Letter to Belinda

by Tim Tingle

  “Okay, I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Janice hung up, and Rebecca couldn’t wait to start in on her. “You didn’t say anything about you being hauled in for questioning about Penelope! I can’t believe how you just worked your way all around the subject, without telling him that you were involved!”

  “Watch and learn, Rebecca! I spared Travis the worry. He will find out about it soon enough, so there was no need to tell him now. I’m sure there is a few things he’s not telling me too, but I’ll find out about those things later too. They will cancel themselves out. They always do.”

  * * *

  “Everything okay at home?” Lois asked. “I heard you say something about ‘how did that happen’?”

  “Bob Deason was killed in a house fire. His daughter was arrested for murder and arson.”

  “My goodness! Your father used to commute to work with Bob Deason!”

  “I know.”

  “And I didn’t even know that he had a daughter!”

  “A lot of people didn’t know that. But she was arrested, according to Janice.”

  “I wonder if Chester has heard about it?”

  “I’m sure he has, if he’s at home. Aside from that, I guess everything is same as usual at home. Listen, I’m going to catch up with Drew, to make sure he stays out of trouble. Be back soon.”

  “I’m going to bed.”

  * * *

  As Travis walked up the street to Benny’s Pub, a man hurried past him that he recognized as Dr. Foust.

  “Where you headed, Steve?” Dr. Foust stopped and came back.

  “Mr. Lee! Did you happen to see Donna come by here with two guys?”

  “No I didn’t, but . . .”

  “I simply have to find her! She is being so stupid! So stupid . . . !” He was hurrying away as he talked, leaving Travis to wonder what was going on. He shrugged it off and went on to Benny’s.

  Inside he found most of their group already there, and everyone was congregated and drinking merrily. He was about to join them when he saw the Professor from Speaker’s Corner waving him over, so he went to see him first. He ordered a round of beers for the professor, and three friends already there.

  “Travis, you must meet some of my friends! These are colleagues from the University. I was telling him about the glorious tales from your childhood in Alabama! You simply must tell them the one about the opossum in the post box! It is delightful!”

  “I would be glad to, but first let me go see my son. He is here with the rest of our group.”

  “Yes, I thought I recognized him there in the company of a pretty young lady.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He took his pint of Murphy’s and went to join his group, and realized there was a buzz of excitement. Most of the college kids were already drunk, including Nikki. Drew and Audrey were drinking coke.

  “Hey Dad! Did you hear what happened?”

  “No, what?”

  “Remember Donna, the girl that Nikki told us we shouldn’t be hanging out with?”

  “Yes, vaguely.”

  “The word is, she met a couple of Jewish guys at the bar, and she left with them. But before she left, she called Dr. Foust and told him that she wouldn’t be on the bus in the morning. She had met British friends, and was going to party with them, and that she would meet us in Dover tomorrow.”

  “Were those a couple of guys she knew before tonight?”

  “No! Perfect strangers!”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “No, it’s not!” Nikki said. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen to me. I was hoping Dr. Foust would get here before she left, but she was already gone when he got here.”

  Travis shook his head. “That was really stupid, to leave with strangers. We might not ever see her again.”

  “Tell me about it! Dr. Foust got here a couple of minutes after she left, and he was almost out of his mind, he was so upset! He dashed out into the night to find her, but there’s not much chance of that.”

  “Yeah, I just saw him pass me on the street, and he did ask me something about Donna, but I didn’t know what was going on. In his state of mind, this could tip him over the edge.”

  “Yes, we might never see him again either! I called Fred to tell him what happened, but he said there was nothing he could do. As long as she is 18, she can do what she wants. Fred is on the way here now, to stop Dr. Foust, but of course he is long gone.”

  “There is Dr. Cunningham.” Drew said.

  Travis called out to him. “Fred, let me buy you a beer!”

  “Sure thing! Is Steve already gone?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Well, I hate that.”

  “You don’t sound too concerned.”

  “I’m not. I learned long ago that you can’t control college kids. They are going to do stupid things. Now Steve is gone out on the city, and is going to run himself ragged looking for her. And Lord help us, the ugly scene he will cause if he does catch up with her! I hate that she left like she did, but that was her decision.”

  “You’re not going out to find Steve?”

  “Hell no! The stupidity has to stop somewhere! This cold beer looks like a good place to start!”

  “Listen, I have some British friends over here that want to hear tales about America. Want to join in?”

  “Sounds good to me. Come on kids, this could be fun!”

  Travis introduced everyone, and they started telling tales. It turned into a long, enjoyable evening of tales back and forth. Even some of the college kids got into the action, by telling their own tales. The beer added up, and Travis was feeling good, but he knew that the next day was going to be rough.

  * * *

  All day Thursday Miranda was at home, watching her new pool fill with water, and contemplating her life. She was also waiting on that inevitable knock on her door, which would be the police, wanting to ask a few more questions about the accident that took Lennie’s life. What kinds of questions would they ask?

  ‘Mrs. Monroe, just how well did you know Lennie Kellerman?’

  And she answered these imagined questions audibly, because she reasoned that it would be good practice to ‘rehearse’ the answers, so see if they sounded believable.

  “I didn’t know him well. He was just the retarded 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 hid
den 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.

  * * *

  Saturday 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 passed 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 assume 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 Do
ver, 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 shore 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 massive 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?”