Authors: Tim Tingle
“Oh.”
The waitress returned with the coffee pot, and re-filled their cups.
“Thank you,” Miranda said. When she had left again, Miranda asked, “What were we talking about when she interrupted?”
“You were talking about cutting up the body, to make it easier to move.”
“Yes, that’s right. It was easy to cut, because it was still frozen. I was able to get him all into the freezer, and cover him with other things. But I still didn’t know what to do with the pieces, until I saw the opportunity to hide them under the gravel in the bottom of the pool. So you saw me putting them there, because you were watching my house, because you were afraid those bad men would come back at night?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thank you for caring about my safety. It worked pretty well, putting the pieces under the pool. Hopefully, now he will never be found. But that brings up another problem. With him being a
Federal
Judge
, it is sure to cause a stir when his wife gets back, and she can’t find him. The police, and the FBI will be turning over every rock to find him. Since we are his neighbors, they will naturally ask us if we saw or heard anything unusual regarding the Judge. All we have to do is just stay calm, and say we haven’t seen or heard a thing from him in weeks. If we don’t raise any suspicions, they will go ask their questions elsewhere. No one will ever find the Judge. It will go down as an unsolved mystery, which is for the best.”
“So the Judge will just disappear?”
“He
has
to,
Lennie. Otherwise, it will look like I killed him, which I didn’t! But with suspicious circumstances, and him being a Federal Judge, they are going to want someone to blame it on. Know what I mean? I hate that he died, and I hate that the circumstances fell like they did, and I hate that I had to cut him up and hide him like I did, but you can understand
why
I did it, can’t you, Lennie? Can’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you agree that there was nothing else I could do, under the circumstances?”
“I dunno.”
“This is important to me, Lennie. I have to know that my ‘bestist’ friend understands and supports what I did. Otherwise, we can’t really be friends.”
“We can’t?”
“No, we can’t! I have to know that I can trust you to help me keep my secrets, so that nobody will ever find out what I did. Can you do that, Lennie?”
“Uh-huh. I can do that.”
“Do you promise?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Cross your heart, and hope to die?”
“I promise, Miranda. I won’t tell nobody.”
“Even when the police come around asking questions, because sooner or later they
will
come around asking questions. You have to stand firm, and not tell them anything about what I had to do, because they wouldn’t understand. Their only thought is to blame it on someone, and to them, it doesn’t matter who, as long as they can say they solved the case.”
“Don’t worry, Miranda, I won’t say anything about you. I’ll tell ‘em that I killed the Judge, and then they won’t be lookin’ at you!”
“You would do that for me, Lennie?”
“Uh-huh. Doctor says I gonna’ die anyway, so there ain’t nothin’ they can do to me, ‘cept yell at me!”
“You really are the bestist friend I have ever had, Lennie! Let’s hope it never comes to that. Let’s hope that they can’t find the Judge, and give up looking, and neither one of us get blamed for it. But if they do get to asking questions, and you tell them that you killed him, do you know what else you would have to say to them?”
“I’ll just tell ‘em that I killed the Judge, and not you!”
“See, now that’s what you don’t want to do. You don’t want to mention, or even
hint
at
anything to do with me. Just tell them that you did it, but stop right there. One slip of the tongue, and I will be implicated in this. So if you are going to take the blame, then you need to have your story all planned out in advance.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you do. You need to have an answer for every question they ask. Questions like : Why did you kill him? How did you kill him? What did you do with the body? You need to have a believable answer for every question they ask.”
“That sounds hard. A lot of stuff to remember!”
“No, not really. I can coach you as to what to say, if you can remember what I tell you.”
“I’ll try, Miranda, because I want to stay your friend.”
“And I want to stay your friend, but we can’t if you don’t protect me. I am depending on you, Lennie, to be my friend, and keep me out of jail.”
“Don’t worry, Miranda. I’ll make sure you don’t get no blame.”
“You really are my bestist friend, Lennie!”
