at Blackwell's this evening. They always do a great job of publicizing an event, and they started advertising your book signing weeks ago. So you should rest your writing hand!"

"Okay, I will eat with my left hand!"

Angel had been right about the crowds at Blackwell's. It was insane. It became just a blur of people, yet somehow Travis made it through the evening by keeping himself in focus, and reminding himself that this was what it meant to be a successful writer. He remained personable, and his fans came away from the signing thinking, such a nice fellow! He can write, and has a sense of humor as well! However, truth be known, Travis was wearing awfully thin toward the end of the evening, and it was good that the signing did not go another hour, or his base metal was going to start showing through the gold plating. Even when Angel began her usual s.e.xually charged innuendoes, he just said 'no thanks'.

"Poor baby! You are worn to a frazzle! Two book signings in one day, is more than any man should have to endure!"

"Aren't you the one who made out the schedule!"

"I know! And you handled it so well! I think you deserve to soak in a nice hot-tub, to unwind! I just happen to have one at my apartment here in London, and I also have some very smooth scotch, to help you mellow out! Now doesn't that sound tempting? I can rub your back! I'll ma.s.sage your writing hand!"

"I'm sure you would ma.s.sage more than my hand."

"Of course!"

"No thanks. I need to get back to the hotel, so I can pack up my things. I have to be in Dover tomorrow, remember?"

"Ah yes! Your last book signing! Why don't you go pack up your things, and I can take you on to Dover this evening? You can be nicely rested by the time of your signing! Or maybe not."

"No, just take me to my hotel. I am bone tired, and have no energy for extracurricular activities."

"As you wish."

It was 9:20 when she dropped him off at his hotel, and he was glad to see the end of the day. As he walked up the steps, a strange man wearing a trench coat rushed up to him in a menacing way. Travis instinctively reached for his Ka-bar, but realized he didn't have it, which was probably a good thing, in this case.

"Mister Lee! A moment of your time, please!" From beneath his coat, the man whipped out . . . not a knife, . . . or a gun, . . . but a copy of 'The Relic'.

"I tried to make it to one of your book signings, but was not able to! Can I please get you to sign my copy?"

Travis breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't a bad guy, or a fanatical nut-case, just a fan. He wasn't used to this kind of thing. "Why sure. Got a pen?"

He signed the book, then went on into the hotel, and straight to his room. He found his mom and Drew busy packing for the next day.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"Okay," He replied.

"Travis, did you ever call Janice back like I told you?"

"No. Mom, I didn't, and that was two days ago."

"Well, I think you'd better call her! I would have reminded you last night, but I never saw you! Did you even come in last night?"

"Yes, Mom! You were snoring like a Kodiak bear when I got here. But I did have a productive meeting with the founder of Jester Books. I might be getting a contract on my second book, which could include some sort of royalty deal on future sales of 'The Relic'."

"Did you sign it?"

"No, it isn't drawn up yet. I will carry it home to read over, and get a lawyer to read over it, to make sure it is above board."

"You should sign it while you are here! They might change their mind!"

"And I might change my mind, but that depends on the wording of the contract. I'll wait and see. I'm going to call Janice. Want to talk to her, to turn in your report on me?"

"Just tell her that I am having a wonderful time. I'm going to bed."

"What about you, Drew?'

"I'm going out with Audrey."

Travis was taken aback by Drew's decisiveness.

"You're going out this late?" Lois asked.

"We're not going far, just up the street to a place called Benny's. All the young people from the group will be there. It's just two blocks away."

"I know where it's at. I might join you later, after I call your mom."