Mango Bob

A Walker Adventure

by Bill Myers

Mango Bob

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Myers. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form.

Version 2012.04.22

Author's website: http://www.mangobob

Facebook: www.facebook.com/MangoBob

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/BillMyersWrites

1

I never planned to live in a tent.

It was my attorney's idea. A way to cut costs. Save a little money, keep a low profile during the legal proceedings.

I'm not a criminal. Never needed a lawyer before. Just a law abiding citizen working for a living.

John Everett Walker. That's my name. Everyone who knows me calls me Walker.

People who don't know better sometimes call me Johnny Walker – like the whiskey. Not funny to me. It's either Walker or John.

Walker is preferred.

I'm not a tough guy. Usually don't need to be. At just shy of six feet and still lean from my days in Afghanistan, only a fool would pick a fight with me. Of course, there's no shortage of fools these days.

Back in the mountains of Afghanistan, I carried a gun and looked for trouble. These days I don't.

For the past seven years I've been in the corporate world. Working my way up the ladder.

Right now, I work for the Moreco company, a Boston based investment firm. They make their money buying and selling manufacturing plants.

I work at one of the plants they bought. The one in Conway Arkansas where they make brand name hand tools. Mostly wrenches and sockets sold at big box stores.

My job at Moreco's Conway plant is Computer Systems Manager. A fancy name for the person responsible for keeping the plant's computers up and running.

Shouldn't be a difficult job. Except it is.

Too many people at the plant using the company's computers to surf the web, update their Facebook status, search for porn.

And this causes problems. Mostly due to viruses and unauthorized programs installed by idiots.

That's when they call me. Day or night, when the computers go down, it's my job to get them back up running.

It's not my dream job. Not what I was trained to do. But at least it is a job. Something to be happy about in this sour economy.

They gave me a small office in the front of the plant. Nothing fancy. A cheap metal desk, several file cabinets, a laser printer, and three computers to monitor the networks.

It could be a lot worse. I could be working out on the plant floor. Where the giant hydraulic presses pound steel bars into hand-tools.

As I mentioned before, that's what the Conway branch of Moreco does – makes famous brand hand-held tools. The kind you probably have in your tool box at home.

Not many of these made in the US these days. Most of the manufacturers have moved to China. Because making those shiny wrenches and socket sets is a noisy, dirty and dangerous process.

It starts with rolls of heavy steel that are run through stamping presses to turn out tool blanks. The blanks are sent to the furnaces to be heat treated, followed by the acid soak, then polished in the sand tumbler, and then coated with toxic chromium oxide.

If all goes well, you end up with a tool set you can sell at a big box store for five dollars. But things don't always go well.

Get in the way of one of the carts hauling steel, stand too near a stamping press, forget your protective gear near the acid vats, and you'll be maimed or killed.

They tell us office types to stay off the plant floor. Too dangerous a place for just a casual stroll.

That's why a lot of these types of plants are moving off shore. Too many rules, regulations and safety laws to run this kind of operation in the US without eventually getting into trouble.

More about that later.

Like I said, the plant is located in Conway Arkansas. A small college town bordered by the Arkansas river to the south and the Ozark mountains to the north.

Interstate 40, the thousand mile artery of non-stop traffic running from the Atlantic ocean all the way to California cuts though the middle of town. This makes it an easy town to get to. Or to escape from.

I've only been here at the Conway plant three years. Although it seems like a lot more.

Before this, I was the computer systems manager for a fortune 500 company. The name of that one isn't important. But you'd recognize it if I told you.

I was happy there. Good pay, excellent benefits and nice people. Shouldn't have left. But I did. Reluctantly.

Moving to Conway was my wife's idea. We'd only been married three months when she told me I needed to quit the job I loved and move to Arkansas with her.

Her daddy was a land developer in Conway with lots of connections. And lots of empty houses. And she wanted to live closer to him.

She said her daddy offered her a high paying job and a new house we could live in for free if we moved to Conway.

I told her I was happy where we were. Didn't really want to move. She said I didn't understand. It was either move to Conway or she was going to leave me.

Looking back, I should have let her go. Should have said, “Go ahead, I'm staying here.”

But I didn't. And that's how I ended up in Arkansas. And after three years of being here, I ended up living alone in a tent along the Arkansas river.

2

When you live in Arkansas and work at a tool plant, you drive a pickup truck. Usually a four wheel drive. Not that you need four wheel drive. It doesn't snow much this far south.

But the locals believe there's no sense in having a truck if it doesn't have four wheel drive. So everyone drives a four by four. Including me.

Mine is a Toyota Tacoma double cab. White with tan interior. Bought it new, and it's taken me places you'd never expect to go in a pickup truck.

And that's where all this 'living in a tent' got started. At my truck.

See, it was lunch time at the plant and I was in the parking lot heading toward my truck when a stranger, clipboard in hand, approached.

Thought the guy was going to ask me to sign a petition. Or perhaps give me a humanitarian of the year award.

No such luck.

“John Everett Walker?”

Since only a few people know my full name, I'm figuring this means trouble.

“Yep, that's me.”

He nods toward my truck, “Nice truck. Ever think about selling it?”

I've been asked this before. “No, not interested in selling. Had it since new, pretty much plan to keep it.”

“Well if you decide to sell, give me a call.” He hands me a sheet of paper.

As I reach to take it, he says, “You've been served”, and hands me a folder of documents.

I shake my head in disgust. “You like doing this?”

“No, not really. But someone's got to do it. Don't take it personal.”

I shake my head and turn toward my truck.

“Wait. I've got something here from your wife. She said to give it to you after you were served.”

He was holding a white envelope.

3

I put the papers in my truck and open the envelope from my wife.

Inside there's a typed page with the following message:

Walker,

It was good while it lasted, but now it's time to go our separate ways.

Please review with your attorney, and let's get this resolved quickly.

My attorney says we shouldn't contact each other until this is over. So if you call, I won't answer.

I'm trying to make this as painless as possible.

You're a good man, and I'm better for knowing you.

Vicki

She's divorcing me.

You'd think I'd be shocked about this. But surprisingly, I'm not. Even before we were married, I was pretty sure it wouldn't last long. She just wasn't the kind of girl that took 'till death due us part' seriously.

I probably shouldn't of married her. But in my defense, she was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen, she was interested in me, and marriage, even a short one, didn't seem like such a bad deal at the time.

Of course, that's 'love is blind' thinking on my part. It happens to all of us sooner or later.

And now she's ending it.

She's been out of town on a business trip with her father for a week. And apparently she'd used that opportunity to work with an attorney to set this up. Good for her.

As far as I'm concerned, if she doesn't want to be married any more, I'm not going to force her to be.

My only problem is I don't have an attorney. But as it turns out, right across the street from where I'm sitting is a huge billboard advertising 'Bobby Poole, Attorney at Law'.

I pull out my cell phone. Dial his number.

He answers on the third ring. No secretary to take messages or screen his calls. This makes me wonder. But hey, I've got him on the line so I tell him about the process server and the papers.

He says “My schedule's open for the next hour. If you can come over now, I'll take a look.”

Apparently he's not busy at the moment. I don't know if that's good or bad. But it works for me. It's my lunch hour. I figure what better way to spend it than with an attorney.

Bobby Poole's office is about three miles across town. In the Paradise shopping plaza. It's a part of town most law abiding people avoid. On the wrong side of the tracks, as they say.

When I arrive, it's clear the Paradise shopping plaza has seen better days. Boarded up store fronts, empty beer cans and wine bottles, broken glass in the parking lot. Not the kind of place you'd want to take a date.

The Poole law office is sandwiched between a bail bond service and a pawn shop. Both have signs saying, “remove mask and leave guns outside before entering.”

Luckily I've left my mask and gun at home today.

OK, that's a joke. I don't own a mask. And my gun is safely locked up at home.

4

According to his billboard, Bobby Poole is known as “Bobby the Bulldog.”

He's the guy guilty people call when they get caught. I find out later he's known as a 'fixer' by local drug dealers and gang bangers. He 'fixes' their legal problems. Using every trick in the book. Some legal. Some not so legal.

The local cops pretty much hate his guts. None of this is my problem. Yet.

I open the door to Bobby's storefront. My first impression is not good. A real dump. Worn out furniture and the place smells like the inside of a down and out casino.

A receptionist desk, but no receptionist. A row of beat up plastic chairs line the wall. The carpet has a permanent furrow leading to the back office. Imagine the DMV office without the charm.

My office back at the plant is nicer. Not as big, but definitely smells better.

Thinking about my job at the plant reminds me I won't have my office much longer. Corporate management has decided to relocate the plant to Mexico.

No one is happy about this. Including me.

I'll be out of a job in two weeks. The wife knows this. Probably why she filed for divorce now. If she get's the divorce, she won't have to support me.

As I push open the door to the Poole law firm, a bell announces my arrival. A short balding man sticks his head out of the back room.

“You the one just called about getting served?”

“Yeah, that's me.”

He walks over to greet me, “Bobby Poole at your service.”

I ask, “So how does this work? What do you charge?”

Poole smiles, “First 20 minutes is free. After that, it's $200 an hour. Pay by credit card or cash.”

“So what's it going to cost total?”

“It depends on what we're dealing with. Could be less than five hundred dollars, could be a lot more. I'll have a better idea after I see the papers.”

He points to the folder in my hand, “Let's me see.”

Bobby flips through the papers, then says, "Good news. You haven't murdered anyone, aren't on America's most wanted list, and haven't sold crack to an undercover police officer.”

Apparently this is a relief to him. Maybe that's the kind of cases he normally deals with.

He continues, “Your wife is seeking a divorce. Let me make a call, get the details.”

He picks up the phone, punches in a few numbers. “Sally, this is Bobby Poole. Is Howard in? This is about the Walker divorce.”

Bobby smiles and gives me a thumbs up.

After a few seconds of silence, Bobby starts speaking, “Howard, you got a minute to go over the Walker divorce?”

“Kids? Alimony?

"Any property to divide up?

"Any debt?

"No kidding?

"She want anything else?

"Yeah, that's pretty sweet. I'll let you know.”

Bobby hangs up the phone, smiles big.

“OK, here's the deal. Your wife wants a divorce. She doesn't want alimony, she just wants out quickly."

“You don't have any kids, don't own a home, don't have any debt or any major assets to speak of. So it'll be an uncontested, no assets, no kids, kind of divorce. The best kind.”

“She keeps her car, her clothes, and everything in the house. You keep your truck, your clothes, all your personal belongings. You also get half the money in your bank account.

“According to her attorney, your share from the checking and savings accounts will be about $43,000. She gives up all claims to your current and future earnings, and you do the same for her.”

“It's pretty straight-forward.”

I nod.

Bobby continues, “You're getting out easy. Most divorces don't go this way. They drag on for months. The lawyers fight over every detail. Husband and wife fight continually.

"But not this one. Everything is simple. It's like a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Yes, a gift. She's doing you a big favor. Making it easy. No demands. No alimony. No troubles. Wish my own ex-wife had done the same for me.”

“If it were me, I'd jump on this deal right away. Don't give her time to change her mind. ”

The way Bobby tells it you'd think I'd won the lottery.

I'm still thinking about this when he says, “Here's the deal. If you agree to the terms, I can take care of everything this afternoon. Your wife has already signed the agreement, all you need to do is counter sign.”

“After you sign, I'll file it with the court. And thirty days later, you're a free man. My fee to handle everything will be under five hundred dollars.”

He hesitates, then says “I don't want to pressure you, but the sooner you sign and file, the sooner you lock-in this sweetheart deal. Wait too long, and it could get messy. And expensive.”

He's in a hurry. But that's his job. Get deals done quickly and move on to another case.

“If you agree to this, I'll make a call and we can wrap this up today.”

Bobby waits for my reply.

I know you're supposed to think these things through. Take your time. See a marriage counselor. Try to reconcile.

But I know the marriage is over. We'd grown apart. She wanted out. It happens.

And I was OK with that. Just wish she'd told me herself instead of going through her lawyer.

5

There's really not much to think over.

If she wants out, there's no reason for me to stick around. Nothing to gain by that.

She's giving me a good deal if I take it now. And she knows I can't resist a good deal. I tell Bobby, “Let's do it. No need to drag this thing out.”

He smiles, “Good call. You'll be glad you did it this way. A clean break with no mess. We can get everything taken care of today.”

“But you'll need a mailing address we can use on the divorce papers. Can't use your current home address. We don't want any of our correspondence or legal documents accidentally mailed to her.”

“Do you have a P.O. box or some other address we can use that she doesn't know about?”

I shake my head, “No, all my mail goes to my home address.”

“OK, you'll need a new address. And you need it today. The easy solution is to go over to the Pack N' Ship store here in the Plaza. Get a private mail box.”

“Go on over there now, get a mail box and then come right back here. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes.”

“When you get back we'll get the forms knocked out and filed before the end of the day.”

I hesitate. Bobby points to the door. “Go do it now. Get a mailing address at Pack n Ship. Then come right back here.”

Bobby is apparently a take charge kind of guy. Telling me what to do and when to get it done. I guess he's used to having to do that with his other clients.

I don't mind. I'm paying for his legal advice. Following his instructions is part of the deal.

As I go out the door, Bobby's already on the phone, presumably letting wifey's attorney's know I'm taking the deal.

On the busted sidewalk outside Bobby's office, I check to see if my truck is still in the parking lot. In this neighborhood, you never know.

It's still there. Windows still intact. A good sign.

I look around to find the Pack 'N Ship. It's four doors down. No crime scene tape blocking the way. My lucky day.

A bell on the door rings as I walk in. An older lady behind the counter looks in my direction. “Yes?”

“I need a mail box.”

“No problem. For forty dollars we set you up with a street address and box number. Twelve dollars a month after that.

“You can check your mail any time during office hours. Eight in the morning till six at night. Closed on Sundays.”

“If you can't come by to check your mail, we can forward your mail to any address you supply. Extra charge for that.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Fill out this form and we'll get you set up.”

I fill out the form and pay the forty dollars. In return I get a computer printout with my new address and a mail box combination.

Time to head back to Bobby's office.

A bell rings as I push open his door. I see Bobby quickly reach under his desk. I'm thinking he has a gun under there. Just in case. Maybe that's the smart thing to do in this neighborhood. Keep a gun close by.

He sees it's me, relaxes his hand.

“You got the new address? Let me see it.”

Bobby takes the Pack N' Ship printout, turns on his copy machine and makes a copy.

His copier looks brand new. I guess he needs a good copier more than he needs nice furniture.

He hands me back the original, “Don't lose this. You'll need it later on.”

He points to a chair in front of his desk. I take this as an invitation to sit down.

“I can file everything this afternoon. While I'm preparing the paperwork, there are a few things you'll want to take care of.”

He doesn't wait for me to respond.

“First, you need to go to your bank and open a new checking account in your name only. Then transfer $43,000 from your wife's joint account into your new account.

“Use your Pack n Ship box number as your home address. Be sure to get some temporary checks for your new account, and get at least $500 cash for spending money.

“While at the bank, apply for new credit cards in your name only. Get those cards mailed to your Pack 'N Ship address, not your home address.

“If you have any existing credit cards shared jointly with your wife, call and cancel those.

“Then go to the Value Self Storage on Third street and rent a storage unit. Big enough for all your things.”

“Be back here before four o'clock this afternoon. Bring a check so you can pay me. I'll tell you the amount when you get here.

“Any questions?”

Bobby waits for my answer.

“I've got it. Bank, credit cards, storage building. Be back here by four.”

“Good. If you run into problems, call me. Otherwise, be back here by four.”

Outside of Bobby's office, I plan the rest of my day. First thing I need to do is to call the plant, let them know I'll be late getting back.

I call and Molly from Human Resources answers.

“Molly, this is Walker. Is there anything in the office I need to take care of this afternoon?”

“No, not that I know of. Things are pretty slow around here.”

“That's good. I've got some personal business I need to attend to. Might not be able to get back until late this afternoon.”

“No problem. Take the rest of the day off if you want.”

“OK. If I don't get back today, I'll see you tomorrow.”

I end the call.

Molly and I both knew no one from the plant really cares where I'll be. The plant is closing in two weeks, and most of those who worked there are already gone.

6

Following Bobby's instructions, the bank is my first stop. Go in and meet with an account manager. Explain what I need to do.

No problem. She's be able to handle it all.

Takes about twenty minutes to open a new account and transfer my share of funds from the old account into it.

With the new account, they issued a book of twenty temporary checks with a promise of real checks mailed to me within a week.

They offer to send me a new credit card in my name only tied to my new checking account. I agree. The new card will be sent to my new P.O. box within seven days.

I ask about canceling my old credit cards, and the bank manager says I need to call the number on the back of each card. I'll do that later.

Before leaving the bank, I use one of the temporary checks to withdraw $1,000 for spending money.

Back in my truck, I call the numbers on the back of each of my credit cards. I tell them I want to cancel. Send the final bill to my new address.

Takes a few minutes to convince them I don't want another card. Just cancel and send me a bill. They finally agree.

With the banking and credit cards taken care of, the next thing on the list is a storage unit.

Value Self Storage is about two miles from the bank. It takes me eight minutes to get there.

Surrounded by an eight foot tall, razor wire topped fence, the place looks like a prison. Except in this case, the prison walls keep the bad guys from breaking in.

There's a small concrete block building outside the gated entry. It's the office.

Inside, a young woman behind the counter is facing eight security monitors which show different views of the storage complex.

She looks up at me, smiles. “How can I help you today?”

I tell her I need a small storage unit.

“Great. We have several sizes available. How big a unit do you need?”

She hands me a chart showing the different size units and prices.

I don't have much to store. Just clothes, a laptop computer, a few boxes of photos and old documents. So I choose the smallest unit. Six foot by eight foot. About the size of a large walk-in closet.

“That'll be thirty six dollars a month. How do you want to pay?”

I reach for my credit card, then remember I've just canceled it. Have to pay in cash.

After I pay, I'm given a map showing the location of my unit and I'm issued a security code to get through the gate. Just enter the number into the keypad, and the gate opens automatically.

Cool.

I've taken care of the bank, the credit cards, and the storage unit. Everything on Bobby's list. It's three o'clock. An hour ahead of schedule.

Maybe Bobby won't mind if I get back early.

There are more cars in the Paradise Plaza parking lot this time – mostly down by the Lion's Den, a 'gentleman's entertainment' club.

I guess the afternoon crowd is starting to show up. Maybe they're there for the food. Which reminds me that I've skipped lunch.

Tempted as I am to try the Lion's Den menu, I head to Bobby's office. As before, when I push open the door, a bell tinkles, and I see Bobby reach under his desk. Yep, I'm betting he has a gun there.

He sees it's me, “Good. You're back. Got everything taken care of?”

“Yes. No problems”

Bobby points to the chair in front of his desk, and I take a seat. “The courier brought over the documents. All you need to do is sign in front of a notary. We can do that at the bail bonds shop next door.

“You ready?”

I nod, “Let's do it.”

Bobby stands and says, “Follow me”.

On the way out, he stops to lock the door behind us. A necessary thing in this neighborhood.

The bail bonds shop is next door. Once inside, I'm impressed. It's clean, no strange smells, no one looks like Dog the Bounty Hunter.

A middle aged black woman behind the counter greets us with a smile, “Bobby, you back again? How much bail you need this time?”

Bobby laughs, “Shirley, you're looking good today. Your husband know you dress like that in public?”

“Bobby, you know he does. What you got for me today?”

“I need you to notarize some documents for Mr. Walker here.”

Shirley looks at me, extends her hand, “Driver's license please.”

I pull out my wallet, extract my license and hand it to her.

“You're Johnny Walker? Like the whiskey?”

I've heard it before. “Yep, that's me. But most people just call me Walker.”

“Okay, Walker. Sign and I'll notarize.”

Bobby has placed yellow sticky arrows on each of the pages where I need to sign. Initial here, sign there.

I go through the stack, sign or initial them as required. Then hand off to Bobby.

He checks each page, then hands the stack to Shirley. She applies her notary stamp on the final pages. “That'll be twenty five dollars, cash.”

I pay with a twenty and a five, and Bobby and I head back next door. He unlocks the door to his office, sticks his head in and looks around. Satisfied, he says, “All clear,” and walks in.

I'm thinking there was a time when it wasn't “all clear” and Bobby has learned to check before he goes in. Maybe that's got something to do with the little surprise under his desk.

Back in his office Bobby puts the papers in a brief case. “I'll file these with the court and in 30 days you'll be a free man.”

He presents me with a bill for $500. Says $350 is his fee, and $150 for court costs. I pay him with a temporary check, and I'm actually surprised he accepts it. I thought for sure he'd want cash.

Maybe he trusts me.

I thank him for his time and head for the door.

Bobby stops me, “We're not done just yet. There's one small detail in the divorce agreement you may have overlooked.

“According to the papers you just signed, you agree to be moved out of your wife's home by eight tonight.

“If you're still there after eight, you'll be trespassing. Anything you leave in the house after eight becomes her property.”

Okay, I didn't expect that. I didn't realize I'd have to pack up and move out tonight. But it figures. It's her daddy's house. She has every right to live there. And I don't.

So it's settled. I'm moving out. Tonight.

No problem. I can go over to the house, load my things into my truck and take it over to the storage unit I just rented. Shouldn't take more than an hour.

But then what? After I move out, I'm technically homeless. And this complicates matters. Where will I stay?

Just about everyone I know worked at the plant. And most of them lost their jobs two weeks ago. Many left town, and the ones who didn't, won't be happy to see me. I'm one of the few who still has a job there – at least for a few more days.

As an office guy, a lot of plant workers feel I'm somehow responsible for the decision to move the plant to Mexico. Even though I had nothing to do with it.

I understand. Factory guys and office guys usually don't hang out together. This means there's no work friends who might have a place for me to sleep for a few days.

My nearest relative lives 1,200 miles away. Which means no family to bunk with. And no ex-girlfriends or ex-wives to take me in either.

So maybe a motel?

I don't think so. Around here, even the cheapest motels go for $70 a night. And you wouldn't want to stay in those kinds of places unless you were well armed.

And I'm not about to pay $120 or more a night for a motel room just to sleep for a few hours. My soon to be ex-wife will tell you I'm kind of cheap that way. I won't spend a few extra bucks to get something nice. And I would really prefer not to spend much money at all.

The way I see it, there's nothing wrong with trying to save money. Especially when your paycheck ends in a few days.

I explain this to Bobby – hoping he'll have a spare place I can stay for a few days.

But no go. Bobby isn't in the business of providing accommodations for his clients. He suggests I pitch a tent in the nearby state park. Stay there until things settle down.

He's serious.

According to Bobby, “It'll be like a vacation. Stay in the campground for twelve dollars a night, enjoy the peace and quiet, watch the sun set over the river.”

The way he tells it, it sounds pretty good.

I've been camping before. The last time was in Afghanistan. That wasn't so much fun. But before Afghanistan, camping was something I enjoyed. Getting away in the woods for a few days. Being 'one' with nature.

The more I think about it, the more it sounds like a reasonable solution.

Instead of paying to live in a cheap motel, I could camp out at the state park for twelve dollars a night. And, I'm quoting Bobby here, “It would be like a vacation!”

