Letter to Belinda

by Tim Tingle

  Travis sighed with relief. There was just something about being around Angel that made him tense, and it was a relief to get away from her. The door man opened the door for him, and he went straight up to his room, to see what they wanted to do with what was left with the evening. What he found, was his Mom about to go to bed.

  “What are you doing? It’s only 8:30. I thought we might go out and see London at night.”

  “But I am bone tired, Travis, and my back is hurting. I did a lot more walking than I’m used to. Mrs. Parker and I stayed in the museum all day, and I am worn out! But I had a very good time.”

  “Where is Drew?”

  “He went out with the girls.”

  “What girls?”

  “The girls who came on this trip with us.”

  “You let Drew go out on the town with a group of college girls? Mom, what were you thinking?” (He could envision a video entitled ‘Girls Gone Wild-London Edition’, with a smiling Drew right in the middle of it.)

  “I was thinking he might have a good time.”

  “I’m sure he will! Would you have let me go out like that when I was 17?”

  “Don’t worry! They have a chaperone with them. Nikki said she would keep a close eye on them.”

  “On fourteen college girls? She can’t possibly keep up with them all.”

  “I didn’t say they all went. Just five or six, including that girl that Drew is kind of sweet on. What’s her name?”

  “Audrey?”

  “Yes, Audrey. Nikki said they were just going to do some sidewalk shopping, and see the sights.”

  Bar-hopping, more like it, Travis thought, but if Nikki was with them, she wouldn’t let things get out of control. “Okay, I guess they’ll be all right.”

  “So, how did your book signing go? You are awfully late getting in! Have you been out cating around?”

  Wasn’t that just like his Mom? She let’s Drew go bar-hopping with a group of college girls, then gives him the 3rd degree for being late. “The book signing was over at eight. I probably signed over 700 books, and my writing hand is numb!”

  “Sounds like you did pretty well!”

  “It was incredible! Even before I got there, the line was backed up out the front door! It didn’t slack up all day! And oh yeah, you’ll never guess who the first one in line was!”

  “Who? Someone I know?”

  “Not personally, but someone you have heard of, I’m sure.”

  “Tell me. I’m too tired to guess.”

  “The Queen!”

  “What Queen?”

  “THE Queen! Queen Elizabeth II, the Queen of England!”

  In spite of her exhaustion, she laughed out loud. “Travis, Travis, Travis! What an imagination you have!”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Travis, I am sure the Queen has a lot more important things to do, than stand in line at a book store! No, I don’t believe you. Just like I didn’t believe that you sat beside Princess Diana last year when you went to Greece!”

  “That happened too!”

  “I’m too tired for this. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Travis felt as though he was being treated like a kid who had told a whopper of a lie. Back when he was 9 or 10 years old, he kept seeing a black bear in the woods around his house, but no one would believe him. Black bears just did not live in Central Alabama, everyone told him. He decided that he would have to kill the bear, to prove it existed. But at the time, he was not allowed to carry a gun bigger than a pellet gun, so he hunted the bear with a pellet gun, and finally saw it again. It was occupied with digging in a rotten log for grub worms, when he popped him with the pellet gun. The bear didn’t even feel it. He popped him again, and this time the bear felt it, because he scratched at the spot with his paw. He was pumping up his pellet gun for a third shot, when the bear heard him, and stood up on his hind legs and sniffed the air in his direction. Then the bear started running toward him. He dropped the pellet gun and ran to the nearest poplar tree, and shimmied up it fast as a squirrel. The bear stopped at the base of the tree and sniffed up toward him, then decided a tender little boy was probably a better treat than grub worms, and started climbing up the tree right behind him. Travis was terrified. He climbed higher in the tree, hoping that the bear was afraid of heights, but apparently he wasn’t. He kept right on coming! When he got to the slender tree-top, he could go no farther without risking the tree top breaking out, but the bear kept coming, so he pushed the limits, and the tree began to fall over, with the weight of the two of them. He was hoping he would fall into a pine tree, so he could grab the pine limbs, and leave the bear stranded on the poplar tree. But poplar trees are very brittle, and right before he was close enough to grab the pine limbs, there was a loud ‘SNAP’, and the entire tree-top broke out. He and the bear both cried out as they went crashing toward the ground. As soon as he hit the ground, he was up and running, and didn’t look back. A mile away, he realized he had a sprained ankle, and that the bear apparently did not pursue him. He limped on home with this fantastic tale of shooting this bear with his pellet gun, and how this bear had chased him up a tree, and the tree came crashing down, and that was how he got this sprained ankle.

