"I didn't know him well. He was just the r.e.t.a.r.ded man that lives down the road."

'Do you know if any relationship existed between Mr. Kellerman, and Judge Rosewood?'

"Lennie would talk to anyone. He was a very friendly man."

'Do you know where Judge Rosewood can be reached?'

"He's not at home? Wait a minute, I think I do remember Lennie saying that the Rosewoods were going on some kind of a European vacation."

'How well did you know Judge Rosewood?'

"Me? I just know he lived next door. I didn't know him at all."

'Were you ever in Judge Rosewood's house?'

"No."

'Was he ever in your house?'

"Not since I have been living there. But I just moved here recently."

'So there was no relationship between you and Judge Rosewood?'

"Absolutely not! He was a married man!"

(She realized she used the wrong tense, so she re-worded it. Something she wouldn't be able to do in a real interview.) "He is a married man! And I resent you implying that there was!"

(No, no! Delete that last statement. Too defensive.) 'Why did you recently put in a swimming pool, Mrs. Monroe?'

"I have always wanted a pool. Since winning the lottery, I can finally afford it."

'Is there something hidden under your pool, Mrs. Monroe?'

"Hidden under my pool? What do you mean?"

'Mrs. Monroe, did you kill Judge Rosewood?'

"I didn't know he was dead!"

'No? Then why did you dismember his body?'

This is absurd, Miranda thought. Why would the police have any reason to ask me any of these questions? Why would they suspect me of anything? Perhaps there was a tiny bit of evidence that might make them raise their eyebrows and wonder, why is this here? She had cleaned every inch of the Judge's house, and destroyed all evidence that she had been there. But was there something she had overlooked? Something so obvious that she missed it? All it would take was just one bit of evidence to throw suspicion her way. And once she was a suspect, they would look at her closer, and find something else, and something else. And then would come that dreaded knock on the door, and the questions.

She was going to go stir-crazy if she stayed there another minute. The pool could fill itself. She had to get out and do something, because the waiting was killing her.

The pool party. She had to get the party supplies, though she really didn't feel like having a party, since Lennie had died. But the invitations had gone out, and she couldn't call it off now. She went to change her blouse, grabbed her purse, and was gone to the car. Wal-Mart seemed as good a place to shop as any.

As she drove by Lennie's house, she saw something that caused her heart to skip a beat. Two county police cars were there in the driveway, but she saw no policemen. They were probably inside sifting for evidence. Sifting for evidence! That was more than she had done! She had rushed in, gave the place a once-over, and still found incriminating evidence, and left! If the police stay there awhile, sifting for evidence, there was no telling what they would find!

Evidence of what? The Judge? Did they realize that he was missing yet?

No, Lennie was dead, so they were looking for phone numbers of next of kin, so they could notify them that Lennie was dead. Lennie had nothing of value, other than the house, and it was run-down. Why would distant relatives even care if he was dead?

She drove on past Lennie's house, trying not to seem too interested, in case someone was watching. She had to wonder what they were finding. Anything that involved her? She had already destroyed the camera cards she had taken from there, and had disposed of the camera. But what if there were more camera cards? What if, . . . what if . . . She was going to have to stop this! The worry was going to eat her alive.

Then another thought came to mind. Should she flee the country? If she did, she would look guilty of something, wouldn't she? No, not necessarily, because she traveled all the time. Maybe she should buy a ticket and stay out of the country for awhile, to see what was going to happen. And if evidence did pop up that pointed to her, then she would just stay out of the country, for an extended vacation. She could occasionally call Travis to see what was going on, and see if it was safe to come home.

Or would they find incriminating evidence on Travis too? He had helped her, so that made him an accomplice, even though he didn't do anything. He just released her from the handcuffs, and offered advice, so how could he be tied in?

The phone calls! There were records of all phone calls, that could be retrieved from the phone company, if there was good reason. And a missing Federal Judge was probably a good reason. She remembered calling Travis' house, and his place of employment, from the Judge's house, and that by itself was enough to tie him into the conspiracy! I might call home from overseas and find that Travis is in jail because of me! She thought about this for a moment and concluded, better him than me! Yeah, he could probably take care of himself in prison, better than I could. She remembered what Lennie told her once, regarding the possibility of her going to prison. Miranda, they gonna' mess you up in prison! Some powerfully chilling words from a mental midget, but Lennie was, if anything, honest.

So now the dilemma was, go to Wal-Mart, or visit her travel agent to sign up for a trip? She would decide by the time she got to town.

Sat.u.r.day morning they got up and loaded the bus for Dover. The English countryside was beautiful. Mostly grain crops filled the vast, rolling hills, but occasionally they pa.s.sed a vineyard. All the vineyards seemed to be relatively new, so Travis asked Fred about it.