Camping out. In a tent. Just me and my truck. In the woods of Arkansas in the fall.

But just until things get settled.

7

And that's how it came to be that I was living in a tent. A big blue one from Walmart.

After leaving Bobby's law office, I drove home and loaded everything I owned into my truck.

Some clothes, a couple pair of shoes, my laptop computer, a few books, a box of old documents and photos.

And my gun. A stainless steel Smith & Wesson 357 magnum revolver. Haven't shot it in years, and hope not to have to shoot it any time soon. But if I do, it gets the job done.

Packing only takes about 30 minutes. Which if you think about it, is pretty depressing. All my worldly possessions take less than a half hour to pack and fit in just a few boxes.

It's almost six in the evening. That means I'll be out of the house before the deadline. That should make Vicki (my soon to be ex-wife) happy.

Next stop, Value Self Storage.

The security code issued when I rented the unit gets me through the gate. Takes only a few minutes to transfer the boxes from my truck into the storage unit. My worldly possessions don't even fill half of the closet sized space.

I still need to keep up appearances at work, so I keep out a small suitcase packed with my office clothes, clean underwear, socks and shaving kit.

Locking the storage unit, I head over to the big Walmart Super Center. There, in the sporting goods department, I choose a Coleman 14' x 9' tent, a sleeping bag, a fluorescent lantern, an air bed, and an ice chest.

Everything I need to start my camping adventure.

In the food section, I pick up a twelve pack of bottled water, a box of crackers and a chicken Caesar salad from the deli. Enough supplies to get me through the night.

Next stop, Toad Suck Park.

Yes, it's a real place. Look it up and you'll find it just south of Conway, on the Arkansas River. An easy eight mile drive from the Moreco plant.

During the spring and summer months, Toad Suck park stays pretty busy. Vacationers, picnickers, family reunions.

But this time of the year, not so much. Too cold to swim, unpredictable weather, and the fish aren't biting.

It's after dark when I arrive. A notice on the gate-house says 'choose any unoccupied spot, and pay the ranger in the morning'. That's what I'll do.

The campground is mostly empty, and I drive slowly until I find a suitable campsite on the river loop, close to the restrooms.

Normally, when the campground is busy, you wouldn't want to camp near the restrooms. Too much foot traffic. But when camping in a tent without a toilet, especially when no one else is in the campground, being near the restroom can work in your favor.

Before pulling into my chosen site, I get out with my flashlight to make sure the site is unoccupied and doesn't have any problems.

It looks okay.

Parking the truck on the paved pad, I leave the headlights on so I can see to pitch the tent. The tent I've chosen is one of those shock-corded affairs, the kind where all you have to do is lay the tent flat on the ground, and pull up from the center.

I lay it out, pull it up, and the tent locks into place, creating an instant shelter. For added stability, I stake the corners to the ground. Then unzip the door and walk in.

Not bad. Plenty of room. A roof over my head.

The fluorescent lantern from Walmart goes in the center of the tent, giving me enough light to start sorting out the rest of the gear.

The inflatable bed goes on one side, the ice chest with the food on the other. Keeping the food and bed separate is a must when camping in the woods. You never know what kind of visitors the food might attract.

When all my gear is stowed, I sit down on the bed and take a look around. Home sweet home.

Not exactly what I planned when I started the day. But could have been a lot worse.

I keep reminding myself what Bobby said, “You're getting off easy. And living in a tent will be like a vacation.”

8

The first two days of tent camping are pretty nice. Not many people in the campground so I have the place pretty much to myself.

Just me and the snowbirds in their big RVs stopping overnight on their annual trek to the warmer climes of the south.

Of course, it isn't really like a vacation for me. I still have to get up each morning and go in to work. And getting ready for work while living in a tent is a little more difficult than when living in a real house.

My morning routine is as follows. Get up at sunrise. Put on sweats and running shoes. Run the trails, try to cover at least five miles. Return from run, find the least wrinkled shirt and pants, grab my shaving gear, and make a trip to the park restrooms.

The park restrooms are unheated block buildings with primitive facilities. Pretty much what you expect in any government operated park. The good news is the showers have warm water, the toilets flush, and there is a mirror to shave by.

Compared to camping in Afghanistan, this is paradise. No one shooting at me, no scorpions, no blowing sand, no 110 degree temps.

At twelve dollars a night, camping here isn't bad. In fact, it's quieter and cleaner than some high priced hotels I've stayed in. But no cable TV and no maid service.

The park ranger does keep an eye on things during the day, and other than the occasional raccoon, no one has bothered my tent. So far.

Still, it isn't a vacation. I do have to go to my job each day. Speaking of the job . . .

My degree in computer science from the state university was supposed to open doors and be a path to a high paying career in the 'exciting field of computer management.' And for a few years, it was.

But these days, even eleven-year-old kids can write code and set up computer networks. So being a computer expert isn't much of a specialty anymore.

In the corporate world, the IT manager has become a baby-sitter to all things computer related. Anything goes wrong with any computer and you're responsible.

You have little input on the reckless decisions of upper management. And those decisions cause many of the problems you have to fight and fix every day.

If you're a regular reader of Dilbert, you know what corporate life is really like. But I'm not complaining. At least I have (or had) an office job.

Most of the six hundred other people who work at the plant were out on the factory floor. And while I was free to roam most of the day, those on the plant floor were often handcuffed to their stations.

Yeah, I know. It sounds bad. But to prevent injury, machine operators working around eighty ton stamping presses are required to wear restraining chains – handcuffs - to keep their hands out of harm's way.

It's either that, or people get hurt. Arms crushed, workers decapitated. I've seen it happen more than one.

That's why management says 'safety is job one'. Unfortunately, the reality was far different.

Those working on the plant floor use drugs and booze to numb the noise, grime and monotony of the assembly line. They'd toke up before coming to work, toke up at lunch, and toke up again on final break to avoid 'harshing their mellow'.

Others were into alcohol.

They'd start the shift with a tall boy, sneak another beer or two at first break, and another two for lunch. Then pop a cold one before they left the parking lot at the end of the day.

No matter how they did it, the goal was to numb themselves from the life on the plant floor.

Fact is, everybody who worked at the plant wanted to be somewhere else. It didn't matter where, as long as it was far away from the plant floor and stamping presses.

Me? I didn't drink or do drugs. Instead, I was a dreamer. I wanted to live on a beach in Florida. Maybe get paid to arrange beach umbrellas for some fancy hotel. Maybe get a job serving rum flavored drinks at a water-front bar.

Four weeks ago, we all got our wish. The announcement came down from corporate headquarters - the plant was closing. All the equipment was being shipped to Mexico.

All employees of the plant, including me, would be given the freedom to do something else. Freedom as in 'everyone was being terminated.'

An interesting term – terminated. Something that would come back to haunt at least one of the corporate managers who made the decision to close the plant.

But that's another story.

9

So I'm living in a tent. By choice.

And going through a quickie divorce, as mandated by the soon to be ex-wife.

And working the final two weeks of my corporate job – without any future job prospects.

And I was one of the lucky ones.

See, corporate headquarters wanted a few of the office staff to stay around until the final day of plant closing.

These few people would be needed to make sure office equipment, office records, computers, and miscellaneous items were properly packed and shipped to the new plant.

As the computer manager, I was one of the ones tapped to stay until the very end.

Just me, Molly from human resources, John Colbert, head of plant security, and Allison James, in accounting.

Allison was nearing sixty. She was retiring after this. Said no one was going to hire her anyway, might as well make the best of it. Her husband still worked in town, so they'd get by all right.

John from security had lined up a job in inventory control at the local Walmart – which he was happy about.

Which left me and Molly.

Molly from human resources was about my age, middle thirties, happily married with two young sons. She hadn't even started looking for a new job yet. And wasn't sure she was going to.

Her plan was to take a few months off and be a stay-at-home mom while she worked out her future.

In the final days at the plant, Molly and I spent quite a bit of time together, going through checklists to make sure all the sensitive personnel files were inventoried and shipped to corporate headquarters.

When I told Molly I was living in a tent and why, she was cool about it. She knew I could afford better, but she also understood the emotional challenge of facing divorce and job loss.

She told me that living in a tent for a week or two might be a good experience for me.

According to Molly, “Living in a tent will give you a whole new perspective. And maybe help you discover what's important in your life.”

I don't know if she really believed this or not, but she sounded like she meant it. She said she'd been through some tough times and a divorce herself. And she'd survived.

So maybe her advice was worth listening to.

According to Molly, “A divorce can mean freedom to make better choices and a chance to reboot your life's direction.”

She probably told terminated workers the same thing. “Sure, you're losing your job, but it gives you freedom to make choices, and a chance to find a new life direction.”

Yeah, right. Tell that to the bill collectors when they come knocking on your door.

Still, Molly's line about “freedom and a chance to find a new life direction” sounded pretty good to me.

10

I had been living in a tent for seven days now. And the “it's like a vacation” feeling had faded.

Now, it was more like, “I'm living in a tent, sleeping on the ground, don't have running water, and my only company is the ranger who collects my camping fee each morning.”

I don't bother cooking at my campsite. Too much trouble. Easier to just eat out or bring something back at the end of the day.

Breakfast was at the nearest McDonald's. Scrambled eggs and orange juice – breakfast of champions.

After a quick breakfast, I'd head to work, sit in my office, read emails from corporate headquarters and handle any tasks they gave me.

At the end of the day, I'd drive back to the campground, stopping along the way for something to eat for dinner.

Yep, I was living the dream.

On Monday of the final week before the plant officially closed, just about everything had been packed up and shipped out.

For all practical purposes, our jobs were over.

But corporate still wanted us in the building until Friday, when we'd receive our final paychecks and the facility would be locked down forever.

So Molly, Allison, John and I showed up for work, even though the building was empty and there was nothing for us to do.

We spent most of our time reading newspapers, looking for jobs, or surfing the web. Anything to kill time.

On Wednesday, two days before shutdown, Molly walked into my office.

“Walker, something's come up. Corporate has given me a last minute job to take care of. And I might need your help.”

“OK, What can I do?”

“Corporate found an item that wasn't on our original inventory list. Apparently one of the corporate officers had planned to buy the item but the deal fell through.”

“Since it's located here, corporate says I have twenty four hours to get it sold and off the books.”

“It's a large item, and I need your help getting it moved.”

“Molly, I'm glad to help. Show me what it is and where we have to move it.”

She smiled, “Get your coat, it's out in the executive parking lot.”

The executive parking lot is a special parking lot hidden behind eight foot walls, and accessed from the outside via an electronic pass-card gate.

In years past, there'd been instances of plant workers confronting executives in the main parking lot. Wanting to fight or settle a score.

To avoid trouble, the executive lot was built. Giving managers a way to sneak into the plant without being seen - or assaulted.

Molly and I walked to the empty executive wing, and then through the back doorway leading to the private parking lot.

During the heyday of the plant, this special lot would be filled with Mercedes and BMW's, but today there was only one vehicle parked in the lot.

Molly pointed, “There it is. The inventory item I need to move. The Love Bus.”

11

It really wasn't a bus. It was a motorhome.

But not a big one like those owned by the rich and famous. This one was more like a small U-haul truck. Basically a Ford passenger van front with a streamlined box on the back.

According to Molly, the official reason for the company owning the Love Bus was so executives could work while traveling to business meetings.

The 'unofficial' reason had to do with the Love Bus being a safe place for executives to travel with secret girlfriends. Hence, the 'Love Bus' name.

Molly said the company bought this model because it was easy to drive and park, and had plenty of room for extended road trips. As a bonus, it had a private bedroom and bath in the back.

Most of the time, the Love Bus had been hidden away in the executive parking lot, regularly serviced and maintained just waiting for one of the corporate officers to reserve it and take it on the road.

But shortly after its purchase, company executives discovered flying on the corporate jet was a lot easier than driving a motorhome.

She had learned this morning that a corporate executive had made a deal to buy the Love Bus but that deal had fallen through. The executive was no longer with the company, and couldn't be reached by phone.

So the task of selling the Love Bus had been given to Molly. Corporate said she had to get it sold before the plant closed on Friday.

She had called three local RV dealers to see if any of them were interested. All told her the same story. Their lots were already filled with too many unsold motorhomes. They didn't need another one taking up space, especially one they had to pay cash for.

So with just two days left to get it sold, Molly was thinking I might be interested in it.

“So Walker, you're living in a tent. The Love Bus would give you a roof over your head. A home on wheels you could take anywhere.”

“Molly, I don't need a motorhome.”

“Walker, hear me out. The company has authorized me to sell the Love Bus to you for the fully depreciated value.

“That means a 'once in a lifetime' kind of deal.”

I shook my head, “Molly, I don't need or want a motorhome. You need to find someone older, a retiree who wants to go south for the winter.

“Find me a Porsche. I might be interested. But not a motorhome.”

Molly persisted, “Walker, this would be perfect for you. It'd give you a place to live and freedom to travel while you decided what to do with the rest of your life.

“And you wouldn't be sleeping in a tent.”

She had me there. Living in a tent was getting old. And with winter coming, I'd soon have to find something better.

“Molly, not sleeping in a tent sounds good. But there's no way I can buy something like this. My only source of income is ending in two days and I can't afford to spend a big part of my savings on a motorhome.”

“Don't worry about the price. Corporate told me they've fully depreciated it on their books. The residual asset value is what they'll sell it to you for. If they sell it for more than that, they have to pay taxes on it.

“As far as corporate is concerned, it's less hassle to let it go for residual value, especially if they can sell it to an employee and show it as a termination benefit.

“So don't worry about the price. You'll be able to afford it. And aren't you the least bit curious about what's inside the Love Bus?”

I admit, I was a little curious. Never been inside a motorhome before.

“OK, I'll take a look. But I'm not buying it.”

Molly smiled, “I'll get the keys. Be right back.”

As I stood in the parking lot waiting for Molly's return, I checked out the Love Bus. From a distance, it looked pretty good. Nice lines, not too big, attractive color scheme.

The paint was slightly faded, the tires a little low, and there was a layer of parking lot grime over the whole rig. But nothing a good cleaning wouldn't remedy.

Still, I was pretty sure this wasn't for me. I had no use for a motorhome.

On the other hand, thinking about the snowbirds I'd seen back in the campground and how they traveled around the country in their motorhomes, it did sound like a pretty nice way to live.

And as Molly pointed out, living in the Love Bus would be a step up from living in a tent.

If it were mechanically sound, I could drive it to Florida, park somewhere near the water, and live pretty inexpensively

It'd give me a roof over my head. A place to eat and sleep. A shower and toilet. My own private hide-away where I could relax, watch TV, and use my computer to keep track of the rest of the world.

It just might be the thing to get me close to my dream of living on a beach in Florida. And right now, that sounded pretty good.

12

Molly came back and handed me a key ring. Six keys on it, all different.

“Wonder which one of these opens the side door?”

“No idea, might have to try them all.”

The first three keys didn't fit. But the fourth one slipped into the lock.

As I started to unlock the door, Molly stopped me. “Before you open the door, you need to know it might be a mess inside. It hasn't been cleaned since the last time it was used.”

Opening the door, it was clear she was right. A wave of stale air, mixed with the smell of alcohol and dirty laundry rolled over us.

We stepped back – both of us gasping and laughing.

Waving her hands to clear away the smell, Molly said, “That must have been some party! Let's let it air out for a few minutes.”

As we stood outside waiting for fresh air to replace the stale inside air, Molly asked, “So how's life in the tent?”

I shook my head, “It was OK at first. But not something I want to do for much longer.”

She nodded toward the motorhome, “This could be what you need. A real roof over your head.”

She extended her arm toward the door, “You ready to go in?”

I was.

We ventured inside and it did look like there'd been a party. A few empty whiskey bottles, dirty napkins, food wrappers.

But the overall condition was good. In fact, you could say it was luxurious.

Across from the door, a leather upholstered dinette with room for five people.

Opposite the dinette was a fully equipped kitchen. Granite counter top. Microwave oven. Two door refrigerator/freezer. Stainless steel sink. Solid wood cabinets.

Further back to the right, a private bathroom with toilet, vanity, and a shower.

Next to the bathroom was a bedroom with a wall mounted flat screen TV.

Looking toward the front of the coach, there was another large flat screen TV, a stereo and a DVD player.

Behind the passenger seat, a swivel lounge chair with wall mounted desk.

All the comforts of home, packed into a very small package.

The more I looked, the more I could see myself living in something like this. It was definitely better than my tent. And had plenty of space for my meager possessions.

Molly grinned, “Pretty nice, isn't it?”

“Yep, a lot nicer than I expected. Who would have thought it had so much room inside? A kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom? This thing has more room than some of the apartments I've lived in.”

Molly nodded, “Yeah, it's pretty cool. I could see you living in something like this.”

She pointed to the front, “Check out the driver's seat. It's leather. Get behind the wheel, let me see what you look like.”

It was an old car salesman's trick. Get the buyer in the driver's seat. Let them dream about how much fun it would be going down the road.

I knew better, but I took the bait. I settled into the leather and got comfortable.

Putting my hands on the steering wheel, it felt like I was king of the road. The gauges were easy to read, the view forward impressively expansive.

The side mirrors provided full views to the back and were remotely operated making them easy to adjust.

Above the dash, a small TV screen – Molly said it was the backup monitor – providing a wide-angle view behind the coach.

She sat down in the passenger seat. “Wonder if it'll start? It's been sitting here for weeks. The batteries might be dead.”

I found the key with the Ford logo on it and put it in the ignition. Gave it a turn, and the coach started right up.

No smoke coming out of the exhaust pipes. All the gauges were working. The speedometer showed just over nineteen thousand miles. Pretty low for a seven-year-old vehicle.

This thing was looking better and better.

But there was the matter of price. I didn't know if I could afford it. And what would I do with my Toyota truck if I were to buy the Love Bus?

I'd had the truck for seven years, paid it off long ago. It had served me well. Got me through mud and snow. Was a great daily driver. My main means of transportation, my pride and joy, my escape vehicle for as long as I could remember.

Selling it now, especially after the divorce and losing my job, might be too much to take on. But if I wanted to buy the motorhome, I'd have to sell the pickup. I'd need the money.

That's assuming the price was right. Molly hadn't yet told me what it would cost.

“Molly, this is really nice. And I can see how it might work for me. But, there's two problems.

“First, you haven't told me the price so I don't know if I can afford it. And second, I'd need to sell my truck before I could buy this.”

Molly smiled, “Don't worry about the price or selling your truck. The company really wants this thing gone. And if you're interested, I've got a way to make it happen. Today.”

13

I was thinking I wanted to buy the motorhome.

Having it would solve some immediate problems. It'd give me a roof over my head and buy me time to decide what I wanted to do next with my life.

Maybe it would be part of the 'freedom to make better choices and go in a new direction' Molly had mentioned as one of the benefits of losing a job.

Or maybe I was just tired of sleeping in a tent and was looking for a way out. Either way, I was interested in hearing Molly's plan.

“Okay, I'll bite. Tell me more.”

Molly smiled, “Here's how it can work. My brother-in-law, Raymond Ridge, is looking for a good four wheel drive truck. He says he really wants a Toyota double cab like yours. But he hasn't been able to find a good used one at a decent price.

“Just yesterday, he told me he'd be a cash buyer for the right truck. But he can only pay $9,500. That's the top of his budget.”

“Molly, my truck is worth at least $5,000 more than that. No way I'm going to let it go for $9,500.”

Molly smiled, “Don't worry. I've got it all figured out.”

“According to NADA, the wholesale value of the Love Bus is a little over $26,500. But corporate says I can sell it to you for the fully depreciated value of $13,500.

Molly paused, “If we could do an even swap, your truck for the motorhome, would you do it?”

I thought about it. My truck was worth $13,500. The NADA wholesale for the motorhome was $26,500, and if I did an even swap, I'd be $13,000 ahead on paper.

I nodded, “Yeah I'd do an even swap. I'd be a fool not to.”

Molly picked up her phone, “I'll call my brother-in-law, see if he can come over and look at your truck.

“If he wants it, do you have clear title?”

“Yep, I've got clear title. In fact, the title is in the glove box. If we do the deal, I can sign it over today.”

“Good. I'll call Raymond. Go clean out your truck before he gets here.”

While Molly called her brother-in-law, I went back to my office and got on the internet to check what a seven year old Winnebago Aspect like the Love Bus would really sell for.

Searching RVTraderonline, I found several for sale. Ten were the same year and model as the one in the parking lot.

The lowest asking price was $32,500 – and that one had almost 100,000 miles on it. A lot more than the Love Bus's 19,000 miles.

Most of the others were priced around $40,000.

That meant if I could get the Love Bus for the $13,500 my truck was worth, it was a real deal. I'd be getting it for less than half of the lowest retail.

That also meant if I bought the Love Bus and it didn't work out, I could probably sell it and make a pretty good profit.

I liked that.

Satisfied that it was a good deal, I found an empty packing box and headed out to my truck.

I didn't want Molly's brother-in-law to find all my worldly possessions in it. He might think I was homeless – which was technically true.

After cleaning out the truck, I brought the box back to my office and continued to research Winnebago Aspect motorhomes on the web.

On YouTube, I found a video walk-through showing all the features, including one I had overlooked – the dinette was really a slide room.

On the video, the salesman pushed a button and the dinette wall moved out. Opening a lot more living space inside. An unexpected bonus.

Molly walked into my office and tapped me on the shoulder. “My brother-in-law is out in the parking lot. He wants to see your truck.”

I followed Molly outside to where a man about my age, dressed in business casual, stood by my truck.

Molly introduced us. We shook hands.

“Nice looking truck. How long have you had it?”

“I bought it new.”

Raymond walked around the truck, looked under the frame, kicked the tires.

“Any problems with it?”

“Not that I know of. I've had all the service done at the dealer. Changed the oil every 5,000 miles. Everything's original and works the way it should.”

Raymond smiled, “OK, I'm interested. Let's take it for a drive.”

I gave him the keys, slid into the passenger seat, and we headed out.

Before we left the plant parking lot, Raymond tested the steering with a figure eight maneuver, then a panic stop.

Satisfied, we headed out onto Interstate 40.

Merging into traffic, Raymond accelerated up to seventy five, set the cruise control and turned on the air conditioner.

As we cruised down the highway, he took both hands off the steering wheel to see how well the truck tracked and whether it pulled to either side.

No problems there.

Happy with the way it handled, Raymond took the next exit, drove three miles, turned down a dirt road, and pulled over.

“OK for me to put it in four wheel drive?”

“Sure, no problem.”

He pressed the 4WD button on the dash, shifted into four low, and we took off down the road.

After about five minutes of four wheeling, Raymond brought the truck to a full stop, took it out of four wheel drive and said, “It drives real good. No rattles. Everything works.”

We headed back to the plant. Raymond continued to ask me about the truck. “Any rust, wrecks or other damage?”

He was asking me the kind of questions I should have been asking Molly about the motorhome.

“No rust. No wrecks. No problems. New Battery last year. And tires are less than three months old.”

Raymond was clearly impressed, “Okay. I'll buy it. With just one condition.”