  Incredibly, no one believed him. He was once again told that bears simply did not roam Central Alabama any more. No one had seen a bear here in over fifty years. He was dismissed as a kid with a rich imagination. But to him, it was like being called a liar, and it didn’t set well.

  Three months later, a bewildered deer hunter killed a black bear in those same woods. The hunter killed his bear. It made all the local newspapers, the hunter posing with his trophy. Yet no one thought to apologize to him for calling him a liar.

  That was the way he felt last year, when he flew from London to Paris sitting beside Princess Diana, and no one believed him. And now, his own mother didn’t believe he had the Queen at his book signing. What did he have to do? Shoot the Queen and pose with her for the cameras?

  “Where are you going, Travis?”

  “Out. To a pub called Benny’s. Don’t wait up for me.”

  26

  The three Lee boys had been in Laurel Grove, playing basketball with friends, and now, nearing lunch time, they were hitching a ride back home in the back of old man Pickett’s beat-up truck. Their neighbor, Mr. Pickett had been hauling goats to market, so the back of his truck was a tad smelly, but hitch-hikers could not be choosey. Joey was filling Calvin in on basically what they intended to do Wednesday night after the church play.

  “Okay, we are already going to have a truck, a real casket, and a ‘dead’ guy in the casket, which will be Chris here. Chris is playing Lazarus in the church play, so he will already be dressed like a mummy. All we have to do, is drive him around in the back of the truck, and show him to a few people. See, Chris will ride in the casket, like a dead person. We pull up to a place like the Dari Delite, which will be swarming with people after church, and ask if anyone wants to see a dead body. Of course, everyone will, so we tell them to gather around the truck, but be ready to be grossed out, because the body is pretty ripe. So everybody is gathered around, as we slowly raise the lid to the casket, and there is Chris, laying there like a dead person! While everybody is gawking at him, Chris starts to raise up out of the casket! We scream, ‘Everybody run, he’s alive!’ It will be great, because the girls will scream, and the guys will jump back all scared! It’ll be neat!”

  “Yeah! Sounds like a good Halloween prank!” Calvin said. “Why don’t we wait until Halloween night to do this?”

  “Are you kidding? Halloween is too far off! Besides, all our ducks will already be in a row to do it Wednesday night, after church. We’ll have a truck, the casket, and a legitimate reason to be out with both, and Chris will already be dressed up like a mummy! It’s perfect! All we got to do, is
make a few stops to ‘show him off’! No problem, nobody gets hurt! When we get back home, nobody will even know we did it, except us! It’ll be a great prank!”

  “Yeah, sounds good, and for once, I’m not going to be the guinea pig, Chris is!”

  “Yeah, see! That makes it even better!”

  “But we need to fix Chris up a little. Maybe put some fake blood on him, to make him look scary!”

  “Yeah, we can do that! Make him look really dead and gruesome. Won’t nobody get a real good look at him before he starts raising up, and by that time, everybody is going to be running for their lives!”

  “Yeah, sounds good! Hey look, a fire truck!” Calvin pointed to a truck that just passed them, headed back toward town. They looked back, to see the name ‘Arlington’ on the fire engine as it passed. “Wow, must have been a big fire, for the Arlington Fire Department to come help with it.”