"Yes, they are new vineyards. English wines are quickly getting into the markets of Europe."

"You don't hear much about English wines, just about ales and beers, of which I think I had a few pints too many last night."

"So did I. Actually there is a story about English wine. The reason you have not traditionally heard of them is because for the past 650 years, the English were incapable of producing wine simply because of the weather. The Isles had a climate that was just about three degrees too cold to grow grapes."

"So the climate has changed?"

"Yes, for the past 20 years or so the Isles have been slowly warming, and about 10 years ago, wine enthusiasts realized that they could once again grow grapes, so they wasted no time in planting vineyards."

"You say 'once again'? Could they grow grapes here before?"

"Oh yes! According to historical records, the main export from the Isles in the year 1350 was wine! So that means that sometime in the past 650 years, the climate of England has cooled. Not much, but when talking about grape production, a swing of 3 or 4 degrees is all it takes to either grow grapes, or not grow grapes."

"So Global Warming is good for wine producers?"

"This global warming theory that we hear so much about is rubbish! The fluctuation of temperatures is a natural thing. According to ice cores drilled from glaciers in Europe, the climate has fluctuated many times in the past 10,000 years, causing some border-line crops like grapes, to go in and out of popularity. I also read that during the Roman occupation of England, in the 1st and 2nd centuries, that English wine was especially good, and was exported to Rome itself, because it was highly favored over Italian and French wines of the time. And today French and Italian wines are highly favored."

"So because of the changing climate, England is once again becoming a wine producing country?"

"Yes, at least southern England, where we are now. The warm favorable waters from the Gulf Stream is causing the slight change. Another favorite drink of the Isles is mead. It is a wine-liquor made from honey. It is a very sweet, but pleasant drink. I bought a bottle in London. I will share it at our farewell dinner tonight in Dover."

"I see that Dr. Foust made it back last night."

"Yes, he is in the back of the bus, sulking."

"I a.s.sume he didn't catch up with Donna?"

"No, and he is almost burned out from trying," Fred chuckled. "I knew it would happen. He has worried himself sick, trying to control the kids on this trip, after I tried to tell him no to do it. He has let his worry totally ruin a nice trip to England. He is a nervous wreck right now, back there half sleeping, and half decompressing from the tremendous pressure he has put on himself. I would not be surprised if he never goes on another school sponsored trip." Fred leaned closer to Travis and whispered, "At least I hope not, because he has been a real party killer for me too! I worry more about his mental state, than those kids!"

"You don't seem to let it worry you too much."

"Nah! I have had a great week here. I love going on these school trips. It keeps me young. How about you?"

"I have enjoyed it, but I've done more work than touring the country. I have one more book signing in Dover today, and then I am done. I just hope all this translates to book sales back at home. I am close to sealing a deal on my second book as well."

"Great! I am pleased that things are going so well for you."

As they reached the coastline, north of Dover, they could see the white chalk cliffs of Dover looming in the distance. Lois marveled at the white cliffs. "When I was a girl in California, I remember reading newspaper articles about British bomber pilots flying missions over Germany. Every time they went up, they never knew if they were going to make it back. Some planes were damaged, and they limped back, barely able to stay in the air. But if they could get close enough to see the white cliffs of Dover, they knew that, even if they went down, at least they would be back home. I have always remembered that, and thought how comforting those cliffs must have looked to them. And now, I am seeing those same white cliffs for myself! A sight that I never thought I would see."

As they neared Dover castle, they were pointed to an old Roman lighthouse on the sh.o.r.e near it. Fred explained, "The lighthouse was kept lit with fire wood, which had to be constantly carried up the tower, which itself seems a monumental task to me."

"Where did they get all the wood to burn?" someone asked. "I don't see any trees."

"That's probably why." Someone else said. "They cut them all down to burn in the lighthouse!"

"That is exactly what happened," Fred said. "The British isles used to be covered with ma.s.sive oak trees, I am told, but over-harvesting has left the Isles virtually bare. Back before the widespread use of coal, trees were cut down and burned to produce charcoal, which in turn was used to fire blacksmiths forges, and heat in the winter, and timbers for ship-building. In fact, when the English realized that coal made a much better fuel than wood, it sparked the Industrial Revolution, which in turn, made Great Britain a world power. We will tour the Roman lighthouse, then in about an hour, we will meet back at our bus for the tour of Dover Castle."

Lois was dismayed when she saw all the walking that was going to be required to reach the castle. "I think I'll just stay with the bus, and wait on the rest of you to get back."

"No, you shouldn't do that!" the bus driver said. "They have motorized wheelchairs here for those who can't get around well. Would you like me to go get you one, Mum?"

"No, I don't want to be any trouble."

"It's no trouble, Mum! I'll be right back!"