“Molly explained how this was going to work. I get your truck for $9,500, and you get the motorhome.”

“But your truck is worth more than $9,500 and Molly tells me the motorhome needs a new set of tires.

“So here's the deal.

“I've got a fleet account down at Independent Tire. If you'll take the motorhome down there today and ask for Ron Sanders, he'll put six new tires on it and charge them to my account.

“I'll call Ron and let him know about the deal. He'll do you right, and it won't cost you anything. My treat.”

This was definitely an unexpected surprise – made parting with my truck a lot easier.

I wondered if Molly had anything to do with this? Getting Raymond to pay for the tires? Not that it really mattered, but Molly was really going to a lot of trouble to make this deal work for me.

When we got back to the plant, Raymond parked near the front door and told Molly the truck was exactly what he was looking for. He'd be a cash buyer at $9,500.

Molly looked pleased, then turned toward me, “So if Raymond buys your truck, you'll buy the Love Bus?”

I smiled, “Molly, if you have a clear title to the motorhome and can sell it to me for $9,500, I'd be a fool not to buy it.”

“Good. Then it's a deal. I've got a Bill-of-Sale for each of you to sign. Walker, bring the title to your truck.”

I got the title out of the glove box and followed Raymond and Molly to her office.

Raymond counted out ninety five one hundred dollar bills, and handed the money to me.

I signed the truck title, the bill of sale, and gave the keys to Raymond.

We shook hands and with a big smile he said, “I've already called Ron at Independent Tire and told him about the tire deal. They'll be expecting you. Just call them to let them know when you're coming in.”

He gave Molly a hug, picked up his paperwork and said, “Thanks for making this happen.” He headed out the door. As he drove off, I said to myself, “Man, I'm going to miss that truck.”

Molly turned to me, “Don't look so sad. You're getting a pretty good deal. Let's sign the paperwork and make this official.”

She pointed to the cash Raymond had given me, “Hand it over. Time to pay for the Love Bus.”

I gave her the money and she handed me a signed bill-of-sale and the title for the motorhome.

“Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of the Love Bus.”

14

“It's your fault. Until this morning, I didn't even know the Love Bus existed. And now, I'm the owner.”

Molly laughed, “Don't complain. You're going to love it.

“But before you do anything, make copies of the title and the Bill-of-Sale. Then go online and get the Love Bus insured.

“After you get the insurance, print out a 'proof of insurance card', then come back to my office.”

I saluted, “Yes ma'am! Will do.”

Getting insurance was easy. Just went online and searched for 'motorhome insurance'. Filled out a form, and used my new credit card to pay. Just as the bank had promised, the card had arrived four days after I applied.

Per Molly's instructions, I printed out a copy of the 'proof of insurance' card along with the policy.

With both in hand, I headed back to her office.

“Did you get the insurance?”

“Yep, sure did. Through Progressive. It was less than what insurance cost me on the truck.”

“That's good. Now that you've got insurance, take the motorhome to the revenue office. Get it registered. Get plates on it.

“And then go over to Independent Tire and get tires put on it.

“That'll probably take the rest of the afternoon, which is fine since there isn't much going on here. No need to come back just to sit around doing nothing.”

Molly continued, “Tomorrow is a big day. Last day on the job. And pay day. Be here bright and early.”

I smiled, “Don't worry. I'm not going to miss pay day. But I don't know about leaving you here alone in this big empty plant.”

Molly smiled, “Don't worry about me. I'll call corporate and let them the know the Love Bus is sold. That'll make them happy. Then I'll take the rest of the afternoon off.

She pointed to the door, “Get going. You need to get the motorhome registered and legal before the weekend. I'll see you tomorrow morning. And I may have a little surprise for you then.”

15

Back in the executive parking lot, the Love Bus awaited me. This time it looked a lot better. Maybe because it was now mine.

As before, it started easily.

While it was warming up, I adjusted the outside mirrors. Then checked to make sure all the drawers and cabinet doors in the back were closed.

Satisfied everything was secure, I buckled my seat belt, put it in gear, and eased out of the parking lot.

Driving the motorhome was a lot different than driving the Toyota pickup. It was wider, longer, taller, and definitely heavier. It didn't lack any power though. The Ford V-10 could quickly get it up to speed.

Stopping was another matter. Not that it wouldn't stop, just that it took more room to stop. Which was to be expected of a vehicle weighing almost six tons.

The brakes felt strong, no softness in the pedal. Just needed more room to stop.

And more room to turn. Not a big problem, but something to be aware of.

It took me about 20 minutes to get through traffic and reach the State Revenue office. Parking was tight, but I was able to find three empty parking spaces and pulled in cross ways to fit.

Getting the registration and tags was the hassle it always is. Stand in line, show the papers, get a number and wait.

My number finally came up and Dawn (according to her name tag) was happy to see I had the title, bill of sale, odometer reading, and proof of insurance card.

She entered the data into her computer, asked me where to mail the title and which license plate design I wanted.

When she was done, the total with sales tax and title fees came to nine hundred seventy one dollars. I paid with credit card.

As Dawn handed me the receipt, she said, “Keep the registration and proof of insurance in your vehicle at all times. It's required by law. And put the new license plate on your vehicle before you leave the lot.”

In the parking lot I attached the license plate as instructed by Dawn. Then I used my cell phone to call Independent Tire to make sure Raymond had let Ron know about the tire deal.

“Yeah, Raymond called. Told me you'd be coming in. Said to put the tires on his fleet account. Come on over now. We've got an empty bay and two guys doing nothing.”

Independent Tire wasn't crowded when I got there. Plenty of room to park. As I pulled into the lot, an older man waved me into an empty service bay. He lined me up, then stopped me before I pulled in.

I got out of the coach, and the man introduced himself as Ron.

“You Walker? The one Raymond is doing the tire deal for?”

I nodded. “That's me.”

“Good. We're ready for you. We've got the tires in stock and can get them on right away. I'll have my guys pull the coach in and get started.”

The Winnebago had four tires in the back, and two in the front. A total of six tires Raymond would be paying for.

I wasn't allowed inside the coach while they were working on it, so I sat in the waiting room going through a list of things I needed to do before I headed back to the campground for the evening.

After forty minutes, Ron came in. “All done. New tires all the way around. We checked the shocks and brakes. They look good. And no rust under the coach.”

All good news.

He handed me the keys. “You're ready to go. One of the guys will help you back out of the lot.”

Ron wouldn't show me the bill or tell me how much Raymond was paying. But it had to be over a thousand dollars for six tires. I'd have to remember to ask Molly to thank Raymond for me.

There was a Battery Depot across the street from Independent tire, and since it was right there I decided to get the batteries on the Love Bus checked out.

I pulled out of Independent Tire, waited for traffic to clear, and pulled into Battery Depot.

A service tech walked over. “Nice rig! My wife and I've been dreaming about getting something like this.”

I smiled, “I just got this today and I was thinking I should get the batteries checked.”

“Pop the hood, and I'll see what they look like.”

The tech attached two cables to the battery, and pressed a button on the device he was holding. “Yep, you need a new battery. Probably cost about $80.

He pointed to the back, “How about the coach batteries? Want me to check them too?”

“Might as well since I'm already here.”

He pointed to the passenger door, “The coach batteries are usually in the back under the steps. If you'll open the door, I'll check.”

He was right. The second step inside the coach door had a removable cover. By unhooking a latch on the step and lifting up the cover, he was able reach and test the two coach batteries.

“Neither of these will hold a charge. Someone let the water levels get too low. You'll want to replace them.

“For a RV this size we usually recommend using golf cart batteries. They hold a longer and deeper charge.

“Figure Around $220 for both. We have them in stock.”

“Sounds good to me. Go ahead and replace them.”

After changing out the batteries, the tech started the coach to make sure the charging system was working.

“Everything looks good. Just remember to check the water levels in the coach batteries once a month. Top off with distilled water when needed.”

“Will do. Where do I pay?”

He pointed to the office. I went in, paid with credit card.

With tires and batteries taken care of, filling the fuel tank with fresh gas was next on my list. No telling how long the coach had sat with old gas in the tank.

As I started looking for gas stations, I realized I needed to find a station with enough room to easily get the motorhome in without hitting anything.

The smaller stations and convenience stores wouldn't work. Too tight. Not enough room for a motorhome.

I did find a RaceTrac station that looked like it would work. Another motorhome, larger than mine, was already in there, filling up. If it was good enough for him, it'd work for me.

I pulled into the station and eased up to the pump. The fuel gauge in the Love Bus indicated a quarter tank. Probably take quite a bit of gas to fill her up.

I wasn't wrong.

The station had a one hundred dollar per transaction limit. And at four dollars a gallon, I only pumped 25 gallons before reaching it.

Inside the coach, the fuel gauge showed half full. The twenty five gallons I'd pumped didn't come close to filling it.

Probably meant I had a fifty gallon tank. And it'd cost at least two hundred to fill it.

Leaving the gas station, I pulled out into traffic and headed back to the Walmart Super Center. Seemed like I was stopping there just about every day since moving into the tent.

This time I needed to get supplies to clean up the mess inside the motorhome. And food for dinner.

As I pulled into Walmart, I noticed two other motorhomes parked on the far side of the lot. Thinking that's where I was supposed to park, I pulled up near them. Not too close, but in the general vicinity.

I locked up, went into the store, got my cleaning supplies, some food, and headed back to the Love Bus. The other motorhomes were still in the lot. It looked like the people inside were watching TV. No hurry to go anywhere.

Since it was getting late, I headed back to the campground. Didn't want to be driving after dark. Not until I was sure all the lights on the Love Bus worked.

The campground office was closed when I arrived, so I drove to my tent site and pulled the Love Bus onto the parking pad.

I knew I had a cleaning job ahead, but was comforted by the thought I'd be sleeping indoors on a real mattress tonight.

16

The Love Bus was going to be my home for a while and cleaning up the mess left behind by the people who used it last, was my first priority.

I started by clearing out the empty whiskey bottles, beer cans and food wrappers. This only took a few minutes. Then I used Clorox handy-wipes to wipe the crud off all the kitchen counter tops, dinette table, bathroom sink, toilet and shower.

This gave the coach a 'just cleaned' smell. A major improvement.

I then wiped down all the cabinets and wood surfaces with furniture wipes, then used Armor All on the dash.

I didn't have a vacuum cleaner so the carpets would have to wait until another day.

Cleaning out the refrigerator and freezer was a lot easier than expected. Both were empty, and just needed wiping down.

It was starting to get dark, and I needed to get my gear out of the tent and moved into the Love Bus.

As I headed outside, I noticed a older man and woman standing on the road. When they saw me, they waved and asked, “You need any help?”

I wondered why they thought I needed help.

I waved back and said, “Maybe. I just got this today. I don't know anything about it. Don't even know how to hook it up for camping.”

“The man stepped closer and said, Your Winnebago is the same model as ours. In fact, it looks just like ours.

“And we were wondering why you had parked it backwards – with all the electrical and water connections on the wrong side.”

So that's how they figured out I might be new at this.

I smiled, “I parked this way because I didn't know any better. This is all totally new to me.”

The man offered his hand, “Welcome to the RV lifestyle. I'm Jack, and this is my wife Jean.

“You're going to love having an RV, but there are a few things you'll need to know. Like how to hook up to shore power.

“If you've got a few minutes, I'd be happy to show you.”

“That'd be great. I can use all the help I can get. But only if you've got the time.”

Jean smiled, “Oh we've got plenty of time, and Jack loves to talk about RV's, don't you honey?”

“Sure do. You ready for your first lesson?”

I nodded.

“OK, the first thing you need to do is learn how to park in your campsite.

Jack pointed to the back of the parking pad. “See that box sticking up out of the ground back there? That's where the campground hookups are. Electric and water.

“You'll want to park so the utility compartment on the back side of your motorhome is close to that pole.

“So let's get you parked right.

“You'll need to back out onto the road, then pull forward, then back into the site. And try not to hit anything.

“I'll stand back here and guide you. Use your mirrors and backup monitor to keep me in sight.”

I got into the Love Bus, started it up, put it in reverse. The little TV screen above the dash came on and I could see and hear Jack behind me.

I slowly backed out until Jack said, “That's far enough. Now pull down the road a bit so you can get the right angle to back into the site.”

I did as instructed. Pulled forward, then hesitated as I checked behind me.

Jack called out, “Just back in slowly. If you lose sight of either side, stop. If you think you are going to hit something, stop.

“Keep checking your mirrors and your backup monitor. Those will give you a clear view of what's behind you.”

I slowly backed up, trying to center the paved area of the campsite in the backup monitor while checking both side mirrors to make sure I wasn't going to hit anything.

As I backed, I could hear Jack saying, “Good, you're doing fine. Keep coming.”

Finally Jack waved, “That's far enough. Put it in park and set the brake.”

After shutting down the engine, I got out to see the results of my first campsite parking job.

It wasn't bad. The coach was in pretty straight and I had at least four feet of clearance on each side.

Jack walked up, “Not bad for a first timer.

“Now, let me show you how to connect to shore power. You'll need your keys for this part.”

I went back to the coach and removed the keys from the ignition.

Jack pointed to the keys, “It's a good idea to always take your keys with you when you leave the coach. There's a security feature that can automatically lock the doors after you get out. If the doors lock and you don't have your keys with you, you can't get back in.

“After you get locked out a few times, you'll learn to keep your keys with you.

“Let's go back to the rear of the coach and I'll show you how to hook up the water and power.”

Jack pointed to a small door at the back of the driver's side. “That's your utility compartment. You'll find your water, electric, sewer, and cable TV connections in there.

“One of the keys you've got will unlock it. Go ahead and give it a try.”

After I unlocked the door, Jack pointed, “See that chrome hook above the compartment? Use that to hold the door open.

“Now that you've got both hands free, reach inside and get that heavy black cable. That's the power cable.

“Push the plug through the opening in the bottom of the compartment. Then pull out enough cable to reach the electrical box over here.”

Jack was pointing to a pole at the rear of the campsite that had a fuse box attached to it.

“Before you do anything, flip the breaker on this fuse box to 'Off'. Then plug in your cable, and flip the breaker back on.”

I did as Jack instructed. When I flipped the breaker back on, I could hear beeps from inside the motorhome.

“That sound you hear is the microwave beeping to let you know it's powered up.”

“Next, you'll want to connect to water. Get the end of that white water hose and push it through the opening in the compartment floor. Don't let the hose end touch the ground.

“Then pull the hose over here to the water spigot.”

Jack was pointing to a water pipe near the electrical box we just hooked up to.

“It's a good idea to spray the water faucet with bleach before connecting. You never know who or what may have touched this spigot last.

“Could have been someone just dumped their sewer tank and didn't wash their hands. Or maybe a raccoon or dog looking for a drink of water.

“Either way, you don't want to contaminate your drinking water. That's why we keep a spray bottle of bleach in our utility compartment and use it to clean the water hose connections.”

I nodded, “That's a good idea. I'll have to remember to pick some up next time I'm at Walmart.”

Jack pointed to the faucet, “Since you don't have bleach, go ahead and connect the water-hose. Just don't drink the water.”

“I won't. I usually drink bottled water anyway. Just to be on the safe side.” I didn't tell Jack I'd gotten in the habit of always having bottled water with me from my days in Iraq.

Jack pointed inside the compartment, “That large black connector there is for your sewer hose.

“Some campgrounds have a sewer connection at each site so you can dump your tanks. But this park doesn't. They just have a main dump station near the exit gate.”

Jack pointed to the compartment door, “Now that you've hooked everything up, close the compartment door. Just unhook it from the chrome latch, close it, and turn the knob to lock it.”

Jack saw me wiping my hands on my pants. “Yep, you can get your hands dirty doing this. That's why it's a good idea to keep some rubber gloves and sani-wipes close by. Add those to your shopping list.”

“Will do.”

“Now if you want, we can go inside and I'll show you how to check the levels and make sure everything is running the way it should.”

I smiled, “That'd be great. I appreciate anything you can show me.”

Jack hesitated, “You want to go in first? Hide anything I shouldn't see?”

I laughed, “All you're going to see inside is how little I have. Just a few cleaning supplies I picked up at Walmart.

“It's safe, go on in.”

I opened the door, “Ladies first”, as I waved Jean in. Jack followed, I brought up the rear.

Jean spoke first, “Not bad. Looks just like ours. Even has the same color scheme we have. Smells like you just cleaned it up.”

I beamed, “You're right, just finished cleaning. It was a real mess when I picked it up.”

“You did a good job. Looks new.”

Jack turned and pointed to a rocker switch near the entry door. “That's your coach power switch. If you disconnect from shore power and want to run on batteries, you have to flip the rocker switch to 'On'.

“Usually you'll leave the power on when you're using the coach, and turn it off when you going to be away for a few days.

“If you forget to turn the power off, it'll eventually drain your batteries.

“If you're using your fridge, even on propane, you need to have the battery power switch on.”

Jean laughed. “Jack learned this the hard way. We put the coach away for a month and forgot to turn the battery power off. The next time we wanted to use it, the batteries were so dead we had to replace them.”

“And then there was the time we stayed with a friend for a few days and Jack flipped the power switch off to save the batteries.”

“When we came back five days later, everything in the fridge had gone bad. It was a real mess.”

“And speaking of messes, there was the time Jack was dumping the tanks and somehow the sewer hose popped off after he opened the valve. Sprayed sewage all over him . . .”

Jean was laughing so hard she couldn't continue. Jack started laughing too. “Yeah, that was a mess. But I learned my lesson. Only happened to me once.”

Jack turned to Jean, “Okay if I continue?”

She sheepishly nodded, “Yes. I'm really enjoying this.”

Jack turned back to me, then pointed to the dinette area. “That's your slide room. You can push the button on the wall over there and the dinette room will slide out, giving you more space inside.”

I moved to the wall and started to press the button.

Jack stopped me. “Don't press it yet. You need to check outside. Make sure nothing's in the way of the slide. Could be real expensive if you run the slide room into a picnic table or tree.”

“Yeah, that'd be bad. I'll go check.”

I went outside and checked. There was at least six feet of clearance between the slide room and the nearest tree.

Back in the coach, I reported my findings, “All clear. Nothing in the way.”

“Good. One last tip - the slide won't go out if the parking brake is not set. Check the brake, and then come back here.”

The brake was still set from when I parked the coach earlier, but I checked just to satisfy Jack.

“All set here. The brake's set.”

Jack motioned me back to the slide switch. “Here's where it gets fun. Press the 'Extend' button.”

I did and and like magic, the wall behind the dinette slowly moved out, taking the dinette with it.

After a few seconds, the wall stopped moving just as the extended floor dropped to match the level of the original coach floor.

“Wow! That is pretty cool! It really opens up a lot of space.”

“I told you it was like magic. Makes a big difference. Now let me show you a few other things you'll want to know.

“Over here, up on the ceiling is your TV antenna crank. To use it, unfold this little handle, and crank clock-wise until it stops. Then reach into the TV compartment and press the button labeled 'antenna amplifier'. Then use the remote to turn the TV on, put it in scan mode, and it'll seek out all the TV channels in the area.”

Jack walked over to the kitchen area, “You've got a two way refrigerator. It'll run on shore power or propane. Either way will keep things cool, even keep ice cream frozen in the freezer.

“Use the switch on the door to set the power mode - electric or propane. We usually leave it in the middle, on 'automatic'. That way the fridge automatically chooses whichever power source is available.

“Over here is the power switch for the hot water heater. Just flip it on a few minutes before you need hot water. Turn it off after the water gets hot.

“Oh, almost forgot. Your systems display panel.”

Jack was pointing at a black panel on the wall, displaying several vertical bars.

“By pressing the 'levels' button, you'll see a bar chart showing the condition of your systems."

Jacked pressed the button, and the indicators showed battery at 100%. Propane at 80%. Gray water 10%. Black water 10%. Fresh water 30%.

“All good. When the black or gray water gets over 50%, you probably want to dump your tanks. When propane gets under 25%, you'll want to fill up.

“That pretty much covers everything. Any questions?”

I thought for a moment, “What do I do in the morning when I get ready to leave?”

“Good question. When you get ready to leave the site, crank down the TV antenna first. Then retract the slide room. After you retract the slide, go outside and disconnect from shore power and unhook the water hose.

“Stow the power-cord and water hose in the utility compartment and close the small panel on the floor of the compartment. Then lock all the outside compartments.

"Walk around the coach to make sure the antenna is down, the slide is in, and everything is disconnected. Then come back inside, make sure all the cabinets and drawers are closed, and nothing has been left out that can move around while you're driving.

“After all that, start the motor, pull out of your site, and stop. Get out and check that you haven't left anything behind. Then go.”

He saw the look on my face and chuckled. “Once you do it a few times, it'll become second nature.”

Jean asked, “You leaving in the morning?”

“No. I've got to go to work in the morning. And since this is my only means of transportation, I'm driving it. But I'll be back tomorrow night.”

“Good. If you're here tomorrow, maybe we can get together again. How long you plan on staying?”

I hadn't really thought about it. Then I surprised myself by saying, “I'm thinking about leaving for Florida Saturday.”

“Really? What part of Florida?”

“I haven't decided yet. I just thought with winter coming, it might be nicer to spend it in Florida.”

Jean brightened up. “That's what we've been doing for the past five years. Driving to Florida and spending the winter in a house we rent in Venice.

“We stop here for a day or two. Then we're off again.

“We're planning on leaving Saturday morning. If you want, we can get together tomorrow evening and show you the route we are taking.”

“I'd like that. Knowing your route might keep me out of trouble.”

Jack's stomach growled and Jean said, “Sounds like it's time to feed Jack.”

She stood, “It's been nice meeting you. Maybe we'll get together again tomorrow.”

Jack turned to me. “We're in Section B. If you run into any problems or have any questions, feel free to come by. Hope to see you tomorrow.”

After they left I felt pretty confident about my decision to buy the Love Bus.

I'd just gotten a lesson on how to operate most of the systems and had met my first motorhome friends.

Tonight I'd be sleeping indoors in a real bed, with a solid roof over my head.

Being homeless was finally starting to feel like a real vacation.

17

The wake-up alarm on my cell phone chimed. It was time to start a new day.

I'd slept well. Safe and secure without worrying about raccoons or wind and rain.

For the first time in two weeks, I was living with lights, running water, flush toilet and shower - all the comforts of a real home.

What a great way to start the day!

I did my normal morning run, then got ready for my last day of work. Before going to the office, I wanted to take care of a couple of things.

First, I needed to go by Value Self Store and empty out my storage unit. Everything there would easily fit in the cargo bay of the motorhome.

Then over to Pack 'N Ship to check my mail. Make sure nothing important had come in.

And at some point during the day, I needed to go back to Walmart to get some of the items Jack had mentioned the night before. Bleach, spray bottle, sani-wipes, rubber gloves.

The most important task of the day was to go to the office one last time to pick up my final pay check. And find out what kind of surprise Molly had in store for me.

Probably a going-away cupcake with a little flag that read 'live your dreams', if I knew Molly.

After showering and dressing, I followed Jack's checklist of things to do before leaving the camp site.