T
ravis became easily nauseated on the bus ride from London to the Salisbury Plains. The rolling hills was like roller coaster ride through the English countryside. And on top this, they were driving on the
wrong
side
of
the
road!
He just knew that any moment they were going to top a hill and meet an eighteen-wheeler head on! But fortunately, everyone there drove on the wrong side of the road, so it seemed to work out. But that didn’t keep him from closing his eyes when topping a hill.
The ruins of Stonehenge were right out in the wide open Salisbury Plains, with nothing within sight but green grass, and a lonely road. There was a parking space on the opposite side of the road from the ruins, and a small Heritage Site museum, and tourist information about the ruins. Once they had visited the restrooms, Dr. Foust called them together as a group to walk through the tunnel under the highway, to visit the actual ruins. Lois was concerned about all the steps required to get there, but Mrs. Parker assured her that they would take their time, and make it just fine, even if they had to let the rest of the group go on ahead.
An asphalt walking trail circled the ruins, and sign advised them to not leave the trail, but it seemed that no one else was obeying the signs, so neither did they. They took several pictures with the giant stones, and marveled at how ancient people could have moved them from several miles away.
Fred asked, “I wonder what kind of things the first archaeologists found when they dug here?”
“And I wonder if there was any surviving record of what they found,” Travis added, “Because the first Archaeologists probably dug here in the 1800’s. Maybe even earlier, and they were not as systematic as archaeologists today. Most of them were just relic hunters.”
Everyone was thrilled to see Stonehenge first hand, but for such a heralded site, it was small and simple. In fifteen minutes they had marveled, and inspected every detail, and were ready to go. It was a curiosity, but beyond that, there was not much to see.
They were on the road again, to Salisbury Cathedral, and lunch at a local restaurant. But looking at the time, Travis realized that he was going to have no time for lunch, because he had to be down the road in Manchester at noon, and he was told it would take an hour to get there. He had no choice but to leave the group in Salisbury, and taxi to Manchester, to make his appointment.
The taxi made good time, and he arrived at the Manchester Borders Book Store at 11:45, but again, this was not early enough to suit Mr. Dempsey, who was his Jester contact in Manchester. If the man had had any hair, he would have already pulled it out.
“Mr. Lee, I am so glad to see you! There must have been some miscommunication, because I was told you would be here at 11:00.”
“Well, I was told to be here at noon, so by my watch, I am early.”
“There is no time to waste! Let me show you to your set-up. The line is already backed up out the door!”
“All these people are here to see me?”
“Yes! They heard the news that the Queen had personally acquired a book from you yesterday, and now, everyone wants a copy of your book!”
“You don’t say.”
“Yes! Now right this way! We must begin signing books right away.”
As a result of having run late again, Travis had no time to call Janice, or eat lunch. He grabbed a couple cookies and a soft drink from the refreshment table, and sat down at a table beside a mountain of his books. He smiled at the elderly man who was the first in line, and prepared to turn on his Alabama charm. The Brits seemed to like his Southern Drawl, so he made a conscious effort to exaggerate it a bit. Not enough to seem phony, but certainly more of a drawl than he normally used. And he liked his British fans, because, generally speaking, Brits were more of a reading public than most Americans, and they appreciated the written word. If he became a famous writer, it would not be because of the American readers, but because of the British.
The afternoon hours flew by, as he enjoyed meeting his fans, answering questions, and telling them American jokes, and tid-bits of Southern culture. About 4 p.m. he looked up to see Fred Cunningham next in line.
“Fred! What are you doing here?”
“The whole group is here, including your mother and son. We finished our tour of Manchester Cathedral, and thought we would stop in to see what the fuss was all about! We thought it was the Queen Mother, or one of the Beetles signing autographs. Turn’s out to be just another Alabama Red Neck!”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Seriously, we knew this was your crowd. My, what a turnout!”
“I have been signing my ass off since before noon, and the crowd just gets bigger.”