"Someone tell him that I am not an invalid! I don't need a wheelchair!"

"You don't have to be an invalid to ride a wheelchair." Travis said. If you don't want it, I'll ride it!"

"You're not crippled either!"

"You don't have to be crippled, Mom, just get on the thing and ride!"

"I don't even drive a car. How can I drive a contraption like that?"

"It's the easiest thing in the world. Here he comes already." The bus driver was driving the wheelchair, which looked more like a scooter. When Lois saw it, she was adamant. "I can't drive that thing!"

"Yes you can. The driver will show you how."

"Here you are, Mum! Come sit down right here. It steers like a bicycle, but you don't have to peddle, and you don't have to worry about it falling over. You go forward by turning the hand grip forward, and reverse by turning it back. You don't turn it either way, and it stops. Nothing could be easier!"

"Okay, I'll try it."

Soon she had gotten the hang of it, and was zooming back and forth in the parking lot, jeering those slow-pokes who still depended on bi-peddle motivation to get around. It was clear that she was enjoying her new freedom. "I am going to have to get me one of these things when I get back home!"

While Lois was pushing the limits of her new-found toy, and becoming a menace on the sidewalks, the rest of the group went to explore the old lighthouse and a small adjoining museum, containing relics found there. Afterward, they climbed the hill to Dover Castle.

As they climbed, Fred explained the European mind-set of castle building in the Middle Ages. "As you can see, Dover castle is an imposing structure. Imagine how it must have looked to people in the Middle Ages? Castles are usually thought of as defensive structures, but in fact, they were considered to be more offensive structures. If your enemy builds a castle on the border next to you, it means he has a forward position from which to launch an attack deep into your territory at any time. Any territory that was within a couple days march of a castle was vulnerable. It would be like the Russians sending an aircraft carrier off the coast of Los Angeles. It would have the potential to attack and threaten anything within the range of the planes based on the carrier. A castle was a safe haven for a standing army, and to build a castle too near your neighbor was considered an act of aggression."

Travis had never been to an authentic English castle, so this one was fascinating to him. Inside the main keep, which was the last line of defense from attacking enemies, he saw names and dates scratched on the walls from the 1500's, no doubt from bored soldiers once stationed there.

"I wonder if it's haunted?" Audrey asked.

"All old castles are haunted," Fred said, "Some to greater degrees than others."

When they got back to the bus, they discovered that Donna had caught back up with them. She was bubbling over with excitement from her adventure, and was eager to tell the other girls about her cool night with her new British friends. Dr. Foust was not back from the castle yet, so there was time for Fred to give her a little warning. "Donna, let me fill you in. Steve is very up-set that you left the way you did last night. You know how he is, so don't take it personally when he gets here and wants to bawl you out. He's close to having a breakdown, and seeing you right now might send him over the edge."

"I don't care what he says! He's not my dad!"

"Let's not be confrontational. We are going to our bed and breakfast now, to stow our things, before going to lunch. Go ahead and get on the bus, and sit in the back. Don't let Steve know you are back yet. We'll break it to him gradually."

She had a vulgar comment about that, which brought laughs and snickering from her friends, and Fred just shook his head. "Kids! Who understands kids these days?" Donna and her friends got on the bus, as Dr. Foust appeared from the restroom. He had the countenance of a man on deathwatch.

"How are we going to explain this to her parents, Fred?"

"Explain what, Steve?"

"The fact that we lost their daughter? They are going to hold us responsible, you know that, don't you?"

"You mean Donna?"

"Of course! Who else have we lost?"

"We didn't lose her, Steve. She is 18, and she made the conscious decision to depart from the group. She said she would join us here in Dover."

"So where is she? We are in Dover, and where is she? Does she know where we are staying? Did the little tramp even take the time to find out where we are staying? No, she just called and said she was leaving!"

"Things will work out, Steve. Trust me! Things will look a lot better after you have had lunch."

"That's what you said about breakfast!"

"Just get on the bus, and we'll talk about it. And sit up front! We need to discuss a few things."

As they got on the bus, someone asked what they were having for lunch.

"A choice of chicken or mutton."

"What's mutton."

"I think it's sheep."

That didn't sound appetizing to Travis. He had already seen how the English could ruin chicken, and he thought chicken was one meat that anyone could get right. He didn't even want to try the mutton. His observation so far, was that folks didn't come to England for the food. Fish and chips were unbelievably greasy, and the blood pudding? He did not even consider that to be a food. As he was getting on the bus, he saw a familiar car pull up beside the bus. It was Angel. Travis went to see why she was there.

"I came to escort you to your book signing, of course!"

"I could have taken a taxi."

"Our #1 selling author taking a taxi? I think not! Get in, and we will be on our way!"

"But we haven't even been to our bed and breakfast, so I don't even know where we are staying yet."