I cranked down the TV antenna, brought in the slide room, unhooked the water and electric, checked and locked all the storage compartments, and secured everything inside.

Took about 10 minutes to do it all.

Then a quick walk around outside the coach, just to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. That's when I saw my big blue tent from Walmart.

I didn't want to leave it here for someone else to clean up, so I packed it up and placed it in one of the cargo bays. I'd get rid of it later.

With that taken care of, I eased the Love Bus out of the campsite and headed to McDonald's. It was a scrambled egg and orange juice kind of morning.

Getting the motorhome into the McDonald's parking lot was going to be a chore, especially at this time of day. Too many cars, too little space to park.

Fortunately, the mall parking lot next to McDonald's was almost empty, so I parked there. Then got my breakfast to go and took it back to the motorhome.

As I sat eating breakfast at my dining table inside my new home on wheels, I felt a sense of calm that had been missing from my life. I was no longer homeless. And I had the freedom to go anywhere I chose.

After breakfast, I drove over to Value Self Store, emptied my storage unit, closed my storage account. Then visited Pack 'N Ship where I checked my mailbox. Nothing there today.

Then off to work.

The parking lot at the plant was empty except for two cars. Molly's and the security guard's. Allison from accounting had been paid earlier in the week, and was long gone from the plant.

With no other cars in the parking lot, parking the motorhome was easy. Pulled right up front, got out, locked the doors, and headed into the office.

The security guard greeted me, “Walker, you driving a motorhome?”

“Yep, finally have a roof over my head.”

“Looking good. My wife and I have always dreamed of having one of those. Maybe some day we will.”

We shook hands, “Probably won't be seeing you again. Good luck in whatever you do.”

“Same to you.”

I walked to my office. It was empty. Nothing there. Not even my chair.

With nothing to do, I went over to Molly's office.

Her office was empty as well, except for a single folding lawn chair. She was sitting in it, reading a book.

She looked up, “So you finally made it in. How was your first night in the Love Bus?”

“It was pretty nice. Soft bed, running water, even had TV. What more could a single guy want?”

Molly laughed, “From what I remember, a whole lot more. I know about single guys.

“So what do you think? Is the Love Bus going to work out for you?”

“I think it is. It was nice to sleep on a real mattress, have a room over my head.

"And get this, I met a retired couple in the park last night and they have a motorhome that looks exactly like the Love Bus.

“They took me by the hand, showed me how everything worked. It really is amazing how everything it in works together to create a comfortable home on wheels.

“So yes, I think I'm going to like it.

“And while I'm thinking about it, do me a favor and thank Raymond for the deal on the tires. He saved me a lot of money.”

“I'll do that. He called last night to tell me how much he loves his new truck.”

Molly paused, “Now that you have new tires, what are your plans? Are you going to stay camped at the park or are you going to travel?”

“I'm not sure. But thinking about driving to Florida. Maybe find a small town near the beach, set up camp, just relax a while.”

Molly nodded, “That sounds nice. Especially the part about camping near the beach.

“If you're going to Florida, I know a place you might want to visit. But before we talk about that, I need to give you your final pay.”

She handed me three envelopes.

The first had my regular paycheck for the previous month. The second had my severance pay – equivalent to one month of my regular pay.

And the third and final envelope had a check for four weeks of accumulated but unused vacation pay.

Adding these three checks together, the total after taxes was nearly twenty two thousand dollars! Woohoo!

I knew I was going to get vacation and regular pay and some termination pay, but I never realized it was going to add up to so much.

This day was definitely starting out well.

After I looked through the envelopes, Molly asked, “Any problems?”

“No, it's great! Much better than expected.”

“Good. Now I want to ask a big favor. A really big favor. Feel free to say no if you don't want to do it.”

I listened as Molly continued.

“My younger sister lives in Florida. South of Sarasota in a small town near the beach.

“We don't get to see each other much, but she did visit us about six months ago.

“At that time she was living with a guy who she thought might be 'Mister Right'.

“But there was a problem. Mister Right was allergic to cats. And my sister had a cat. One that had been with her for three years.

“Mister Right claimed he was so allergic to cats he wouldn't be able to stick around. My sister was going to have to choose – either the boyfriend or the cat.”

I was listening and wondering where this story was going and how it was going to involve me.

Molly asked, “Are you by any chance allergic to cats?”

18

“Am I allergic to cats?”

“No, not so far as I know. I've lived with cats in the past, had no problems. Why?”

Molly brightened, “Good. You could really help me out here.

“This past summer when my sister visited, she brought her cat with her. And when she left, she asked me to take care of it until she found out if her new boyfriend was really Mister Right.

“We already had two dogs and the two kids, and I really didn't want to take on another animal, but my sister has a way of convincing me to do things. So we kept the cat.

“It's been six months now, and the boyfriend is long gone. Turned out he was allergic to work as much as he was to cats. He was just looking for someone to support him and his loser ways.

“My sister kicked his butt out. And since then, she's been trying to figure out a way to get her cat back.

“There's no way I can drive to Florida to deliver her cat. I can't afford the gas money, and I've got kids and a husband to take care of here.

“My sister can't get away either. She has a small business and she can't take the time off to drive back up here to get the cat.

“Anyway, I talked to her, and mentioned you might be driving to Florida, and you might have room in that big motorhome for her cat.”

Molly looked up at me hopefully. “Before you say no, let me tell you a little about the cat. His name is Mango Bob.

“He's three years old. He's been neutered. He's real lovable and used to riding in cars. He's got his own travel cage and wouldn't be any bother.”

Molly was talking faster now. “He just needs a litter box, some fresh water, a bowl of dry food, and you'll never know he's there.

“He can keep you company on the trip. Give you someone to talk to.

“And if you do this, my sister says she has plenty of room behind her business where you can park your motorhome. It's only two blocks from the beach.

“You could park there and live rent free.”

Molly had my attention now. I'm a big fan of free.

“My sister said she might even have a job for you. It wouldn't pay much, but could be fun.

“So what do you think? Will you take Mango Bob back to my sister in Florida?”

I needed to buy some time to consider her request, so I asked, “This cat, Mango Bob. How'd he get that name?”

Molly looked encouraged, “It's a long story and my sister will be happy to tell you all about it when you get down there.

“So can Mango Bob hitch a ride in the Love Bus?”

“Molly, so that's your surprise? Inviting me to take a cat to Florida? In the Love Bus? To meet your sister?”

“Not to meet my sister. To take Mango Bob back home. And in return, you'll get a place to camp near the beach for free for at least two months.”

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to. But it'd mean a lot to me if you did. And it'd give you a reason to get out of Conway. To go to Florida. To start a new adventure.”

Molly was right. If I agreed to take Mango Bob, it meant I'd be committed to going to Florida. I'd be leaving my life here behind.

But I'd planned to do that anyway.

Besides, I owed Molly big time. She'd pulled some strings arranging the sale of my truck and getting me the motorhome at a great price.

But I wonder - did she plan it this way all along?

I'm pretty naive when it comes to women, and this plan sure seems to have fallen in place nicely for Molly, her sister and Mango Bob.

But so what if they'd planned it? I'm the one who ended up with a nice motorhome at a great price, and the freedom to go to Florida, and maybe even have a free place to park near the beach once I got there.

The only downside would be the long drive to Florida, the cost of gas, and the hassle of traveling with a cat.

Molly was waiting for my answer.

“I'm going out to the motorhome and think about it. I'll be back in a few minutes and let you know one way or another.”

“Okay, but don't just drive off and leave me hanging. I know this is a big favor to ask, and you can say 'No' if you want. But it would be great if you could do it.”

“Don't worry, I'll be back in a few minutes. I'll let you know then.”

I headed toward the parking lot.

19

I'd only had the motorhome for a day and already liked the idea of having my own private sanctuary. Just by stepping in and closing the door behind me, I could get away from the rest of the world.

But how would that change if I had a stranger traveling with me – especially a four-legged one that pooped in a litter box?

And where would I keep the cat during the trip?

The easy solution would be to put his litter box in the shower stall, put his water and food bowls on the floor by the bathroom sink. And just let him roam freely.

That way, he could always get to his litter box, and if he had an 'accident', I could just run it down the shower drain.

With his food and water near the back of the coach, maybe he'd stay back there, out of the way. Maybe sleep most of the trip.

I would have to be careful going in and out the doors. Wouldn't want the cat to escape.

But other than that, having a cat in the Love Bus shouldn't be a problem. And even if it got to be a hassle, it'd only be for a few days.

My decision was made.

I went back to Molly's office and asked, “Do you have a road atlas? I'd like to see what part of Florida I'd be delivering the cat too.”

Her face lit up, “You mean you'll do it? My sister will be so happy!”

She hugged me, “Yes, I have a road atlas out in my car! I can show you where my sister lives and the route we take when we visit her.”

Molly was obviously very happy about my decision.

She grabbed her things, “Walk with me to the front door. I'll give the security guard the go-ahead to lock everything up and we'll get out of here.”

A few minutes later Molly and I were in the parking lot by her car. She pulled a large US Atlas from behind the back seat, opened to the Florida page.

“Here you go. My sister lives right here.”

She was pointing about half way down the west coast of Florida to a spot south of Tampa.

“This is it. Englewood, Florida. A small town with miles of beaches. This is where my sister lives.

“From Conway to her house is about twelve hundred miles. An easy two day drive. Interstate most of the way.”

She paused as I looked at the map.

It was going to be a long drive. Half way down Arkansas, through parts of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and almost all the way through Florida.

Definitely a long drive. But too late to back out now. And anyway, I was doing a good deed. A favor for a friend.

And in return, I'd have a place to park the motorhome and live rent free close to the beach.

I may have mentioned I like free. And free rent near the beach was like a magnet pulling me in that direction.

My alternative? Don't take the cat. Don't go anywhere. Stay here and do nothing.

On the other hand, Florida would mean adventure, warm weather, new people, freedom and a new beginning.

“You say it only takes two days to get there?”

Molly smiled, “Last time we went, my husband drove. We left Conway at daybreak, spent the night near Tallahassee, and were in Englewood late afternoon the next day.

“It was a two day drive for us. But it might take you longer in the motorhome.”

Molly continued, “My sister Sarah will be so excited to get Mango Bob back. You'll be her knight in shining armor for bringing him home.”

“So when are you planning on leaving?” Molly paused, waiting for my answer.

“Tomorrow is Saturday, and I'm thinking it might be a good day to start my trip.”

“Wow! That soon. That's great!

“I should bring Bob and his things over this evening. That way you can get a early start and won't have to wait for me and Bob to show up in the morning.

“But only if that's okay with you.”

“Sounds good to me. I've got some errands to run today and don't know when I'll be getting back to the campground. I'll call you when you can bring him over. Sometime this evening before dark.”

“That'll work. Just don't forget. Please don't leave without Bob.”

I promised I wouldn't.

20

It was settled. I'd volunteered to drive the Love Bus 1,200 miles to Florida to deliver a cat to Molly's sister. And I planned to leave within 24 hours.

That meant I needed to get ready for the trip.

After saying my goodbyes to Molly, I went to the bank to deposit my pay and withdraw some spending money for the trip. The three checks brought my account balance up to a little over sixty thousand dollars.

I withdrew fifteen hundred in cash, all twenties. I figured twenties would be easier to spend and less suspicious than carrying around a wad of hundred dollar bills.

My plan was to use my credit card to pay for gas and have the cash for food and 'just in case' expenses.

After leaving the bank, I drove to the Walmart Super Center. They sold gas, so I topped off the tanks. Took thirty gallons.

After filling up I went inside, and headed to the electronics section where I picked up a large screen Tom Tom GPS. Then over to the book section to get a printed US atlas – both would be handy in mapping out my route.

Remembering what I had learned from Jack the night before, I picked up a small bottle of bleach, a spray bottle and sani-wipes. Then over to the food section where I stocked up on frozen dinners, peanut butter and jelly, bread, cereal and juice.

From Walmart I headed back to the campground, where I was hoping to see Jack and Jean again. They'd been so gracious the night before, showing me how to operate all the systems in the Love Bus.

They'd offered to share advice on the best route to Florida, which I now needed. And maybe they could offer some suggestions on places to camp along the way.

When I reached the park, I was greeted by James, the ranger who I had met two weeks earlier. “Walker, see you're back with us tonight, Where's your truck?”

“Sold it. Got this instead. Beats camping in a tent.”

“I bet it does. Unfortunately, the daily camping fee for motorhomes is $18.00.”

“No problem. Still a bargain.”

“So how many nights you staying?”

“Just tonight. I'm leaving for Florida in the morning.”

“Hate to see you go. But the weather in Florida is sure going to be better than what we'll see in the next couple of months.

“Since you're only staying one night, I'm not going to put you in a river-front site. Those are for our long term guests.”

Checking his available site list, James found a vacancy and put me in section D, site 11. This was one of the wooded sites. No river views. A bit more private.

He drew a map to the site, told me to be safe, and said come back to the office if there were any problems.

Then he said, “We had some excitement last night. Someone tried to break into one of the motorhomes in the campground.

“It's the first time that's happened. Never had anything like that before.

“The police are still here at the campground, so don't be surprised if they ask you questions about anything suspicious you might have seen.”

I'd been here two weeks, and the only thing suspicious I'd seen were the raccoons who tried to steal food scraps at night.

I headed to my campsite, being careful to stay below the posted speed limit of nine miles per hour.

As I drove, I kept a lookout for a Winnebago Aspect motorhome identical to mine. That's what Jack and Jean were in. I wanted to talk with them again before taking off to Florida.

I arrived at my site without seeing Jack's motorhome. I'd have to go looking for them later.

Remembering what I had learned, I carefully backed onto the paved pad at my campsite, close enough to the utility pole so I could hook up to shore power.

After parking, I connected the 30 amp electrical cable and water hose from the motorhome to the utility pole on the camp site. Just as Jack had shown me.

Before I got back in, I checked to make sure there was plenty of space for the slide to go out. No trees or tables in the way.

Inside, I set the parking brake and pressed the 'extend' button to get the slide to go out.

So far, so good. The instructions Jack had given me paid off. I was quickly becoming an old hand at setting up camp.

I put away the food and other supplies I'd gotten from Walmart. I kept the GPS and Atlas out to help route my trip to Florida.

Before routing the trip, I wanted to see if I could find Jack and Jean to see what advice they could offer.

21

The Toad Suck Ferry campground has fifty three campsites spread out over four loops. Three of the loops are on the river, the fourth is in the woods.

I had already checked all the sites in the wooded loop when I drove in, so I decided to check the river loop to see if Jack and Jean were camped over there.

Walking around the loops, I saw several different kinds of motorhomes. Some were the larger Class A bus sized, but most were the smaller Class B and Class C's like mine.

I noticed almost all of the Class A's were pulling a tow vehicle, usually a small car or jeep, while most of the smaller motorhomes had no tow vehicle, but often had bicycles strapped to the back.

This made sense. The big motorhomes wouldn't be easy to maneuver in crowded cities, so having a tow vehicle would provide a way to get around.

On the smaller Class B's and C's, you really didn't need a tow vehicle since you could drive them just about anywhere.

But having a bike meant you could easily get around the campground. Even pedal to nearby stores without needing to unhook and drive the motorhome.

I'd need to add a bike to my list of things to buy if I were going to stick with the 'house on wheels' lifestyle.

Having no luck on river loop A, I walked thru loop B, and eventually found a Winnebago Aspect that looked a lot like my Love Bus.

There was no question it was the one I was looking for. Jack was outside checking the air pressure in his tires.

“Jack, checking your tires?”

He looked up, “Glad to see you're still here. We were afraid we'd missed you.”

“Still here. But I'm leaving in the morning. Wanted to get your advice on a good route to Florida. Maybe some suggestions on where to stay on the way down.”

“Happy to help. But did you hear about the break-in attempt last night?”

“Yeah, the Ranger told me when I came in.”

Jack pointed toward his coach, “But did he tell you it was our coach they tried to get into?”

“No, he didn't mention that. What happened?”

“It was around one in the morning. We were sleeping. I got up to pee. Heard a noise below the bathroom window.

“I thought it was a raccoon. I peeked out and saw a man bent over trying to get something out of our utility compartment.

“I yelled at him. Ran to the door to see if I could catch him. But he took off. Gone before I could get out the door.”

I was stunned. The only people I knew in the campground and they were the ones who had been broken into.

“Amazing! Someone tried to get into your motorhome while you were sleeping. Did they get anything? Any idea what they wanted?”

Jack wiped his hands on a towel, “I've been thinking about it all day.

“The low-life was scrounging around in our utility compartment. There's nothing in there to steal except a 30 amp power cord and a used sewer hose.

“I can't think of any reason he'd risk getting caught for that.

“And there's another thing. Anyone who knows anything about motorhomes wouldn't look in the utility compartment for something to steal.

“They'd look in the other compartments. Or try to get inside. What bothers me most is no other motorhomes were targeted. Just ours.

“He didn't try to get into any of the unlocked cars at the other sites or inside the flimsy tents or the more expensive motorhomes.

“He chose ours. Like he had a special reason to target ours.

“I guess it could have been a prank – but why bother? Why go to the trouble of trying to break into the sewer compartment in a motorhome with people sleeping inside?

“It just doesn't make sense.

“When I looked out the window, the guy was rummaging around like he was looking for something.

“He even peeled back one of the metal panels on the inside of the compartment. No telling what he'd have done if I hadn't seen him.

“Jean is pretty upset about this. Not scared, just upset that someone would damage her home for reasons we can't figure out.

“In any case, we're leaving tomorrow morning. Not because of this. We'd already planned to leave for Florida tomorrow.

“The only change is tonight we're camping at Walmart instead of staying in the campground here.

“That'll make it easier for us to get an early start in the morning, and Jean won't worry so much about the thief coming back here tonight.

“Right now I'm checking all our systems. Making sure our visitor last night didn't mess with anything else.

“After I get everything checked out, we'll head over to the Walmart parking lot. Spend the night there with the other boondockers.

“Tomorrow we'll get up at daybreak and head toward Florida.”

Wow. Jack and Jean were broken into. And they weren't going to be here in the park tonight.

“You're spending the night at Walmart? How does that work?”

“It's called boon-docking. Camping without any hookups.

“A lot of Walmart stores allow motorhomes to park overnight in their parking lots. Mostly the Super Centers close to the interstates.

“A few cities don't allow it, so you have to check to be sure it's okay.

“If it's allowed, you can stay overnight as long as you don't block the delivery trucks or cause problems for other customers.

“They're smart to allow this. It gives RV'ers a place to rest for the night, and most will go into the store and stock up on food and other things.

“We usually stay in campgrounds, but when we're trying to cover a lot of miles in a short period of time, we'll often drive until dark. Then find a Walmart to park in.

“That's what we'll be doing tonight. Then we'll get up at daybreak. Do as many miles as we can tomorrow. Get us closer to Florida.”

I nodded, “So, that's why I see motorhomes parked at Walmart?”

“That's one reason. Another is Walmart parking lots are easy to get into. Even if you're not spending the night, it's a convenient place to stop and shop.”

I nodded, “So you're heading to Florida tomorrow morning and camping in the Walmart parking lot tonight?”

“That's our plan. If you like, you're welcome to join us. You can park near us. And I can show you a few more things about your motorhome.”

“Sounds good to me. When are you planning on going over there?”

“Right before dark. I'm not much on driving after the sun goes down, so it'll be around 5:30 this evening.

“Before then I'm going to do my normal pre-flight check on the motorhome. Tire pressure, oil level, things like that. If you want, I'll be happy to help you check yours after I get done here.

“Or better yet, you can help me check mine. That way you'll see what I do before each trip.”

That sounded good to me. I told Jack anything he could show me would be much appreciated.

In the back of my mind I was still thinking about why of all the motorhomes and campers in the campground the thief had singled out Jack's coach.

What could they possibly be looking for?

Later on, I'd find out. And it would involve me.

22

After Jack told me about the attempted break-in, I decided I needed to make sure I had locked my own motorhome.

I mentioned this and he said “Go check it right now. Then come back and I'll show you how I prepare for a long trip.”

I walked back to the Love Bus and checked. The doors were locked. But I had left one of the exterior compartments unlocked. Probably when I moved things from the storage building into the coach this morning.

Fortunately, nothing was missing. I locked the compartments, double checked the doors, headed back to Jack's campsite.

Jack was still outside, bent over the rear tires. “Everything OK? Any problems?”

“I'm glad I checked. One of the compartments was unlocked. But nothing missing. And it's locked now.”

“Good. let me show you what I do when I prepare for a trip.

“First, I check the pressure in all the tires. Got to get them right or this thing can be hard to drive – especially in the wind.

“If you don't have an air gauge, you'll want to get one. Buy a good one at a truck stop so you'll get accurate readings. Those cheap two dollar gauges from China are worthless.

“Before you check the air, look for the correct tire pressure on the sticker inside the driver's door. It'll show the correct pressure for the front and rear.

“Even with your new tires, check the pressure. Tire stores often over-inflate the tires. That'll give a rough ride. Make the coach wander all over the road.

“If you're leaving in the morning, you won't have a chance to get an air gauge. You can use mine.

“After the tires, I check underneath the coach, make sure there are no leaks. Then I check the engine oil and windshield washer fluid.

“These new Ford engines usually won't use any oil between changes, but it is always a good idea to check anyway.

“The windshield washer fluid is pretty important on long trips. You'll need it to clean the bugs and road grime that'll build up on the windshield along the way.

“Inside the coach, I'll do a 'levels check'. That'll tell me whether I need to dump the holding tanks, add fresh water, or need to fill the propane.

“I already know the holding tanks are more than half full, so I'll need to dump them. There's no need carrying around all that extra weight on the road.

“I'll dump the tanks at the dump station near the main gates when we leave this evening.”

Jack wiped his hands, “I'm pretty much done here. We can go do your coach now, but I've got to let Jean know where I'm going. She doesn't it like it when I disappear without telling her.”

23

After telling Jean where he was going, Jack came back out and we started making our way to my campsite.

"We've been camping for fifteen years, and this is the first time anything like this has happened. No one's ever tried to break in before. It just doesn't make sense.

“At first I was mad. Now I'm just curious. Why our coach? Why the utility compartment?

“It's got Jean on edge. She's not scared, just ready to hit the road. The sooner the better.

“When I told her you might be camping with us at Walmart tonight, she said it was a good idea. Better to have someone you know in the camper next door if you were expecting trouble.

“But I'm not expecting trouble. Especially at Walmart. They have cameras monitoring the parking lot, and security guards inside watching the monitors.

“Plus there's a whole lot of witnesses coming and going. Criminals don't like that.”

When we got to my site, Jack smiled. “Well, look at this. You parked it the right way. Even got it in the middle of the pad. I'm impressed.”

I laughed, “Jack, you're a good teacher. I just did what you showed me last night.”

Jack motioned to the front tire. “OK, let's see if your motorhome is ready for the trip. We'll start by checking the tires.”

He unscrewed the valve cap on the passenger side front tire, pushed his air gauge onto the valve, and checked the pressure.

“Just as I suspected. Over-inflated by twenty pounds.”