“But the line is moving well. We have been here for 30 minutes. Here, when you sign my copy, write the date, and Manchester, England.”
“There you go.”
“About half our group is in line behind me to get a copy. Do you think you will be finished up here by 5 or so? If you are, you can ride the bus back to London with us.”
“I doubt it. The manager is anticipating a big ‘after-work’ crowd this evening. I could be here signing books until the 8 p.m. closing time. Jester Books is supposed to be responsible for getting me back to London this evening.”
“Then I guess we will see you later.”
Travis saw his mother and Drew standing in the front of the store. His mother was taking pictures of his huge crowds. She seemed pleased at the success her son was enjoying. He signed copies for more members of his group, then they were gone, back to London.
An hour or so later, a news reporting crew from a local Manchester TV station set up to one side of his table, under the direction of the store manager. They began filming him from the side of his table, as he continued to sign books.
“We are reporting live from the Borders Book Store in downtown Manchester, where, as you can see behind me, the #1 best-selling American author, Travis Lee is presently signing his smashing new book, ‘The Relic’. The store manager says that this line you are seeing has been out the door all day! Because of this, we have been told that the business hours have been extended this evening from 8 to 10 p.m., to allow more Manchester residents the opportunity to come, meet the author, and get an autographed copy of his book.”
The news of the expanded hours caught Travis’ attention. He was of the impression that the signing would end at 6 or 6:30 at the latest, or perhaps closing time at 8. But the sudden news that he would be here until 10 was not good news. He suddenly realized how tired and hungry he was, and the manager had not even hinted that take a break. He was being taken advantage of, and he didn’t like it. He continued to smile and greet his fans, but his patience was certainly wearing thin. And it was at exactly this moment when the reporter shoved the microphone in his face and asked: “Mr. Lee, to what do you attribute the phenomenal success of your book?”
It was a bad time to ask him such a question. Stinging sarcasm was all that came to mind, but fortunately he bit his tongue and smiled for a few seconds before answering, because he was in the middle of signing a book.
“Thank you, ma-am!” he said, as he closed the book and handed it back to her. Then, looking up into the lens of the camera, he made a statement that was entirely off the top of his head, but would be quoted for years thereafter in literary circles, and would secure him a place in the annals of British literary history.
The crowd roared when they heard it, and the reporter was at a loss for words, but finally gathered himself and replied, “Well, there you have it! Straight from the horse’s mouth! If that doesn’t make you want to rush out and buy a copy of his book, then nothing will! I intend to have my copy before I leave here today!”
Travis himself couldn’t believe what he had just heard himself say. He looked around and saw the shocked Mr. Dempsey. “Do you think it’s time I took a break?”
“Yes, I would say that it is definitely time for a break, Mr. Lee!” Then, to the crowd, “Mr. Lee will take a quick ten minute break, then will return to sign more copies of his new book! Please hold your places in line, and he will be right back!”
As Travis headed for the back of the store, he asked, and was told where to find the water closet. He spent half of his ten minute break on the toilet, trumpeting out the gas he had fought so hard to hold in during his signing. He certainly hoped no one else came in while he was still here, because the smell was sure to knock them for a loop. He hoped the exhaust fan could clear it out before
he
passed out.
He flexed his writing hand, and ran cold water over it in the sink, and massaged the sore hand muscles that until now, he didn’t even know that he had. With four minutes left on his break, he emerged from the water closet, and accepted an ice cold beer from a store attendant. “A bit tiring, eh, Mr. Lee?”
“You can say that again.” He chugged the beer, then grabbed a couple more cookies, and a cold Coca-Cola. He figured the sugar rush would do him good, as he headed back to his table.
He signed books for two more hours, and then took another break, during which time he saw Angel talking to the manager. He wondered what she was doing so far from London. Seeing him on break, she came to speak to him.
“My, my! But aren’t we getting to be popular! Hello Travis!”