  “Well, Laurel Grove only has one truck, and I wouldn’t count on them to put out a fire in a barrel!” Joey said, then added, “I wonder where the fire was?”

  “It had to be out where we live somewhere. Look! There comes another one!” They watched another fire truck pass. It was not in a hurry, so it had to be coming back from putting a fire out.

  “That one is from Montevallo! Wow, it must have been some fire. I wonder if Mom knows anything about it?”

  “If she doesn’t, she can call Mary. Mary keeps up with everything. Here’s our stop.” They banged on the top of the truck cab, and old man Pickett pulled over at their driveway. They piled out of the truck, thanked Mr. Pickett, and crossed the road, where Rebecca was waiting for them with her car. She had just come from her college summer school class, and had stopped to get the mail.

  “I thought you boys might want a ride to the house.”

  “Yeah, sure. Hey Rebecca, you know anything about a fire out this way?”

  “No, but I saw the trucks just pass. I was at the University all day, so I don’t know. At least we know it’s not at our house.” The three boys packed into the small car, and made the quarter mile ride home, then piled back out. They found their mother in the kitchen, with her hands clasped to her face, as though worried.

  “Hey Mom!” Joey said, “Do you know where the fire was out this way?”

  “Yes, I am afraid I do. Do you know Mr. Deason?”

  “You mean Bob Deason?”

  “Yes.”

  “His house burned to the ground this morning, . . . with him in it! I was watching it on the local news this afternoon.”

  “Wow. So he didn’t make it out alive?”

  Janice shook her head. “No, he didn’t. The news said a charred body was found inside. You kids go do your choirs.” As they left her, she continued to sit with her hands clasped over her nose and mouth, as though deep in thought. The news reports said that a body was found in the burned out house, but they gave no positive ID, though the assumption was that it was the owner, Bob Deason. The news also gave no cause of death, nor did it hint that the fire was anything other than an accident. But she knew that something was not right. The house going up in flames so soon after she and Penelope had been there was too much of a coincidence.

  And then she remembered the blood she had seen on Penelope’s clothes. I cut my finger, she had said, but she didn’t say it very convincingly, now that she thought about it. Did Penelope kill her Dad, then burn his house? If so, then I am an accomplice, because I took her over there to get her stupid Bible! Oh my god, what have I done? She wondered if she should call the police and tell them what she knew, but she was afraid to. She really needed to talk to Travis about this before she did anything. He had warned her not to help Penelope any more, and she promised that she wouldn’t. But she was too naïve. She was too eager to help. And now she realized that she may have helped Penelope commit murder and arson. Murder and arson! No, no, no! That can’t be right! Penelope would never have done that! She feared her father, and if he had somehow showed up there while she was there, she would simply run away! She wouldn’t MURDER him! But the blood? She said she cut her finger, but I don’t think so! God! What should I do?

  “Mom?”

  “What, Rebecca?”

  “Are you okay? I mean you seem to be really upset. Is it over that fire that killed Mr. Deason?”

  “No, I’m just missing your father! I wish he would call. I . . . I . . . I just wish he would call!”

  “But he just called yesterday, and he was fine, and things were going well.”

  “I know, but I still need to talk to him. I need to hear his voice. Is Stan coming over this evening?”

  “No, the fall practices have started. His first game against Vanderbilt will be in two weeks, So I won’t see much of him for awhile.”

  The boys returned from their room to make sandwiches for lunch, and the conversation ended.

  27

  The clerk at the hotel front desk gave him directions to Benny’s, which was simple enough, up a back ally two blocks from the hotel, in a section of the city where the buildings were all relatively new constructions. Relatively new meant that they were constructed since the Nazi German Blitz of 1940. It was a well lit place, and not crowded, at least not yet. When he entered, a bell rang, and everyone turned to look, but no one looked familiar, so he went straight to the bar and ordered a beer.

  “What will you have?”

  “Whatever is good.” Travis replied. He was not much of a drinker, especially beer, but he wanted to blend in.