He turned the air gauge over and used the pointed end to release air from the tire. After a few seconds he checked, and repeated the process until the gauge showed the correct pressure.

“This one is good. You do the other five tires and I'll watch.”

Following Jack's lead, I checked and adjusted the pressure on the rest of the tires. All were over-inflated and I adjusted them to the right pressure. Then I gave the gauge back to Jack.

“Good job. You'll be glad you corrected the pressure. Now let's check the fluids. Open the hood.”

I unlocked the driver door, pulled the handle to unlatch the hood.

Jack pointed, “Grab a paper towel, You'll need it to check the oil.”

With paper towel in hand, I moved to the open hood, found and pulled the dip-stick, and wiped it clean. Slid it back in, and pulled it back out again. The oil was almost clear, the level right where it should be. I showed it to Jack.

“Looks good. Now check the brake fluid, coolant level and washer fluid.”

He waited to see if I could do it on my own.

I could. I'd done this many times with all of the vehicles I'd owned.

Satisfied I had done it correctly, Jack smiled, “Looks like she's been regularly maintained. The engine looks clean, fluid levels are correct, the belts look good. You even have a new battery.”

I nodded as Jack looked under the coach.

“Looks like you have a small water leak in the back somewhere. Probably missing a washer on the fresh water hose. An easy fix.”

We went to the back and opened the utility compartment door. Jack was right. The water hose was leaking where it connected to the coach.

He reached in and hand tightened the hose connection. The leak stopped.

Instead of standing back up he said, “This is different. I don't have this in my coach.”

He was pointing to a small locking cover at the back of the compartment.

“Not sure what that would be. I've never seen anything like that on any of the motorhomes I've owned.

“No reason to have a locking compartment inside the utility bay.”

He looked at me, “Have you noticed this before?“

I hadn't. Even if I had, I wouldn't have known it was unusual.

Jack continued, “Somebody probably added this after the coach left the factory. Maybe it's a safe. But a strange place to put it. Right next to the sewer connection.”

“After you get settled in Florida, you might want to see if any of your keys open this little door. No telling what you might find in there.”

Jack closed the compartment door, and we went inside the coach to check the levels panel.

As before, the levels display showed the battery at 100% and propane at 80%. The black, gray and fresh water tanks showed as nearly empty.

Pointing at the levels, Jack said, “You won't need to dump your tanks. But you'll want to add some fresh water to get the levels up to one quarter full. We can do that now.

Back outside at the utility compartment, Jack pointed to a white handle near the hose connection. “When the water hose is connected, it normally just pressurizes your lines, but doesn't fill your water tank.

“To fill the tank, move that white handle to the 'water fill' position.”

I moved the handle and immediately heard the rush of water running into the tank.

“Give it about four minutes, and you'll have about a quarter tank of water. Then move the handle back to normal.”

As we waited for the tank to fill, I mentioned I'd be taking a cat with me on my trip to Florida.

“A cat? You have a cat?”

“No, it's not mine. I'm delivering it to a friend in Florida. I've actually never seen the cat.”

Jack chuckled, “Let me guess. A woman talked you into taking this cat with you?”

“Yep, you guessed it.”

“Here's some advice. Don't lose the cat.

“People get real attached to their pets and if you lose or harm that cat, you'll never hear the end of it.

“And another bit of advice. Don't use the slide room while the cat's in the coach.

“If the cat's back there when the slide comes in, you're either going to have one seriously pissed off or mangled cat on your hands.”

I hadn't thought about this. But I could see it'd be a problem if the cat got in the way when the slide room was in motion.

“So where's the cat now? I didn't see him when we were inside.”

“Molly from work will be delivering him later this evening.”

“Make sure you get a litter box. And the right kind of food. Cats can be picky.”

Jacked motioned to the water compartment, “Time to turn the water off.”

I turned the water fill handle back to 'normal'. The sound of running water stopped.

Jack pointed to the fuel door, “If you haven't already done so, top off your gas tank when you get to Walmart. You've got a fifty gallon tank, and that'll get you well into Mississippi where fuel prices will be a lot lower.”

Jack wiped his hands, “Looks like you're all set. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes. Take my cell number. Call me when you get ready to go to Walmart."

“Will do. I've got to get back to Jean. She's got a few chores waiting for me. I'll call you around five.”

Jack left.

If he was going to call around five, I'd have two hours before we'd leave. I'd use that time to repack the items I'd moved from the storage building. Maybe hang up some clean clothes in the closet.

And call Molly, let her know the drop-off point for Mango Bob was changing.

24

I called Molly. She answered on the third ring.

“Molly, this is Walker. I'm not going to be at Toad Suck park tonight.”

“What! Don't tell me you left without Mango Bob! You promised you'd take him!”

“Molly, calm down. I'm still planning on taking the cat. I'm just not camping at Toad Suck park tonight. I'll be camping at Walmart instead.”

“Walmart? Why Walmart?”

“It's a long story. But I'll be boon-docking in the Walmart parking lot tonight.”

“Boon-docking? What kind of word is that? Never mind. When would be a good time to bring Bob over?”

“Probably some time after six. I'll call you when I get to Walmart.”

“OK, That works for me. Easier for me to get there than to drive all the way to Toad Suck.

“Walker, one thing I forgot to mention this morning. I got a strange phone call from Harvey Tucker yesterday. He's the guy from corporate who pushed the decision to close the Conway plant and move it to Mexico.

"It just so happens he was also the last person who used the Love Bus.

“Anyway, he called and wanted to know if the Love Bus had been sold, and if so, to who.

“I told him it had been sold and you were the buyer.

“He wanted to know if it was still parked in the executive parking lot. When I told him you had already picked it up, he sounded worried.

“He asked if I knew where you were. Said he may have left something in it, and wanted to check to see if it was still there.

“I told him you were camping at Toad Suck Park for the next few days.

“I asked him if he wanted me to contact you, and he said not to bother you, it wasn't that important.

“Then this morning, after you picked up your paycheck, he called me at home. Wanted to make sure you were still camping at the park. I told him as far as I knew, you were.”

I interrupted Molly, “He called yesterday? Is he in town? Did he say he was going out to the park to look for me?”

“No, as far as I know he's still in Boston. He didn't mention anything about going out to the park to look for you.

“He did want to know the make and model of the Love Bus. Not sure why he'd be interested in knowing that.

“If he calls back, you want me to tell him you'll be at Walmart tonight? Give him your phone number?”

“Molly, if he calls back, tell him I'm already on the road and you're not sure where. And if he asks, give him my email address, no phone number.”

“Okay, no problem. Kind of strange for him to be calling.”

“Maybe his girlfriend lost an earring or something. Probably not anything to worry about.

“Molly, I'll call you when I get to Walmart. If Tucker calls back, tell him you think I'm on my way to Texas. Don't tell him I'm going to Florida.”

“OK. Call me from Walmart. Don't leave without Mango Bob.”

The call ended.

So Harvey Tucker from corporate headquarters was interested in the whereabouts of the Love Bus.

According to corporate, it had been months since anyone had used it. Why would Tucker wait this long if he was worried about leaving something in it?

And does Tucker's sudden interest in the Love Bus have anything to do with someone trying to break into Jack's motorhome last night?

His looks exactly like the Love Bus and could be easily mistaken for it.

On the other hand, it all could be just a coincidence.

Still, it's probably good that neither Jack nor I will be camping at Toad Suck Park tonight.

25

I wasn't going to tell Jack about the phone call from Tucker and his interest in the whereabouts of the Love Bus.

No reason to get him riled up over something that might just be a coincidence.

On the other hand, it was an awful strange coincidence. One that made me wonder exactly what Tucker thought he'd left in the motorhome. Something so valuable he'd risk having someone try to steal it in the dark of night.

Maybe it had something to do with that secret locked panel in the utility compartment. The one Jack had pointed out.

I probably needed to see if any of the keys that came with the coach fit that panel. Check to see what might be in there.

But not today. Too many other things to do.

At the moment, I needed to get ready to move to the Walmart parking lot. That meant unhooking from campground power and water, stowing the cords and hoses, locking all the compartment doors, and waiting for Jack's call.

It'd already been a long day. I decided a short nap might be in order. I locked the doors, turned on the overhead fan, went to the back bedroom and stretched out.

I was sound asleep in minutes.

Some time later my phone chimed with an incoming call. It was Jack. They were getting ready to leave.

“If you want to see how to dump your tanks, meet me at the park dump station. We're heading over there now.”

“Give me five minutes. I'll meet you there.”

I went outside and did a quick walk-around to make sure I was ready to travel. Compartments locked, slide room in, TV antenna down, electricity and water disconnected. Good to go.

When I got to the dump station, Jack was waiting. He had the door to his utility compartment open, and was wearing long rubber gloves.

I'll spare you the particulars, but dumping the tanks is actually pretty easy as long as you securely connect one end of the dump hose to the coach sewer connection and the other end to the sewer tank in the ground -- before you pull the dump handle.

Do it in the right order, things go smoothly.

Miss an important step, and you'll end up standing in a pond of poop.

Jack was an expert at these things, and all went well. He dumped his tanks and we were on the road to Walmart in less than ten minutes.

26

Jack was in front of me in his coach. I followed in mine. A convoy of two identical looking motorhomes.

It was obvious Jack wasn't in any hurry. He started off slow, drove below the speed limit, and kept plenty of room between his coach and the cars in front of him.

I did the same, making sure not to follow too close, giving him plenty of room.

When we arrived at Walmart, Jack drove to the far corner of the parking lot. Far away from the main parking lot entrances and in the general vicinity of two other motorhomes.

I pulled in beside him, leaving two empty parking spaces between us.

Jack got out of his coach, walked over to mine. “Let's go in and talk to the store manager. Usually there's no problem, but I always like to let them know we might be staying overnight. It's good to get their permission first.

“Once they know we're here, they'll advise us of the best place to park. And they'll let their security people know we've been approved.”

Inside Walmart, we went to the service desk where Jack explained we were traveling in RVs and wanted permission to rest a few hours in the parking lot.

The woman behind the counter smiled, “No problem. You'll want to park at the far right corner of the lot near the trees. That way you won't block our delivery trucks and won't be bothered by traffic all night.”

“If you have leveling jacks, please don't use them and don't extend your slides. We don't want our parking lot damaged or looking like a campground.

“Our store is open 24 hours, so if you need anything during the night, we'll be here for you.”

We thanked her, and walked back to our coaches.

Jack pointed at the sky, “This is the perfect time of year for boon-docking at Walmart. It's not so hot that you need to run your generator and air conditioning. And not so cold that you have to run a heater.

“During the hot summer months, it's usually better to stay at a campground with shade trees and full hookups. But tonight, the weather is perfect. All you'll need is a fan to mask the traffic noise and you'll be good to go.

He paused, “Jean and I plan to leave at daybreak. Our goal is to get just beyond Mobile.

“That's a five hundred mile drive, and if we start at sunrise, we should be able to make it before dark.”

“If we get that far, we plan to spend the night in the Bass Pro parking lot. It's the first exit beyond the Mobile Bay tunnel.”

I looked up, “I'm heading in the same direction. Do you mind showing me the route you plan to take?”

Jack smiled, “No problem.”

I pointed to the Love Bus, “I've got maps and a GPS inside. Come on in.”

Jack hesitated, “I'll be over in a few minutes. Got to let Jean know we got the OK from Walmart to park here tonight.”

I went to the Love Bus, got out my maps and waited for Jack.

True to his word, he came over and showed me the route he planned to take.

“When we leave in the morning, we'll take I-40 to Little Rock, then I-30 to the Pine Bluff turnoff, then 530 south to state highway 65.

“We'll stay on 65 to Lake Village and follow the levees along the Mississippi river through Louisiana to Tallulah.

“Most people get off of 65 at Lake Village and take the new bridge to the Mississippi river at Greenville, where all the Casino's are.

“But we don't like the traffic around Greenville. We like the back way, staying on 65 all the way into Louisiana.

“This route usually gets us into Vicksburg around noon. From there, it's another 240 miles to Mobile. If we average 60 miles per hour, we arrive in Mobile before dark.

“We stop for fuel in Richland, Mississippi. They have the cheapest fuel prices you'll find on the trip, so we always top off our tanks there.

“The worst part of the drive will be I-20 between Vicksburg and Jackson. That section of road is built on swampland. It's like a roller-coaster. Anything not bolted down is going to bounce off the walls.

“The best thing to do through there is just slow down. Don't let traffic intimidate you, and you'll do fine.

“I'd invite you to leave with us in the morning, but two motorhomes traveling together on a two lane highway can create a rolling road block. So it'd be best if we were separated by a few miles.

“If you want, I can call you when we get up in the morning. That way you can get on the road bright and early right after we leave.”

“Yeah, I'd like that. And with your permission, I might give you a call from the road if I run into any problems or get lost.”

“Don't worry about getting lost. You only have about four turns from here to Mobile. As long as you get on 49 south at Jackson, you'll be on track.

“I've got to get back to Jean. We're going to eat and then get to bed early. Long day tomorrow.”

I thanked Jack for his advice and hoped I'd see him again during the trip.

I put the maps on the dinette table and spent a few minutes programming the route into the GPS.

If Jack planned to reach Mobile tomorrow night, I'd make that my goal as well.

I needed to call Molly and let her know I was ready for her to bring the cat over.

I touch dialed her number, and after the third ring her voice mail picked up. I left a message.

“Molly, this is Walker. I'm at Walmart. You can bring the cat over whenever you like. I'm parked next to another motorhome that looks exactly like mine.

“I'll tie a blue towel around my driver's side mirror so you'll know which is which.

“If you can't make it or your plans have changed, let me know. I'm leaving at daybreak tomorrow.”

I checked my watch. 7pm. She's probably eating dinner with her husband and kids.

Three minutes later, my phone rang. Molly.

“Walker, got your message. I've just packed Bob into the car and I'll be over there in ten minutes. I'll have my husband and kids with me. We won't be staying long. See you in a few.”

Molly showed up with a car full of kids ten minutes later.

The first thing she said was, “Good to see you're still here. I was afraid you'd change your mind and leave without Mango Bob.”

“Nope, not leaving without the cat. I'm afraid you'd hunt me down if I did that.”

Molly pointed over her shoulder, “Let's get his litter box and food first, then we'll get Bob.”

She lifted the rear hatch on her car and handed me a bag of cat food and litter. She grabbed two bowls and a small litter box.

“Better get these set up before we bring Bob over. He's a little nervous with all the kids in the car and might need to use his box soon.”

I opened the door to the Love Bus and led the way to the bathroom.

“Put the litter box in the shower stall. Put the food and water bowls over by the sink.”

Molly approved, “You've had a cat before?”

“Yes, a long time ago. I still remember the basics. Food, water, litter box.”

“Good, let's go get Bob.”

Back at her car, Molly handed me a small plastic bag. “These are Bob's toys. Hold onto them until we get Bob inside.”

She reached into the car and came out carrying a large soft sided pet carrier. Inside was one very pissed off cat. Growling and hissing.

“This is Mango Bob. As you can tell, he's not very happy. He doesn't usually growl like this, but the kids and all the cars in the parking lot have him upset.

“When we get him inside, give him a few minutes to settle down. Then after I leave, unzip the top of this carrier. He'll jump out as soon as he sees an opening.

“Make sure all your doors and windows are closed, because when he gets out, he'll start exploring. Looking for a way to escape.

“After a few hours, he'll settle in and won't be a problem.

“He normally sleeps all day, and patrols at night. As long as there's food in his dish, he'll eat when he's hungry.

“There is this one thing. When Bob needs to use the litter box, he likes to announce it by crying for about five minutes. Usually in the middle of the night.

“Just ignore him and he'll find his box and use it. Any questions?”

“Yeah, does he bite?”

“Only if you grab him when he doesn't want to be handled. For the most part, just leave him alone. When he wants your attention, he'll let you know.”

“What if he gets car sick?”

Molly laughed. “Don't worry about Bob. If he get's sick, he'll throw up. Then he'll be fine.

“For the most part, Bob's pretty low maintenance. Just make sure he has food and water and a clean litter box and he won't be any trouble.

“If you're only on the road for three days, you won't even need to clean his litter box. But he'll probably appreciate it if you do.

“That plastic bag you're holding has a litter scoop and some catnip. Use the scoop to clean out the litter. And give him some catnip before you go to bed. It'll settle him down.

“All you really need to worry about is not letting him get out when you go in and out the doors. He'll probably try to escape, and if he does get out, you'll never see him again. And that'll break my sister's heart.

“Speaking of my sister. Here's a card with her name, phone number and address on it.

“You'll want to call her early the day you expect to get there. She's usually out on the water after eight in the morning and not back until after three in the afternoon. So call early.

“If something comes up and you can't reach her, call me. I'll probably be home taking care of the kids until after Christmas. Any questions?”

I thought for a moment, “Sounds like you covered it all. I'll be leaving in the morning. Hoping to make Mobile tomorrow night.

“The people parked in the RV next door are the ones I told you about. Jack and Jean.

“They've been sharing their expertise with me and have given me the best route to Florida. Really nice people.

“One other question. Did Harvey Tucker call you back asking about the Love Bus?”

“No, haven't heard from him since this morning. If he does call back, I won't tell him where you are or give him your phone number.

Molly reached out and touched my arm, “Walker, I really appreciate you taking Bob to my sister. I hate to see you leave Conway, but I kind of envy you going on this grand adventure.

“Tell my sister I miss her. And tell her to be nice to you.

“One last thing about Bob. He doesn't have a tail. He was born that way. Kind of makes him look like a bobcat.

Molly looked over her shoulder toward her car, “I've got to get back. The kids are driving my husband crazy.”

She gave me a hug and walked back to her car.

That would be the last time I saw her.

27

I watched Molly drive off.

Back inside the Love Bus, Bob was singing. And not a happy song. No doubt he was upset about being confined in his small carry cage.

I wanted to let him out, but not before I went to Walmart and got something for my dinner. Maybe a fresh salad from the Subway sandwich shop at the front of the store.

When I left the coach, I locked the door behind me. Didn't want anyone breaking in and stealing Bob.

Inside Subway ordered a salad to go. No need to eat in the store when I had my private dining coach back in the parking lot.

As I walked back to the Love Bus, I could hear Bob complaining. He wanted out. Now!

I unlocked the door and put my salad on the table, then went back and unzipped the top of Bob's carrier. Almost immediately, a large cat jumped out and ran for cover.

Mango Bob.

It would be two hours before I'd see him again.

I ate my salad while reviewing the route Jack had mapped on my Atlas. Arkansas to Louisiana to Mississippi to Alabama. Mostly back roads, with less than 100 miles of interstate.

Should be an easy drive.

After eating, I dropped the salad container along with the plastic spork into a Walmart shopping bag. Then closed all the curtains and rechecked to make sure the doors were locked.

It was still early, but I had a long day of driving ahead and wanted to get some rest. I set the alarm on my phone for six in the morning.

Bob was nowhere to be seen. Probably hiding under the bed or dinette. Keeping a low profile until he figured out where he was.

At least he wasn't singing or complaining and that was good enough for me.

Getting to sleep in the Walmart parking lot wasn't easy. The constant hum of traffic and car doors slamming shut, along with the beep of auto alarms kept me awake.

Then I remembered what Jack had said. Turn on the overhead fan to create white noise. The fan will drown out the background, and you'll get some sleep.

I followed his advice and was asleep in just a few minutes.

28

In the early morning, long before the sun was up, Mango Bob came alive.

Meeeow! Meeow! Meeow! Loud and angry.

Bob was complaining about something. Then silence. Then a few moments later, I heard Bob scratching in his litter box.

Apparently this was what Molly had mentioned. Bob liked to announce his intentions before he used the litter box.

He completed his task, and I didn't hear from him again.

My phone chimed me awake at 6:00am. Still dark outside. But I knew the sun would be up soon.

Pulling the curtains back, I could see the lights in Jack and Jean's motorhome were already on. Time for me to get up and get on the road.

For breakfast I had cereal. Kashi Crunch with white grape juice. Breakfast of champions.

Bob came out of hiding. Started sniffing around, trying to find his scent. Then he began telling me about his night.

Apparently he was a talker.

Me, I didn't have much to say. Was happy to see that Bob had survived the night.

I cleaned up my breakfast mess. Went through my pre-road checklist.

Closed all cabinets and drawers. Made sure the doors were still locked. Opened the curtains on the front windows. Kept the blinds in the back bedroom drawn for Bob.

Checked to make sure his litter box was still secure. Moved his water and food bowls up against the bathroom vanity to keep them from moving too much.

Ready to go.

By this time, Jack and Jean had already departed.

Me next.

Started the coach and let it warm up for a few minutes. Checked my mirrors, and eased out of the Walmart parking lot. Headed for the interstate on-ramp.

Finally on the road.

The interstate wasn't crowded this early in the morning. Traffic was light. This was good, as it would give me a chance to get used to driving the motorhome on the highway.

Surprisingly, the coach handled well. Not much different than a large truck.

The few cars on the road were running seventy five miles an hour and faster. My instinct from years of driving was to try to keep up.

But that's not a good idea in a motorhome. Instead, I followed Jack's recommendation. Keep it under sixty five, and you won't have problems.

It took me about an hour to get from Conway to the other side of Little Rock. Then another ninety minutes to get to Pine Bluff where I left the interstate behind.

For the next one hundred forty miles it would be rural roads with a maximum speed limit of sixty five.

Easy driving, not too much traffic. Just me, the motorhome and Bob the cat.

When I got to Lake Village, Arkansas, the last 'big' town before heading into Louisiana, I pulled into an empty parking lot. The sign above a vacant store read Piggly Wiggly.

I'd been driving for almost four hours, making good time. No need to kill myself by spending too many hours behind the wheel without a break. I needed to get out. Stretch a bit.

I located Bob. He was in the back, asleep on the bed. He didn't acknowledge me.

Good. I might be able to get out the door, take a walk and get back in without worrying about him escaping.

I snuck out the coach side door. Locked it behind me. Walked around the coach to make sure all was good.

We'd picked up some road grime, a few bugs on the front, but other than that it looked good. Made me proud to know it was mine.

Checked the parking lot and decided a brisk walk around the perimeter would get me ready for the next five hours of driving.

After ten minutes of walking, I headed back to the coach, and noticed a few cars now parked in the lot.

Maybe one of the vacant storefronts was used for something after all.

It didn't matter to me. I was ready to hit the road again.

I went back to the coach, unlocked the door and opened it. Bob was there and jumped out the door the moment he saw daylight.

I tried to grab him, but he was too fast for me. He was gone.

This was bad. Real bad.

I looked around and didn't see Bob anywhere. My guess is he wouldn't run toward the road – too much noise and too many cars.

Maybe he was under one of the cars parked nearby.

I started checking and found him under an old Buick Electra.

He was breathing heavily, obviously upset.

I got down on my hands and knees and tried to reach him. He growled and spit at me.

I knew I had to get him, so I belly crawled toward him, but he just backed up.

“What you doing mister?”

A voice behind me.

“Hey mister, what you doing under my mother's car?”

I didn't answer.

“Hey mister, if my brother finds you under my mother's car, he'll shoot you!”

That got my attention. I wriggled back out from under the car.

Standing behind me was a young black boy – probably about twelve years old. He was wearing long black pants, a white shirt, and a tie.

He pointed again at the car.

“What you doing under my mother's car?”

I sighed heavily. “My cat escaped. Ran up under the car. I'm trying to get him back.”

“You're not going to get him that way. Cat's don't like it when you grab for them.”

Smart kid.

“Yeah, I'm finding that out. But I've got to get this cat back. He belongs to a friend.”

“I can do it for you. If you pay me a dollar.”

“Kid, if you can get that cat back in the motorhome, I'll pay you ten dollars.”

“OK, it's a deal. Just do what I say.”

The kid asked, "Which car is yours?"

I pointed to the motorhome.

“Nice. Go over and open the side door and leave it open.”

“Then come over here and stand on the other side of my momma's car.

"Now lay down so you block the path between the front and rear wheels.

You ready?"

I was.

The kid shouted, "Cover your ears!”

At that point, he reached in and pressed the horn on the Buick. It sounded like a freight train coming down the road.

It worked. Bob immediately ran toward the motorhome, jumped up the steps and disappeared inside.

The kid walked over and closed the door.

“OK. The job is done. Pay up.”

I was amazed. And quite happy.

I was pulling money from my wallet when a group of adults came out of the nearest storefront.

“What's going on here? Who are you and what are you doing with my Grandson?”

It was an elderly black lady.

“Ma'am, this young man just saved my cat. I promised him a reward, and I'm paying him.”

“Your cat? What's this all about?”

“It's alright Grandma. This man's cat escaped and I helped him get it back.”

I nodded in agreement.

She looked at me, “What's your name?”

“Walker.”

“Well Mr. Walker, looks like my Grandson did you a favor.”

She looked toward the motorhome, “You traveling alone?”

“Yes ma'am, I am. Headed to Mobile tonight. And on to Florida tomorrow.”

“You any kind of criminal? Running from the law or anything?”

“No ma'am. Not a criminal. Not running from the law. Just trying to deliver a cat to a friend in Florida.”

“You got a bathroom and bed in that motorhome? And you traveling alone?”

“Yes ma'am.”

She looked behind her, then back to me.

“Son, my family is gathered here today to see me off on a trip to Lucedale Mississippi. We're waiting for the Trailways Bus.”

“It's a long trip for an old gal like me. Sitting in the cramped bus with all those strangers. And the bus stopping in all the small towns along the way.”

“It'll take 12 hour on the bus. Sitting in those hard plastic seats.

"Wonder how long it'll take you in that motorhome?”

“Ma'am, I'm not sure where Lucedale is, but I hope to be in Mobile before dark. And to do that, I need to get back on the road.”

“Sonny, how about this? Since my Grandson did you a favor by recovering your cat, maybe you'd return the favor by letting me hitch a ride to Lucedale. It's right on your way, and I won't be any trouble.

“Riding in that motorhome would be a lot easier on my poor worn out back than riding in a Trailways bus. I wouldn't be any bother.”

Her family was gathered around her, and one of them spoke up.

“Grandma, you don't know this guy. For all you know he might be an axe murderer. You can't just get in and ride off with him.”

“Mister, are you an axe murderer?”

“No ma'am I'm not. But I need to get going pretty soon if I'm going to make Mobile by dark.”

“Good, it's settled then. Get my poke, and lets get on the road.”

“By the way, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Maybelle Tyler. Your name?"

She offered her hand.

"John Walker. But most people just call me Walker." I shook her hand.

"Well Mister Walker, good to meet you. Jesus must have heard my prayers last night. I sure didn't want to ride in no bus for twelve hours."

Maybelle went around and hugged each of the people standing behind her.

As she was doing this, one of the men walked over and introduced himself. “Earle Tyler. That woman's my mother.

“She's bull-headed, but we all love her. We don't want to see nothing bad happen to her. You understand?”

I nodded. “Earle, I'll take care of her. Give me your cell number and I'll call you when we get to Lucedale.”

We exchanged phone numbers.

He repeated his warning, “Don't let nothing bad happen to her.”

“Earle, leave Mr. Walker alone. I'm able to take care of myself. And I'm ready to go.”

Maybelle and I got into the coach. I heard Bob growl from behind the couch. That meant he was on board and ready to go.

Maybelle settled into the passenger seat, and I helped her get her seat belt on. I belted myself in, and we pulled out of the parking lot, with her family waving as we left.

29

As soon as we got on the road, Maybelle said, “I love those children, but I'm happy to be heading back home. Just too busy with all those folks around.”

“How about you Mr. Walker? Any children.”

“No ma'am. Just me. And the cat.”

“Well, one of these days you'll find the right woman and ya'll have plenty of kids.”

Maybelle stretched her legs out. “You know Walker, this seat is a lot more comfortable than those on the bus. And it smells better in here too.”

Over the next one hundred miles, Maybelle kept me entertained with stories about her family and the places we passed through. Turns out she had quite an interesting past and knew many colorful characters.

Time and the road passed quickly.

As we approached the interstate coming out of Tallulah, Maybelle asked, “You got a bathroom in this thing?”

“Yes ma'am. In the back. You want me to pull over, so you can use it?”

“That'd be nice. And after that, you mind if I rest a bit on that bed back there?”

“I wouldn't mind a bit. ”

I pulled over into a parking lot, and MayBelle got up and went to the back. She took a few minutes to get arranged, then from the bedroom she said, “All done. Ready to roll.”

Out of Tallulah, we got onto I-20 which took us through Vicksburg toward Jackson. The roller coaster road Jack had warned me about.

It wasn't bad at first, but as soon as we crossed the Mississippi river bridge, traffic started building and I-20 deteriorated into a roller coaster ride. Long slow ripples in the road causing cars and trucks to bounce up and down violently.

The locals were used to it. They still drove at seventy miles per hour. But not me. I had to slow down to fifty to keep the coach under control.

The rolling roads roads woke Bob, and he joined me up front. He took the passenger seat and spoke about his concerns. Then he settled down for a nap.

Half way through Jackson, the GPS told me my exit onto forty nine south was approaching. I followed the instructions and weaved my way through new construction onto forty nine.

It was a better road, newer pavement. But no longer a highway. More like a main street through the south side of Jackson. A lot of stop and go traffic. But manageable.

Bob must have approved. He continued to nap in the passenger seat. The sun streaming through the window warming his fur covered body.

According to the route Jack had shown me, I'd want to get fuel soon. Richland, Mississippi. Ten miles ahead.

Since leaving this morning, I'd driven three hundred miles and used a little more than half a tank of fuel. A quick calculation showed I was averaging about ten miles a gallon. About half of what my Toyota pickup would have gotten.

I stopped at the U-Save gas station in Richland and filled up. Took 29 gallons, cost $131.17. I paid with my credit card.

Before I got back into the coach, I checked the passenger window for Bob. He was asleep in the seat.

I snuck around to the driver's door and hopped in. Bob didn't even try to get out.

I checked on Maybelle. She was asleep in the bed on the back.

Back on the road again. Down highway 49 through Hattiesburg, and then 98 to Mobile.

These stretches of road were mostly four lane blacktop. Not interstate. Just rolling country roads, bordered by farms and forests.

The posted speed limit was sixty five. Most everyone else was doing seventy or more. I stuck with my plan. Sixty five and safe.

I didn't make any friends doing this. Cars pulled up going too fast behind me, slowed down, and then whipped around at the first chance they got.

Many drivers signaled their displeasure. But I wasn't going to risk wrecking the Love Bus by going too fast on these roads just to keep them happy.

One car seemed to follow closely for several miles, then pulled up beside me and rolled down the window.

As I looked over, the passenger was pointing frantically toward the back end of the Love Bus.

I rolled my window down and heard the passenger shout, “Flat tire! Flat Tire!”

30

The steering didn't feel like I had a flat, but with six tires, who knew what a flat might feel like. So I slowed down, and pulled over into the nearest spot I could find, a vacant gas station.

The car that had alerted me to the problem also pulled over, parking in front of me.

I removed the keys from the ignition, got out and stretched. The driver and passenger of the other car got out and walked toward me. I figured they were going to help.

But I was wrong. The taller of the two men pulled a gun and said, “We're taking the motorhome. You're not coming with us.”

“What do you mean you're taking the motorhome?”

“Look mister, we don't want to shoot you. Just give us the keys and you won't get hurt.”

The tall man holding the gun waved me to the passenger side of the coach, putting us out of sight of traffic on the road.

The shorter man spoke, “Slowly reach in your pocket and give me the keys.”

“I don't have the keys. They're in the ignition.”

I was looking for a way to separate the two men. To give me a chance to disarm the one with the gun.

I'm no hero. Didn't want to get shot. But Maybelle was in the back. And so was Bob. I couldn't risk either one of them getting hurt.

“Give me the keys!”

“I don't have them. They're in the ignition. Go look for yourself.”

The shorter man took the gun, told his partner to go look.

I was hoping I'd get my chance. One on one was easier. But not when one had a gun.

When the taller man opened the driver's door to look for the keys, I heard a hum, then a loud crack.

The tall man immediately crumbled to the ground shaking as if he were having a seizure.

The short man looked over to see what was happening, and when he did I short punched him in the kidney, then quick kicked him between the legs.

He dropped the gun and fell to the ground.

I picked up the gun and ran to the driver's side to see what had happened to the tall man.

Maybelle was standing behind the driver seat cackling with laughter, while holding up a police taser gun.

“This thing works a lot better than I thought it would.”

“Maybelle, where'd you get that?”

“Walker, you don't think my family would let me ride with a stranger without me carrying a little protection?

“I've had this all the time. Just in case you turned out to be an axe murder.”

“Now quit wasting time. We need to do something with these two guys and get on our way. My family is waiting in Lucedale.”

Maybelle continued, “I say, use that gun you took from them. Shoot 'em both. The world would be better off.”

“Maybelle, we can't do that. How about I just put them both in the trunk of their car, and we call the police?”

“I vote for shooting them. But you can put them in the trunk if you want.”

I fished the car keys out of the tall man's pockets, opened the trunk of the car, and shoved him in.

The shorter man was still on the ground, groaning and holding his privates.

Maybelle suggested I give him a taste of the taser. Make it easier to get him in the trunk.

I asked the man if he would like to get in the trunk on his own or be tased.

“Don't tase me. I'll get in.”

Maybelle tased him anyway.

After he quit twitching, I put him in the trunk and shut it.

In their car I found a cell phone and used it to call 9-1-1 to report a car jacking on Hiway 49, near Collins Mississippi.

I gave them a description of the carjacker's vehicle along with the license plate number, and said the two assailants could be found in the trunk.

When the operator asked me to identify myself, I ended the call and turned the phone off.

It was time to get back on the road.

31

“Walker you dropped that man with one punch. Not bad.”

“Maybelle, what I did was nothing compared to what you did. How'd you get a police taser and where'd you learn to use it?”

“Walker, remember my son, Earle Tyler? The man you met back in Lake Village?”

“He's a deputy sheriff there. And after I got into a little trouble with my 32 pistol, he took it away and gave me the taser. Showed me how to use it too.”

“When I saw that guy pull a gun on you, I got my taser out and was hoping to get a shot. When the guy opened the door, I was so close, I couldn't miss.

“Did you see how he twitched and wet his pants when I hit him? Funniest thing I've seen in a long time.

“Walker, this has been my best trip ever.”

“Maybelle, I'm glad you were here. I don't think those guys were kidding around. You saved the day.

“Do you think we should call your son Earle, and let him know what happened? Him being a deputy and all?”

“Heavens no! We don't want to let Earle know about this. He worries enough as it is. And if he finds out I tased two people and then locked them in a car trunk, he might put us both in jail.”

“So Walker. We keep this to ourselves.”

“That's fine with me. I don't want to get mixed up with the law in Mississippi.”

We traveled in silence for the next thirty miles, then Maybelle said, “Lucedale is just five miles ahead. Take a right at the next flashing yellow light.”

I followed Maybelle's directions until we reached an older home with a large porch with three kids on a swing.

As I pulled in, all the kids jumped up and started yelling, “Grandma's here!”.

Maybelle turned to me, “Walker, you're invited to come in and have supper if you like. Even camp out here for the night.”

“Maybelle, I appreciate the offer. But I'm on a mission to get to Mobile tonight. So I'm going to keep going.”

She took my hand, “Remember our little secret. Don't call Earle and tell him anything about today. I'll call him in a few minutes and let him know I made it home.”

“And Walker, now that you know where I live, feel free to drop in next time you come through this way. Maybe we'll go out and get a few more bad guys.”

I laughed, then helped Maybelle get her poke and get out the door. We hugged, and I got back in the Love Bus.

Before I drove off, I checked on Bob. He was back in the bed, asleep.

32

The GPS showed that from Maybelle's home in Lucedale to the Bass Pro shop was just 48 miles. Should be an easy drive.

But it wasn't. The closer I got to Mobile, the more traffic I ran into. Lots of stop lights. Lots of impatient drivers who didn't want to be stuck behind a motorhome.

When I finally reached Mobile, I took I-10 east toward the Mobile tunnel and Mobile bay. It was hard to tell whether rush hour was just getting started or just ending. Traffic was heavy, but not crazy. The roads were surprisingly good.

I'd already driven twelve hours. With just two stops - one of which included a little gun play.

The sun was setting and I needed to take a bathroom break. But first, I had to get through the Mobile bay tunnel.

Approaching the tunnel in a motorhome is a real adventure. You go from being on the flat interstate traveling in heavy traffic, then down a steep grade into a tunnel that travels under Mobile bay for a couple of miles.

Warning lights on the sharp curve leading into the tunnel flash if you are approaching at a hazardous speed. Since almost everyone is speeding, the lights flash non stop. Then a flurry of brake lights as cars attempt to slow to enter the tunnel.

Once in the tunnel, traffic speeds back up as it races to the daylight at the other end, where the road rises steeply up from the ocean floor, onto the Mobile bay causeway.

As I drive up out of the tunnel, I'm awed. Water stretches out on both sides of me. The smell of salty sea air is strong. The road is surrounded by ship yards, an aircraft carrier, even a submarine.

But there's no time to look around. I'm driving a six ton rig across a narrow strip of concrete surrounded on both sides by water. A wrong move by me or any of the thousands of other vehicles crossing the causeway could be disastrous.

So I'm not taking chances. Sixty is the posted limit and that's all I'm doing. Maybe a little less.

According to the route Jack showed me the night before, I take the Spanish Fort exit, the first exit beyond the causeway. Then cross over the interstate to the Bass Pro parking lot.

I see the exit, and the Bass Pro store. It's hard to miss. The store is a one hundred forty thousand square feet log cabin sitting on a hill above the interstate.

I take the exit, turn left. Bass Pro is straight ahead.

33

Pulling into the huge Bass Pro parking lot, I follow the arrows to the RV parking area.

Not many motorhomes here this late in the day, so it's easy to find Jack and Jean's rig. I park next to it.

Turning off the motor, I tell Bob we're in for the evening. I don't know if he hears me or not. I haven't seen him in a while.

As I get up to go back to the bathroom, Bob hops off the bed and starts talking. Telling me I'm his buddy. I rub him around his ears and he purrs.

In the bathroom I take care of business, and then check Bob's food and water. Still good.

According to the Bass Pro sign, there's a restaurant inside. I tell Bob I'm leaving and advise him not to try to sneak out when I get back. He has his plans. I have mine.

As I leave the Love Bus, I notice the lights in Jack and Jean's coach are not on. Either they're already in bed, or in Bass Pro.

Not wanting to disturb them if they are sleeping, I head across the parking lot to the main entrance of Bass Pro.

I walk in and am amazed. Over one hundred and forty thousand square feet of retail shopping space. Everything you can imagine for outdoor fun. Hiking, camping, boating, hunting, fishing. You name it, they have it.

I could spend a few days here and not see it all. But right now, I want food.

I locate the Fish Country restaurant. There's not a line. Good. As I'm looking for the greeter, my phone chimes.

It's Jack. He and Jean are already in the restaurant. They saw me pull in. Want to know if I want to join them for dinner.

I do.

Jack says, “We're in a booth by the back window. I'll stand up and wave.”

I look around and see him.

They tell me they arrived about thirty minutes ago. Had an uneventful trip. No problems.

I tell them the same. The route was good. The traffic wasn't bad. The roller-coaster roads around Jackson were just as described.

I leave out Bob's escape, my guest passenger, and the attempted carjacking.

We order our meals and discuss the route for the next day.

Jack says, “Tomorrow will be an easy day. We'll stay on I-10 for three hundred miles until we get to the Florida Georgia Parkway at exit 225. Then take it to Chiefland, where we'll camp at Manatee Springs State Park for the night.

“It's about four hundred miles total. Ten hours of driving.

“Stopping at Manatee Springs means we don't get stuck in rush hour traffic around Tampa.

“From there it's only two hundred miles to Venice. Another twenty miles to Englewood.”

Jean takes over, “Manatee Springs is a really relaxing place to camp. Ten miles off the main highway and right on the Suwanee River.

“The springs pump out a hundred million gallons of clear, cool water daily. And you can take a boardwalk from the springs to the river.

“It's very peaceful and scenic.”

“Will I need a reservation?”

“Probably not. But better to have one than to get turned away. If you can get on the internet, you can use the ReserveAmerica web site to reserve your spot.”

“Good to know. When I get back to the motorhome, I'll log on and see if I can get a spot.”

As we ate our dinner Jack continued to offer me advice and observations.

“Be sure to fill up with fuel in the morning before you get back on the interstate because gas prices in Florida will be about fifteen cents a gallon higher than here.”

Jack looked at Jean, “If we leave at seven, we should make Manatee Springs around five without having to push it. It's an easy drive. But lots of boring interstate.”

I smiled, “I'll take boring. Better than the excitement I've had today.”

Jean looked up, “You had some excitement on the road today? Tell us about it.”

“It started in Lake Village. I stopped to stretch my legs and when I got back to the coach, the cat jumped out.”

“I thought I'd lost him, but got some help and finally got him back inside.”

“Then the grandmother of the boy who helped me catch the cat convinced me to give her a ride to Lucedale.”

“Turns out, her son was a deputy sheriff and she knew all about the different areas we drove through. She kept me entertained with her stories and recollections.”

Jean asked, “So do you make a habit of picking up strange women?”

“No, it wasn't like that. Her grandson did me a favor and she was going to take a bus to Lucedale, and since it was on my way, I agreed to help her out.”

Jean smiled, "That's nice of you. But you should be careful about picking up strangers."

Jack put his fork down, “Walker, I've been meaning to ask you something. Jean says I should just mind my own business, but I'm curious.

“Most of the people we meet going south for the winter in their motorhomes are like us. Retired, in our sixties.

“But you're a young guy. Traveling alone.

“What kind of job do you have that gives you this kind of freedom?

“If it's none of my business, just say so. I won't take offense.”

I smiled, “Jack, I don't mind sharing my story.

“Up until three weeks ago I was married and had a computer job at a Fortune 500 company.

“Then my wife surprised me by filing for divorce. She said she was doing me a favor. Giving me my freedom.

“We didn't have any kids, so it was an easy divorce. Just sign the papers and walk away.

“We split everything down the middle. She stayed in the house and I had to find another place to live.

“About the same time, the company I was working for announced it was closing our plant and moving it to Mexico. Everyone was laid off, including me.

“The company owned a motorhome they needed to sell. They offered it to me at great price, and since I needed a place to stay, I bought it.

“So I've gone from being employed, married and living in a nice house, to being unemployed and living in a motorhome on the road to Florida.”

Jack asked, “So how are you holding up? All these changes in your life?”

I thought about my answer. “Well the divorce kind of caught me by surprise. I didn't expect it. But she made it quick and painless.”

“And I never imagined I'd own or be living in motorhome. But now that I have one, it gives me this feeling that I have the freedom to go anywhere, knowing no matter where I stop I have a place to stay.”

Jack nodded, “We get that same feeling every time we hit the road. A sense of freedom and adventure.

“The only downside is the cost of fuel. But the way we figure it, we make up for that by not having to pay for hotel rooms.

“And unlike hotels, the motorhome means we get to sleep in our own bed every night. No worrying about bed bugs or who slept there the night before.”

Jack folded up his napkin, “I'm full. And I'm itching to check out all the things in Bass Pro. Maybe they'll have a few things I want.”

Jean laughed, “I'm sure they have lots of things you want. But not many things you absolutely need. I'm going with you to make sure you don't go crazy.”

The waitress put our checks on the table. I picked them up.

“Walker, no need to do that. We invited you to dinner.”

“Jack, you and Jean have helped me so much on this trip. Getting the dinner tab is the least I can do.”

Jean smiled, “It isn't necessary, but thanks. We appreciate it."

She stood, "If you'll excuse me, I need to follow Jack through the store. Want to join us?”

“Thanks, but I think I'll just wander around a bit, and then head back to my new home.”

I spent thirty minutes exploring Bass Pro. Found plenty of things I'd love to have, but nothing I really needed at the moment.

When I got back to the motorhome, I didn't forget Bob's escape attempt earlier in the day. So I planned my entry.

I walked to the side door and tapped on it to get Bob's attention, then snuck around to the driver door and quickly opened it and climbed in.

I was in and had the door closed behind me before Bob realized what was happening.

Bob said, “Murrpff.” Telling me I won this round.

He came over and bumped his head against my leg, then walked away. Making friends again.

Remembering what Jack had said about getting a reservation at Manatee Springs, I retrieved my computer, powered it up, and went to the Reserve America web site.

There were only five campsites still available for the following day, so I reserved one close to the springs. Twenty dollars for the night. Not bad.

With that taken care of and my belly full of food, it was time to prepare for the night's sleep.

I locked all the doors, pulled the blinds, and moved to the back bedroom. Bob followed me.

Before I had a chance to hit the sack, my phone chimed. It was Molly.

34

“Walker, this is Molly. You still driving?”

“No, I parked about an hour ago. Made it to the other side of Mobile.”

“You're making good time. I'm calling to check on Bob. How's he doing? Is he driving you crazy yet?”

“He's doing great. He slept most of the day, ate a little food, used his litter box, and seems pretty content.”

“Good to hear. I was worried about him.

“Walker, there's another reason I called.

“I got a call today from Detective Tim Kerber of the Boston Police Department. He wanted to know why Harvey Tucker had called me.

“When I asked why the police were interested in the calls, Kerber said Tucker had been murdered. Shot three times in the head.

“They found his cell phone and were checking his calls. My number showed up. The two calls he made to me about the Love Bus.”

I was stunned.

Harvey Tucker had been killed. The day after he called trying to find the whereabouts of my new home.

“What'd you tell the police?”

“I told them the truth. That Tucker had called asking if the motorhome had been sold.

“The detective asked what the second call was about, and I told him Tucker called back wanting to know where the motorhome was parked.

“The detective said he didn't know if the calls mattered or not, but he would call back if they needed more information.

“I didn't mention your name or that Tucker had said he may have left something in the motorhome.

“It's pretty weird. Him calling me, then getting murdered the same day.”

“Yep, that's pretty strange. Out of the blue he calls you about the Love Bus. Then he's murdered a few hours later.