  “They all be good! You think I serve inferior beer? Now what do you want?”

  He saw the name ‘Murphy’s’ on one of the taps and said, “How about a Murphy’s?”

  “Okay, if you’re into Irish ale.” He poured a pint and slid it down the counter to him. “One quid.”

  “And a quid is how much?”

  The bartender was about to give a sarcastic reply, when Travis heard his name mentioned behind him.

  “Mr. Travis Lee! How good to see you here! I was hoping you would come!”

  He turned to see the Professor, from Speaker’s Corner. “Professor Winthrop. I didn’t see you when I came in.”

  “I had to visit the water closet, but I am back now. Have you paid for that pint yet?”

  “I was about to.”

  “Don’t bother! Al, put his pint on my tab!”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come over to my table. Some of my friends are here already. Look alive, men! I want you meet a new friend of mine. This is Travis Lee, an American. He is, as we speak, the #1 best-selling fiction author in all the British Isles! I bought his book just today at his book signing at Borders!”

  “Hear, hear!”

  “Welcome, Mr. Lee!”

  “Please, call me Travis.”

  “Tell us about yer novel, Travis.”

  “It is titled ‘The Relic’, and it is my first published work, though I had a hell of a time getting it published!”

  That opened the door, and though Travis really didn’t want to be reminded of the whole mess, his eager audience clamored for him to tell them all about it. The entire publishing nightmare he had just gone through with Maple Leaf Publications, and its con-artist founder, Ron Fallon. This group, some of whom were aspiring writers themselves were riveted to the tales he told of a writer’s worst nightmare. But now the worst seemed to be over, as he told them about his meeting with Jester Books, and the possibility that they could publish his second book. He told them that he was making exactly zilch off his present best seller, because of that troublesome clause in his contract that allowed his publication rights to be sold off to Jester Books. But he intentionally left out the part about his arrangement to have pirated copies of his own book printed and circulated. He knew that this crowd would not respond favorably to an admission of literary piracy, even
if it was his own book. But he had a flurry of suggestions for what he should do, and it was exactly what he and Angel had already touched upon. One man said,

  “You should go to Jester Books, and remind them that you are the #1 best-seller in England, and if they want your second novel, then they had best be forkin’ over some royalty on yer present book!”

  “Aye!” said another. “You already have the best bargaining chip in the business! Ye can ask for whatever you bloody want, an’ they will give it ye!”

  “Strike while the iron is hot, they always say!”

  “Aye!” You got ‘em right where you want ‘em! Use yer new book as an enticing ‘carrot’ to dangle out in front of them, and you’ll get a strong bite, I’ll wager!”

  “Tis a good business move.”

  “I think you fellows might be right.” Travis said. “I think I will go to Mr. Bagley himself, instead of dealing with his daughter, and lay out just that scenario. You guys have clarified that in my mind. Thanks!”

  “Hey, that’s what we do! We solve the world’s problems, one bloomin’ sticker at the time!”

  “Next, we’ll tackle world peace!”

  This problem solved, the conversation moved to other things, as the ale continued to flow. Everyone was curious about what Travis’ life was like growing up in the deep South of the United States. Southern culture seemed to intrigue them, and they had certainly asked the right person. Travis had dozens of juicy tales to spin for them, about his life in the South, and cultural oddities that could only come from the lips of a red-neck from the backwoods of Alabama. Of course he took the liberty of embellishing some of the tales, to make them a bit more interesting to his audience, but they would never know it. Nor would they care, if they did know it, because of the way Travis told it. He kept them in stitches, laughing at the absurd things he had seen and done in Alabama. Like when he told them about the toys of his childhood.

  “When I was growing up, we were poor, like everyone else. We couldn’t afford store bought toys, so we just had to entertain ourselves as best we could. Sometimes that meant having a dead cat, and a string to swing it with! But one day my buddy Greg and I caught a live opossum . . .”