“Molly, if the police call you back, and you feel it's important they get in contact with me, give them my email address, not my phone number.

“I don't want to get any calls while I'm driving, especially from the police.”

As I was telling this to Molly, Bob started howling. A 'I want something' kind of howl.

Molly could hear Bob on her end, “Sounds like Bob's telling you it's time for his catnip.

“It's part of his nightly routine. A little catnip snack before he starts his nightly prowl.”

Bob continued to cry as Molly was telling me this.

“Okay, what do I need to do to get him to pipe down?”

“In the bag of Bob's things you'll find a small container of catnip. Get a paper plate and put about a tablespoon of catnip on it. Crush the catnip buds to release the oils.

“Put the catnip back on the plate and show it to Bob. After he eats it, he'll mellow out for a few hours.

“Here's the thing about Bob. Once he trains you to give him catnip, he'll want it every night.”

I laughed, “As long as it gets him to shut up, I'll be glad to give him his catnip. It'll be your sister's problem after Monday.”

“So you think you'll get there on Monday?”

“Yeah, unless something goes wrong with the Love Bus. So far, no problems, other than it uses a lot of gas.

“I'll call your sister when I have a better idea of when I'm going to get there.”

“Good. She'll be so happy to see Bob. I'll call her tomorrow and let her know.

“Walker, I've got to go. Kids to deal with. If I hear anything else about Tucker's death, I'll let you know. Bye.”

Molly hung up.

Harvey Tucker had been killed. No known motive. No suspects.

He'd spent his last day alive trying to find the Love Bus. And then today someone tried to steal it.

Something was going on.

35

Sunday morning.

Hard to believe just four days ago I was living in a tent.

Today, I'm living in a house on wheels, camped out in the parking lot of Bass Pro near Mobile, Alabama.

I'm on my way to Englewood Florida. To deliver Mango Bob to a woman I've never met.

I've escaped from the corporate world. From a loveless marriage. And I'm not looking back.

Daylight is wasting. I need to get up. Get on the road. But for some reason, I feel pinned to the bed. Like a heavy weight pressing down on me.

A heavy weight with a purring motor.

Bob. Sleeping on top of me.

I slowly move my legs trying not to disturb Bob. He rewards me by extending a claw into my thigh. Not deep enough to hurt, a warning.

He's saying, don't mess with him while he slept.

“Bob, it's time to get up.”

“Murrpff”, his muffled reply.

“Bob, I'm going to have to move you, so don't dig your claws any deeper.”

“Murpph.”

I ease my left leg away from Bob. He relaxes his grip.

I roll my other leg over his head and step out of bed. Bob opens his eyes, blinking. Then he moves onto the spot I just vacated. Apparently he's sleeping in.

Peeking out the window, I can see Jack and Jean have already pulled out.

Twenty minutes later, after a quick breakfast, I'm ready to hit the road.

Remembering Jack's advice, I stop for gas at the Sams Club at the next exit. Takes 25 gallons of regular. Another $100 spent on fuel.

Leaving Sams Club, I take the entrance ramp onto Interstate 10 east toward Tallahassee. The GPS shows two hundred seventy miles of interstate until my next turn.

I set the cruise control to 65mph, and stay in the right lane.

No wind today, blue skies and sunshine.

After an hour of driving I decide that I-10 in Florida should be the model for all interstate highways. The road is perfectly flat. Wide shoulders, grassy median, and in tip top shape.

But boring as hell.

Just put it on cruise control and point the steering wheel. And try not to doze off.

After four hours, the boredom finally gets to me and I pull into the rest area near Monticello. Need to get out and stretch my legs.

Before getting out, I go back and check on Bob.

He's asleep on the bed.

Good. Easy to sneak out when he's sleeping.

I step out the side door and lock it behind me. Then walk the two mile nature trail around the rest area.

On my way back to the coach, I stop in the vending area and get a coke and an assortment of Florida destination brochures. The coke's caffeine will keep me awake. The brochures will be for late night reading.

Back at the Love Bus, I tap on the side door to get Bob's attention. Then sneak over to the drivers door and climb in.

No escape attempt by Bob. That's three rounds for me, one for Bob.

He probably isn't keeping score. But I am.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips and a Coke for lunch. Not health food, but better than not eating.

After lunch, I check the freezer to make sure the TV dinners are still frozen. They are. One of them will be my dinner tonight.

Refreshed from the walk and the snack, I head back onto I-10. It'll be another two hours before my exit. Then another two hours before I reach the state park.

Not much to tell about this part of the drive. Good roads, not much traffic. Boredom with a capital 'B'.

36

After driving three hundred miles on I-10, it is a relief to finally get to Highway 19 South, also known as the Florida/Georgia parkway.

To celebrate, I stop at the Chevron station at the off ramp and fuel up. Another hundred dollars spent on gas.

After paying at the pump, I go inside and buy two bags of peanut M&Ms. Something to snack on while on the road.

Bob is still asleep when I get back in the coach. He didn't even bother to try to escape. He is adapting well.

I grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge. With my two bags of M&Ms and the cold water, I'm ready to hit the road again.

I pull out of the Chevron station and head south. It'll be another two hours before the day's drive is over.

Many years ago, this was the main road to south Florida. But with the advent of the interstate system, most travelers no longer bother with back roads like this one.

For me, this means very little traffic, and being in a motorhome, I like that.

The road is in surprisingly good condition. Recently repaved, and wide shoulders on both sides. The terrain is mostly flat, bordered on both sides by pine forests and the occasional cow pasture.

Every few miles, I see remnants of old Florida. Abandoned mom and pop motels well past their glory days.

With so little traffic on 19, it isn't surprising there aren't any tourist attractions. No theme parks. No beach bunnies. Just tropical wilderness, with small towns every ten to fifteen miles.

After two hours of driving, I reach Chiefland, a town of about 6,000. From Chiefland, signs lead me to Manatee Springs State Park, my final stop for the day.

At the park entrance, a ranger greets me at the gate. “Welcome to Manatee Springs. You staying with us tonight?”

“Yes, I have a reservation. The name's Walker.”

“Ah yes, here it is. Says you are staying just the one night. Is that correct?”

“Yes, just tonight.”

“OK, you're going to be in loop A, site 93. Drive slowly into the park, and take the first right. Your campsite is about half way around the loop.”

“Here's a map of the campground and some information about the park, along with camp rules and regulations.

“We lock the park entrance gates at sunset and unlock them at dawn. Once the gates are locked, no one can enter or leave the campground.

“If an emergency comes up, you can contact the camp host to get the gate unlocked.

“Any questions?”

“Do I need to worry about alligators?”

The ranger laughed. “While there's always the chance of a gator just about anywhere in Florida, we haven't had a problem with them here.

“Your biggest problem will be squirrels and raccoons. They'll get into your food if you leave it out overnight.”

I thank the ranger and head to my campsite.

It's easy to find. Like he said, first road to the right, and about half way around the loop.

My site is under large trees with no nearby neighbors. Just the way I like it.

I drive past the site, stop and back in just as Jack had shown me back in Arkansas. Satisfied with my parking job, I cut the motor and go back to check on Bob.

He's pretty much where I expected him to be. On the bed. “Bob, we've stopped for the day. You can get up and move around now.”

I get his standard greeting and all-around reply, “Murrpff,” followed by an odd sound as he stretches and yawns at the same time.

He jumps down from the bed and checks his food and water.

“Murpph.”

Satisfied that both bowls are full, he bumps my leg, stretches again, and jumps up on the back of the dinette seat to look out the window.

Since the weather outside is so nice, I open all the windows to air out the inside. The screens on the windows will keep the bugs out and Bob in.

With the windows open, sounds of birds and squirrels fill the coach, along with the scent of tropical plants.

Bob comes alive as he sees a squirrel flicking his tail on a tree limb just a few feet in front of him. He stares at the squirrel for a few moments, then starts making a clucking sound deep in his throat. The stump of his tail twitching back and forth.

With Bob on patrol, I can relax. He'll protect us if the squirrels decide to invade.

It'd been three hours since our last stop and I need to 'freshen up' a bit. Then a long walk to stretch my legs.

Since Bob is focused on the wildlife outside his window, it's easy for me to sneak out without worrying about his escaping.

A walk around the coach reveals no problems. All is good.

I'm only spending one night, so I'm not going to hook up to campground water. My fresh water tank is half full. More than enough for the rest of my journey.

But I will need to hook up to shore power if I want to use the microwave to cook dinner. So I unlock the utility compartment and connect the power cable to the 30amp outlet on the campground utility pole.

When I flip the breaker, I hear the microwave beep inside the coach.

Success.

Time for my walk, but first, lock all the doors.

I'm not expecting a crime problem in the campground, but no need chancing it.

The map the ranger had given me shows a trail that begins about forty yards beyond my campsite. I follow the trail for about one hundred yards through a tropical forest until it ends at a large open plaza. Benches, a concession stand - closed for the night - and canoe rentals - also closed.

On the far side of the plaza, several people are leaning against a metal railing looking down. Presumably looking at the springs the campground is named for.

Among the group of people, Jack and Jean.

I walk up behind them, “You guys been here long?”

Jack turned, “Hey Walker. Glad to see you made it. We got here about an hour ago. How was your drive?”

“No problem. The coach drove well, and other than the boredom on I-10, it was great.”

Jean smiled, “So, what do you think of this place?”

“I like it. Camping in a tropical forest. And this weather is so nice.”

“If you like this weather, you're going to love Florida in the winter. And the further you travel south, the nicer the weather gets.”

Jean pointed toward the springs, “There's a manatee! Come see!”

Looking in the direction she was pointing, I could see the head of a very large creature moving slowly in the water. Beside it were two smaller ones.

Someone in the crowd said, “Babies! That one has babies!”

We watched as the manatees moved around in the spring, swimming with their noses above the water and their massive bodies following.

Jean looked over at me, “Manatees come up to the spring from the Suwanee River. Sometimes you'll see as many as ten at a time. They are attracted by the warmer water this time of year. ”

A family with small children walked up to view the manatees. I moved back so they could get a closer look.

Jean moved back to where I was standing. “Have you been on the boardwalk yet? It goes all the way out to the river.”

“No, but a long walk sounds good. How do I get to it?”

“Just follow me. I'll walk with you.”

37

“What about Jack? Isn't he coming with us?”

“Don't worry about Jack, he'll be along in a minute.

“Right now it's just me and you. Unless you're embarrassed to be walking with an old woman like me?”

“Jean, you're not much older than me.”

“Thanks for the compliment. But I've got grandchildren almost as old as you. Not that it means I'm old. I can probably out walk you any day!”

Jean paused, then said, “I've been thinking about what you said about your divorce and losing your job.

“That's a lot to take on at one time. If you ever want to talk about it with someone, give me a call.” She handed me a card with her phone number on it.

“Jean, I appreciate the offer. And I just might take you up on it. But what will Jack think if I call you?”

“Don't worry about Jack. He likes you. In fact, he's probably going to want to keep in touch with you. He needs a fishing and RV buddy.

“He's been retired from the force for almost five years and most of his close buddies have gotten old or moved on. He has room for a new friend in his life. Especially one that shares his interest in motorhomes.

“You should see how happy he is when he talks to me about showing you things in your motorhome. Or when he gets to help route your trip.

“It gives him something to do. Makes him feel good that someone values his expertise.”

I was glad to hear this. Jack had helped me a lot on this trip. I'd hoped I wasn't a burden.

As we continued along the boardwalk through the cypress swamp, I asked, “You mentioned Jack had retired from the force? What kind of force?”

“Jack was a police officer for thirty years in Boston. He started out as a rookie cop, and ended up as a Detective Supervisor.

“Really? Jack was a Boston Police Detective?”

“Yep, and not just a detective. He was a Detective Supervisor, which meant all the detectives in his district reported directly to him.

“He handled many major cases, some you've probably heard of. But when he retired, he wanted to get as far away from Boston as he could. That's how we ended up in Colorado.

“But lately the cold winters in Colorado have been bothering him. He's been hinting about moving to Florida permanently.”

I was thinking about the coincidence of Jack being a former Boston detective, and the call Molly had received from the Boston detective reporting on Harvey Tucker's death.

“Jean, do you think Jack would mind if I asked him some questions about a police investigation?”

She smiled, “Honey, he'd love it. In fact, if you get him started, you might not be able to shut him up!”

38

We were at the end of the boardwalk overlooking the Suwanee river when Jack caught up with us.

Jean pointed to the setting sun over the peaceful river, “Quite a sight.”

I agreed, “You were right. This is an amazing place. Like stepping back in time.”

Jack put his arm around Jean, “This is one of our favorite spots. We stop here every time we travel this way.

“I keep promising Jean that one day we'll stay longer. Maybe take the kayak tours the park offers. But I'm always in a hurry to get down to Venice.”

Jean looked at Jack, “You're like a man on a mission when we get on the road. You map out the route, set the schedule, then worry about getting off track.

“You forget we are retired. We don't have any schedules or deadlines to meet.”

Jack sighed, “You're right. I treat these road trips like a military campaign. I'll try to do better.”

Jean smiled and gave him a hug. “That's all I ask.”

Then she looked at me, “Walker, wasn't there something you wanted to ask Jack? About his days on the force?”

This was my cue. “Jack, Jean was telling me you were with the Boston police. That sounds pretty interesting.”

“It was. Until politics got in the way of police work. Keeping the mayor happy became more important than getting criminals off the street.

“After thirty years, I wasn't in sync with the college boys running the department. It was time for me to leave.

“But I was lucky. I got out with my pension, my health, and my sanity. And Jean stayed with me. I'm very thankful for that.”

Jean gave Jack a hug, “Let's head back. It's getting dark. I'm getting hungry.”

We followed the boardwalk back through the cypress trees. Then followed the gravel trail past Manatee Springs. From there we walked back toward our camp sites.

“I'm in loop A. Where are you guys parked?”

“We're in loop A, too. Close to the restrooms. You want to come over and plan out tomorrow's route?”

“Jack, I don't want to impose. But I'd like to talk to you about a Boston police investigation. It might involve my motorhome. Might even be related to the attempted break-in of yours.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“No, I'm serious. It might not be anything, but a Detective Kerber from Boston is investigating a murder that happened this past Friday. And there might be a connection to your motorhome as well as mine.”

Jack looked at me. “Let's talk about this before we eat dinner. I want to know the details.”

“OK. But let's go to the campsite first. It'll be easier to explain there.”

Jean looked at me shaking her head. “You've done it now. He's going to go into detective mode. It'll be hard to get him out of it.

“But if this does involve the police, Jack's the man you want on your side.”

Jack was leading the way, “Come on you two, can't you walk any faster?”

Jean looked at me, “I warned you.”

39

When we got to my campsite, Bob was crying at the window.

Jean heard him. “Is that the cat I've been hearing so much about?”

“That's him. And it sounds like he's out of food. Or annoyed I've left him in there alone.”

“I guess I need to go check on him before he wakes up the other campers.”

Jean walked to the window, “If you don't mind, I'd love to meet him. We had a cat for years, and I still miss her to this day. Maybe he just needs to be held.”

“Good luck with that. He doesn't seem to be the holding kind of cat. But you're welcome to go in and meet him. Just be careful when you open the door. I don't want him to get out.”

“You'll find his food and water in the bathroom. Make yourself at home.”

“His name is Bob. Mango Bob.”

I tapped on the driver door, and signaled Jean to enter via the side door. Mango Bob was still at the window on the other side of the coach and didn't try to escape when Jean opened the door.

Once Jean was inside, Bob quieted down. We could hear Jean talking to him in a soothing voice.

Jack smiled, “Jean loves cats. After her's passed away a few years back, I promised to get her another one. But never did. I always came up with an excuse about why it just wasn't the right time.

“Spending a little time with Mango Bob will be good for her.

“Now, tell me how you're involved in a Boston murder investigation. Start at the beginning. Don't leave anything out.”

I sat on a concrete bench near the picnic table. “Here's the story. The company I worked for was liquidating all their inventory. One of the things they needed to sell was this motorhome.

“Molly, the Human Resources manager, asked if I'd be interested in buying it. I wasn't sure, but eventually we worked out a deal.

“I paid cash, and own it free and clear. I have the bill of sale, and the title is in my name.

“The day I purchased the motorhome, Molly got a call from Harvey Tucker. He worked at corporate headquarters in Boston and wanted to know if the motorhome had been sold.

“When Molly told him it had been sold, he asked if she knew where it was parked. He mentioned he may have left something in it, and wanted to retrieve it.

“Anyway, Molly told Tucker I was the one who bought it and that I was camping at Toad Suck Park. She asked if he wanted my phone number. He said no.

That night, your motorhome, which looks exactly like mine, was broken into.

“The next day, which was Friday, Tucker called Molly again. Wanted to know exactly where the motorhome was.

She'd already told me about Tucker's first call, and I had asked her to tell him I was on the road somewhere, not to give my location.

“The next morning, which was Saturday, Molly got a call from a detective Kerber of the Boston Police Department.

“He wanted to know why Tucker had called Molly.

“Kerber told her that Tucker had been murdered the night before and they were checking his recent phone calls.

“Molly told Kerber the calls were about the motorhome.”

“That's all I know.”

Jack was silent for a minute, then asked, “Did you speak to the Boston detective?”

“No, I only spoke to Molly. She's the one who arranged to sell me the motorhome.

“She's also the sister of the woman I'll be delivering Bob to, down in Englewood.”

Jack, in detective mode, “I have to ask this. Are you telling me everything? Is there anything you've left out?”

“There is one more thing.

“Saturday, when driving through Mississippi, two guys tried to carjack me. They waved me over, pulled a gun and tried to take the motorhome.

“Wait. Are you telling me that you were held at gun-point on Saturday? While driving down here? And you didn't mention it before?”

“I promised Maybelle, the grandmother who was riding with me, that I'd keep it a secret.”

“And why is that? Why did she want to keep it a secret?”

“Well, she used a police issue taser to subdue the gunman. And she didn't want her son, who is a deputy sheriff, to find out about it.”

Jack thought for a minute, “So someone tries to break into my motorhome Thursday night. Then someone tries to steal yours on Saturday, and in between, the last person to drive your motorhome is murdered?”

“Walker, Is there anything in your motorhome you don't want me to see or know about?”

“No, why?”

“Because I think it might be a good idea to search it to make sure there isn't something inside related to my break-in, the carjacking attempt, and Tucker's murder.

“But first, I want to call a friend in Boston and see what I can find out.

“And before I do that, I want to be straight with you. If I find out you're involved in criminal activity, or are on the run from the law, or have warrants, I'm going to turn you in. Got it?”

“Jack, I'm squeaky clean. Never even had a parking ticket.”

“So, you wouldn't mind me seeing your driver's license? Just to do a background check?”

“Jack, I have nothing to hide. My driver's license is inside. I'll go get it.”

I walked to the front of the motorhome and looked through the windshield to see if I could see Bob.

Jean was sitting on the floor and Bob was in her lap. Jean was petting him slowly, and even from outside I could hear his purring.

I moved to the driver's door, slowly opened it, reached in and got my wallet.

Jean looked up, “He's in detective mode?”

“Yeah, full bore. But I don't mind. I appreciate his help.”

I gently closed the door, not wanting to disturb Bob.

I walked back to Jack and handed him my driver's license. “Here you go. And if it would help, I've got an insurance card with the motorhome VIN on it.”

Jack looked at me, “Most people wouldn't give up their driver's license so easily. I appreciate it. And having the VIN will help.”

I gave him the insurance card.

Jack pointed over his shoulder. “My phone is back in my motorhome. You stay here with Jean. I'm going to make a few calls. Be back in ten minutes.”

Jack took off toward his RV. A man on a mission. I stayed outside, listening to Jean talk softly to Bob.

40

From inside the coach, “Walker? What's the story with Bob's tail?”

“Jean, I was told he was born that way. No tail. Just the little stub where his tail's supposed to be. Makes him look like a bobcat.”

“He sure is a good looking cat. Big too. He must weigh around twenty five pounds.”

“Yeah, he's big alright. Like a small dog. But with sharp claws.”

“Has he been any trouble?”

“Not really. He likes to sound off in the middle of the night before he uses the litter box. But other than that, he's been real good. “

“Well, he sure likes being petted. He's in here purring up a storm.”

Jean was right. Mango Bob was a pretty good cat. Except for that one escape attempt.

Jack returned ten minutes later, speaking to someone on his phone. “Yeah, I know. Office politics. Okay, if I find out anything here I'll let you know.”

Jack looked up, “Boston says the murder looks like a professional hit. No prints, no shell casings, no sign of forced entry.

“Right now, they don't know if there is a connection between the murder and your motorhome. All they know is Tucker seemed to be very interested in it the day before he was murdered.

“Their budget doesn't allow them to send someone down here. And even if it did, there's no probable cause to get a search warrant.

“So as far as they're concerned, the motorhome is not related to the murder.”

“But I'm not buying it. The fact that someone tried to break into my motorhome which looks exactly like yours, and then someone tries to steal yours, smells bad.

“Somebody was looking for something. They thought they were looking in your rig, not mine. They didn't find it, because they looked in the wrong one.

“Then they sent muscle with guns to get the right coach. And because of a little old lady, they failed.

“So whatever they wanted is probably still there. And they probably still want it.”

I nodded, “So what do we do?”

Jack came closer, “Here's your license and insurance card. You checked out clean. No record, no warrants, nothing. Interesting military service. Awarded a few medals, honorable discharge.”

I didn't respond.

“The motorhome also checked out. Registered in your name. No liens against it.”

Jack pointed at the Love Bus, “If this were my investigation, I'd get a search warrant and search your motorhome. Starting with that locked door we found in the utility compartment.

“But since I'm no longer a detective, and since the Boston PD hasn't linked your coach to the murder, there won't be a search warrant.”

I shook my head, “Jack, you don't need a warrant. I give you my permission to search. Just promise you won't let Bob escape.

“If he gets out and gets lost, I'll be in big trouble.”

Jack laughed, “Don't worry about that cat. We'll get Jean to babysit him while we do our search.

“And if my hunch is correct, we won't need to go inside where Bob is. We'll probably find what we're looking for in that outside compartment.”

Jack rubbed his hands, “Before we get started, we're going to need a flashlight, some zip lock bags, some plastic gloves.”

He looked at me, “I'm guessing you don't have any of those things?”

I laughed, “I've got a flashlight. That's about it.”

“That's OK. I've got baggies and gloves in my coach. I'll let Jean know what's going on, then I'll go get my kit.”

Jack spoke to Jean through the open window, “Going to get a few things, be right back.”

Jean raised her voice, “Just hold on there a minute.

“What about dinner? I'm getting hungry. Walker is probably hungry too. Don't leave me here starving while you play detective!”

Jack sighed, “What if I bring back some microwave dinners? We can cook them here. If that's okay with Walker.”

I nodded, “Yeah, that sounds good. But all I've got is bottled water. If you want something stronger to drink, bring it.”

“Water is fine. I'll be right back.”

As Jack walked away, Jean said. “See what I mean by detective mode? He gets his mind focused on solving a crime, and everything else takes second place.

“I hope we're not imposing on you by eating in your coach.”

“Not at all. I enjoy the company. And it looks like Bob is enjoying your company as well.”

Jean was still stroking Bob, “He's a real sweetie. He likes it when I rub his ears. He even let me rub his belly.

“I think he'd let me do this all night long."

I said, “Yeah, if I could find someone to rub my belly, I might let them do it all night too.”

Jean laughed, “That's the kind of thinking that can get you into woman trouble. Just ask Bob.”

41

Jack returned with his crime fighting kit in one hand, a shopping bag full of food in the other.

Jean looked up, “Food! Finally! Hand it to me, I'll get it ready.”

As Jean prepared our dinner, Jack and I went to the utility compartment on the back side of the coach and unlocked it.

He pulled on plastic gloves, picked up a small flashlight and pointed it at the mystery door inside the compartment.

“This is what we saw last time. That door shouldn't be there. Someone added it after the coach left the factory.”

Jack was still looking at the strange door, when Jean announced, “Dinner is ready!”

Jack looked at me, “If there's one thing I've learned in thirty five years of marriage, it's not to ignore a dinner call. Let's go eat.”

At the door I asked, “Jean, is it safe to come in? I don't want Bob getting out.”

“Don't worry about Bob. Come on in.”

We did as we were told. Dinner was on the table, and Bob was in the back purring on the bed.

We washed our hands and prepared to eat.

As we sat down to our meal, Jean pointed at Jack, “Just one rule. No talking about crime while at the dinner table.”

“Agreed.”

During the meal we talked about Bob, the drive down so far, the weather, and the price of fuel.

I could tell Jack was distracted. He wanted to see what was behind the locked door.

So did I.

42

We'd finished our meals and Jack was fidgeting. Kept looking around the coach. Taking it all in. CSI mode.

It was obvious he wanted to leave the table and resume his investigation. But he wasn't going to do so without Jean's permission.

Jean laughed, “Oh, go on. It's killing you to have to sit here while there's something to investigate.”

Jack didn't wait to be told twice. He was up and headed for the door.

“Watch out for Bob! Don't let him out!”

Didn't matter. Jack was out the door before Bob even knew the door was open. I followed Jack outside.

At the back of the coach, Jack had me shine the flashlight on the mystery compartment. He donned his plastic gloves again.

Jack motioned, “Let's try the keys that came with your coach. One of them might work.”

The first three keys wouldn't fit. But the fourth key slipped into the lock and turned the cylinder. The compartment popped open.

Inside we could see what looked like a white wash cloth wrapped around a small object, held secure by two rubber bands.

Jack said, “Let's shoot some video of this. You want to use your cell phone or mine?”

“Mine. I know how to operate it. Might not be able to figure out yours.”

I put my cell phone in video mode and aimed it at the small compartment door.

Jack said, “Record every thing I do. We might need the video later on.”

Jack spoke to the camera, “I'm Jack Daniels, and today is October 15, 2011. I have been authorized by the owner of this vehicle, John Walker, to search this compartment.

“We have unlocked the compartment and have found an item that appears to be wrapped in a white cloth. I will now reach in and remove the item.”

He positioned his hand so I could get a close up of the mystery object.

Jack continued. “This is the item we found. The current owner of this vehicle has indicated he did not place the item in this compartment.”

“I will remove the two rubber bands and unwrap the cloth to see what we have found.”

Jack carefully slipped off the two rubber bands and placed them in one of the zip lock bags he had brought with him.

With the camera still recording, Jack unwrapped the cloth to reveal a small camera enclosed in a plastic case.

Jack placed the cloth wrapping into another zip lock bag, “As you can see, we've found what looks to be a small camera in a clear plastic case. On the front of the camera is a printed logo that reads 'Hero'. On the back is another logo that reads 'GoPro'.”

Jack rotated the camera, “On the side of the camera, there appears to be a memory card slot with the memory card still in it.”

Jack looked at me and said, “OK, you can stop recording now.”

He pointed to the object in his hand, “Have you ever seen one of these cameras before?”

I had.

“That's a GoPro waterproof video camera. You can get them online, even from Amazon. Pretty common with the adventure sports crowd.”

Jack looked at me, “Wonder why it's hidden back here? Think anything's on it?”

“Might be. The removable memory card in the camera will fit the card reader on my laptop. That means we can check it out.”

Jack asked, “Your laptop inside?”

“Sure is. You want to take a look?”

We went back inside and showed Jean what we'd found.

Her eyes lit up, “Really? You found a hidden camera? That's pretty exciting. Think there's anything on it?”

Jack smiled, “That's what we plan to find out.”

I went back to the bedroom and got my laptop. When I returned, Jack still had his plastic gloves on, holding the GoPro camera in his hands.

He looked up, “Record me while I do this.”

I started my phone's video app and recorded as Jack opened the camera case, and extracted the tiny camera.

He placed the clear case that held the camera in one of his zip lock bags. Then he held the GoPro camera in the palm of his hands and slowly rotated until the SD memory card slot was in view.

Using his gloved hand, he gently pushed the SD memory card in, which caused it to pop out.

He removed the memory card and held it up.

“Can your laptop read cards this size?”

I pointed to a card slot on the laptop, “Yes. Just slide the card into the slot.”

Jack pushed the memory card into the card reader slot. I pointed the phone-cam at the computer to record the screen activity.

With the card in the slot, the computer popped up a small window indicating a removable storage device had been added.

Jack looked at me, “Let me record the video, while you operate the computer.”

As Jack recorded the computer screen, I used the mouse to click on the memory card icon.

“Jack, we may be out of luck. No files on the card. That means either the camera hasn't been used, or the files have been erased.”

Jack frowned, “So nothing usable?”

I shook my head, “Not necessarily. If the files have been erased we might be able to recover them.”

Back in my computer job, I had plenty of experience recovering lost or damaged files from memory cards. It was easy if you had the right software.

“Jack, I've got software on my computer that should be able recover any files that were recently deleted from the card. You want me to try?”

Jack looked concerned, “Will the process alter or change the contents of the memory card in any way?”

“No. The software doesn't alter the card. It looks for deleted files and if any are found it recovers them onto the laptop's hard drive.”

Jack looked up, “If you're absolutely sure the memory card won't be altered, start the recovery process.”

I clicked on the laptop's program list, found and started the recovery program.

About a minute later, the software announced it had found deleted files.

“Jack, good news. There are four deleted files on the card. Photos and videos. I'll start the recovery process. Then we can see what we have.”

The recovery process took ten long minutes.

When it completed I announced, “Jack, you can remove the memory card from the computer. We don't need it any more.”

Jack removed the card and put it back in the camera. Then he bagged the camera in a zip lock baggie.

Our next step – find out what was on the recovered files.

43

“These files are date stamped. Let's view them oldest to newest, see what we have.”

Jacked agreed, “Sounds good. Get started.”

I clicked first file name.

It was a close-up photo of a man's hand. It looked like someone reaching toward the camera.

Jack carefully looked at the photo. Then, “Show me the next one.”

The second file was a photo of the inside of the motorhome. From the front, looking toward the back bedroom. No people in the photo.

“Show the next one.”

The third file was a video.

The video started with a close-up of a hand. As the video continued, the hand pulled back and we could see a man looking into the camera.

“Jack, that's Harvey Tucker, the guy who was murdered.”

In the video, Tucker took a few steps back and said, “Testing. Testing. Testing.”

Then he moved to the coach door, looked at the camera. “Testing, testing, testing.”

From the coach door, Tucker move to the dinette table. He smiled at the camera. “Testing. Testing. Testing.”

Finally, Tucker walked toward the camera. His hand reached toward the camera lens. The video went black.

Jack pointed at the screen, “Looks like Tucker was testing the camera placement. Making sure it picked up whatever he wanted to record.”

“Play the next one. See if it's the important one.”

I clicked the file name. Another video.

It started with a clear shot of the interior of the motorhome. No people in the scene. No movement.

Five minutes into the video, indistinct voices could be heard. From outside the coach.

As the video continued, the coach door opened. Harvey Tucker stepped into the video frame. He was talking to someone behind him off camera.

Tucker moved to the dinette table as a second man, tall and bronze skinned, dressed in a white panama suit, walked in. He was followed by a shorter heavy-set man carrying a briefcase.

Tucker spoke, “This is my little home away from home. We're safe here. No one is around, no one knows where we are. Please, have a seat.”

The suited man nodded and sat. The large man with the briefcase stood, saying nothing.

Tucker spoke to the man in the white suit, “As promised, I was able to get the company to choose your property for the new plant location. And also to select your people to manage it.”

With a heavy accent the suited man said, “Yes, you delivered on your promise. And I will fulfill mine.”

He snapped his fingers. The heavy-set man placed the briefcase on the table in front of Tucker. Then he stepped back.

The man in the white suit looked up at Tucker, then unlatched the briefcase and opened it.

“In here, you'll find ten rolls of US Eagle gold coins. Each roll contains twenty coins. Two hundred coins in all.”

“These are now yours.”

The suited man continued, “When the equipment from the Conway plant is delivered and installed in the Mexico plant, I will deliver another two hundred coins to you.”

Tucker reached over and removed one of the tubes of coins from the briefcase. He appeared surprised at the weight. Heavy.

He put the roll of gold coins back in place, closed the briefcase, snapped the locks shut, and placed the case under the table.

Tucker smiled. Then reached out to shake the hand of the suited man. “Thank you very much. It is a pleasure doing business with you. You are a man of your word.”

The suited man replied, “I expect you to ensure the movement and installation of the manufacturing equipment goes smoothly.

“If it goes as planned, we will meet again and complete our transaction.”

The suited man stood. “I must go now. My flight to Mexico City departs soon.”

He took two steps toward the door, then turned to face Tucker, “Do not think because I am pleasant to deal with, that there will be no consequences should things not turn out well.

“Should our arrangement be revealed to others, or should it not be completed to my satisfaction, much harm will come to you.

“Do you understand this?”

Tucker nervously stood up, “Yes, I understand. But there's nothing to worry about. Our arrangement is completely confidential. It will go as planned.”

“Make sure it does. Life will be much more pleasant for you if nothing goes wrong.”

With that, the heavy-set man opened the door and stepped out. The suited man paused until the large man stepped back into camera view and nodded his head.

The suited man stepped out of the door, and walked out of camera view.

On camera, Tucker sat down and said nothing.

He appeared to be listening. Off camera a car door closed. Then another. The car started up, and gravel crunched as the car drove away.

Tucker remained motionless for another minute.

Then he stood, walked toward the camera, reached up, and the video ended.

44

I looked at Jack.

“That son of a bitch Harvey Tucker took a payoff to close the plant and move it to Mexico.”

“Six hundred people out of work because of him.”

Jack nodded, “That's what it looks like. And it looks like the people he dealt with didn't want anyone to know about it.”

“But why would they kill Tucker? He kept his end of the deal. The plant's been closed and the equipment's been shipped to Mexico.”

Jack sighed, “We don't know if these people killed Tucker. Could have been someone else.

“But by accepting that payment, Tucker became a liability to them. If they let him live, he'd always be a threat.

“And if they killed him, they wouldn't have to pay him the rest of the gold. They might even be able to recover the gold from the first payment.”

Jack said, “Maybe Tucker recorded the video as insurance. Or as a way to get more money.

“That's probably why he was trying to find the motorhome – so he could retrieve the camera.

“But why would he leave the camera in the motorhome in the first place?”

I remembered something Molly had told me.

“Tucker planned to buy the motorhome. That's why he left the camera in it. He figured it was a safe hiding place.

“But the deal fell through at the last minute. Corporate couldn't get in contact with Tucker. That's why they sold the motorhome to me.

Jean asked, “But why would he worry about the camera? The video had been erased.”

Jack said, “Maybe he didn't want someone accidentally finding the camera. It was easy for you to recover the video. Someone else could do the same thing.

“A more important question. Did Tucker hire someone to break into the motorhome and retrieve the camera? Or did the man in the suit learn about the camera, and send someone to get it?

“Either way, we need to get a copy of this video to the Boston PD as soon as possible.”

Jack stood, “I'll call my contact. Let them know what we found.

“They'll probably want me to ship the camera and memory card. They should be able to recover the video files the same way you did, right?”

“Yes, They should be able to. But just in case, I'll make a copy of the files and give them to you. That way, you'll have a copy, I'll have a copy, and the Boston police will have a copy.”

I paused, then asked, “Once they get the videos, I should be completely out of it, right?”

Jack looked up at me and shook his head, “Probably not.

“Since this might be a crime that crosses international borders, the FBI might get involved. That means they'll want a copy of the video. And they may want to interview you at some point."

He continued, “And whoever is looking for the camera might still be looking for it.”

My heart sank. I didn't want to be involved in this. I just wanted to get Mango Bob to Englewood and get on with my new life.

Jack could see I was disappointed. “Here's what we can do. I'll call my contact in Boston and let him know what's on the video. Then we'll send it to them.

“After they view it, they'll probably turn it over to the FBI. The Feds can worry about the international aspect.

“If Boston or the Feds have questions for you, I'll have them contact me. Then I'll contact you.

“Jean and I will be staying in Venice, just a few miles north of Englewood. We'll stay in touch.”

Jack took a business card from his wallet and wrote his cell phone on the back and handed it to me.

Jean spoke, “Don't wait for something to come up to call us. After you get settled in Englewood, call. Let us know what you're doing. Where you're staying.

“If Bob ever needs a cat-sitter, let me know. He's my kind of cat.”

Jack stood to leave, “Let's get together in the morning. Say about eight o'clock?”

“Sounds good to me. You fixing breakfast?”

“No, but the campground cafe should be open by then. I'll meet you there.”

Jean gave me a hug and said, “Don't worry about this. Jack's got your back.”

They both left for the night.

45

My phone chimed me awake.

The windows were still open from the night before. Wildlife stirring outside. Other campers getting ready to leave. Bob was asleep on the couch.

The clock on my phone showed I had about an hour before I needed to meet Jack.

Time enough to shower and shave.

I hadn't bothered to hook up to campground water. Easier to walk to the campground restrooms and shower there. I grabbed a towel, soap, shampoo, and headed out.

Showers weren't crowded. The water was warm.

When I got back to the coach, Bob was at the window keeping watch over two squirrels playing tag in a nearby tree.

He looked at me over his shoulder and said, “Murrph.” Telling me he could get those squirrels if he wanted to.

I'm sure he could.

I powered up my laptop, checked my email.

Nothing important.

Googled 'Harvey Tucker' to see if anything about his case made the news.

Found a newspaper article about his murder. It said Tucker had resigned from his job the week before his murder. Something about an investigation of 'improprieties' at work.

Wonder if this involved his south of the border dealings?

I checked my phone and saw it was time to meet Jack for breakfast. Checked on Bob. He was still on squirrel patrol.

I headed out, locking the door behind me.

The campground cafe was in the open plaza overlooking the springs. That's where I headed. Took about three minutes to get there.

Jack was already there when I arrived. He greeted me, “I wondered if you were going to sleep in this morning. Have a good night?”

“Not bad. Bob woke me up about three in the morning when he used his litter box.”

Jack laughed, “At least he uses the box. I had a cat use my shoe once.”

I shook my head, “I really can't complain about Bob. He's been a good traveling companion so far.”

Jack looked toward the springs, “You up for a walk before breakfast?”

“I'm always up for a walk.”

We followed the signs to the nature trail, then decided to do the four mile loop to the sinkhole and back.

Jack said “I called Boston again this morning. Talked to the lead detective on the Tucker case.”

“He said until they see the video, they wouldn't know if it was important or not.

“Said even if the video showed a bribe, the Boston PD wouldn't pursue it.

“Bribery is a class E Felony. Even if convicted, it's only minimal jail time.”

“And since the person who accepted the bribe is dead, there's not much of a case.

“He also told me their investigators didn't find any gold coins in Tucker's apartment.

“Tucker either hid them somewhere or cashed them in. Either way, it's not something Boston PD is worried about.

“As it stands right now, Boston PD thanks you for the video, but unless something else comes up, you're out of it.”

I smiled, “Good. The last thing I need is to be involved in a murder investigation.”

“One question – can I tell Molly about this? She's the person back at the plant who sold me the motorhome. She took the calls from Tucker and spoke to the Boston detective. She's pretty worried about the whole thing.”

Jack shook his head, “No, don't tell Molly. The fewer people who know, the easier it will be to investigate.”

Jack and I continued our walk, marveling at the great Florida weather and all the wildlife in the park.

If this was any indication of what living in Florida was going to be like, sign me up for more!

We eventually got back to the park cafe, and ordered breakfast. Eggs, toast, sausage and orange juice.

“Where's Jean this morning? I thought she might be joining us.”

“She said she wanted to sleep in. But I'm guessing she just wanted to give us some guy time.”

I nodded, “So Jack, what's the best way to get from here to Englewood?”

Jack brightened, “Most people would take 19 to Crystal River and then get on the Sunshine Parkway. That would take you through Tampa and across the Skyway bridge. Then back onto I-75 to the Englewood exit.”

“Personally, I don't like that route. Too much traffic in Tampa, and the winds on the Skyway bridge can be a bit much for a motorhome.

“So what I do is get on I-75 at Crystal River. That way you avoid the congestion through Tampa. And from there, you stay on I-75 all the way to the Englewood exit.

“It's about a five hour drive to Englewood from here - assuming no major traffic tie-ups on I-75.”

Jack stood, “Jean and I will be leaving in about half an hour. Headed toward Venice. We probably won't see you again on this trip.

“Call me if anything comes up. Or just call me if you get bored. Either way stay in touch.

“And don't dare leave without saying goodbye to Jean.”

We finished our breakfast, and headed back to our campsites. Jack's was closest, and as we approached, Jean came out of the motorhome and said, “Don't you dare leave without giving me a hug!”

She walked up and gave me a big squeeze and said, “I don't know if Jack told you, but meeting you has made this trip one of our best so far. Jack got to play detective, and I got to play with Bob.

“We'll be in Venice, which is only about eight miles north of Englewood. After you get settled in, give us a call and we'll get together.

“Promise you'll call us if anything comes up. Or if you need someone to talk to. We will have plenty of time on our hands, and we'd love to hear from you.”

“I promise. I've got both your phone numbers and email addresses, and I promise to stay in touch.”

With that, Jean hugged me again, Jack shook my hand, and I headed back to my campsite thinking about how lucky I had been to meet these people back at the campground in Arkansas, that first day I had the Love Bus.

Seemed like a long time ago. But it had been just four days.

46

When I got back to the Love Bus, I programmed the route Jack had suggested into my GPS. Then I checked on Bob and started preparing for the trip.

After closing all the windows, I went back outside, disconnected from shore power and made sure the utility compartment was tidy and locked. Then did a final walk around the coach to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything.

Bob watched with interest from his perch on the back of the couch.

The final thing on my checklist was to call Molly's sister in Englewood, let her know I'd be arriving today.

I dug through my wallet and found the card Molly had given me. Her sister's name was Sarah. And she worked at Dolphin Adventure Tours, on Mango street in Old Englewood Florida.

I dialed her number. After three rings a woman answered, “Dolphin Adventure Tours, how can I help you.”

“Sarah?”

“No, Sarah is out on the water this morning. I'm Becky.”

“Becky, this is Walker. I've got Sarah's cat, and I'll be in Englewood this afternoon.”

“Oh that's great! Sarah said she was hoping you'd be here today. She told me to tell you that when you get here, park in front of the building on the street.

“If she's not back when you arrive, hang around till she returns. She has a morning and an afternoon tour today and should be back around four thirty.

“She's really excited about this. She's been talking about it all weekend.”

“That's good to know.

“Becky, while I've got you the phone, I've got a question.

“I'm kind of new at driving this motorhome and want to avoid heavy city traffic. Will I have any problem getting into Englewood or getting it parked?”

She laughed, “You've never been to Englewood have you? This is a small town of about six thousand people. Most of them live on the other side of the county.

“There won't be much traffic no matter what time of day you get here, and you won't have any problem parking in front of our office.

“Just be careful driving on I-75. Lots of idiots out there.

“Once you get on Old Englewood road, things slow way down. In fact, you're likely to see more people riding bikes than driving cars.

“If you run into any problems, give me a call. I'm Sarah's answering service and live a few doors down from the office.”

I thanked Becky for her help. Told her I'd probably be there around three and looked forward to seeing Englewood.

We said our goodbyes and disconnected.

It was time to drive the final leg of the trip.

I started the coach, let the motor warm up a few minutes, rechecked all the doors and windows and pulled out of the campsite.

It took about 15 minutes to get from the campground back to highway 19. Then a three hour drive to Crystal Springs where I got back on I-75.

Driving on I-75 was far different than the slow unhurried pace of the back roads I'd been on. The speed limit on I-75 was 70, but most of the cars were doing at least 75. Many were going quite a bit faster than that.

I kept the motorhome in the right lane, set the cruise control to sixty five, and just ignored the cars, motorcycles and trucks speeding by.

As Jack had predicted, it took three hours to reach the Englewood exit. Due to the traffic and crazy drivers, those were the most stressful hours of the entire trip.

Taking the Englewood exit, I left the craziness of I-75 behind and found myself on a two lane road bordered by palm trees and rolling pastures.

Tropical birds flew between the trees, and white sand patches hinted of the nearby beaches.

This was more like what I was expecting.

47

I followed the two lane road toward Englewood. Almost no traffic, and no signs of civilization other than the surprisingly well kept road.

Eventually I came to a 'Welcome to Englewood' sign, and almost immediately, signs of small town life appeared.

A church, a post office, and a row of small well kept homes. At the first stoplight, the road to the left led south to Port Charlotte and Punta Gorda. The road to the right led to Venice. Places I'd want to visit in the future.

Two miles further in, I came to the second stoplight. A large Publix grocery store on the right. A Walgreen's pharmacy on the left. And straight ahead, Old Englewood Village on Dearborn Street.

The GPS instructed me to continue onto Dearborn street for two hundred yards, then turn left onto Mango Street.

As I turned onto Mango, the GPS announced I had reached my destination. I pulled over and looked around.

On my left was the La Stanza restaurant, and on my right the Mango Bistro. Neither was the place I was looking for.

But further down the street, just beyond an overgrown lot, I saw a faded sign. Dolphin Adventure Tours.

I drove toward the sign and parked in front of an old block building. The sign on the door read, “Back at four.”

It was now three. I had made good time and was early. I would have to wait to meet Sarah.

In the back, Bob was asleep on the bed, one paw over his eyes.

He didn't know it yet, but he was home. His days of riding shotgun in the Love Bus were over.

But my days of living in a house on wheels were just getting started.

48

Twenty minutes later, a white Toyota truck towing a trailer with eight kayaks pulled to the curb.

A woman was driving. Sarah.

She stepped out of the truck, turned toward the motorhome and waved. I waved back.

She was about five foot four. Wearing a bright orange fishing shirt, faded cargo shorts and tennis shoes.

Dark blue ball cap on her head, pony tail out the back.

Walking toward the Love Bus.

I opened the coach door and stepped out.

“You must be Sarah.”

She smiled, “You must be Walker. Is Bob in there?”

“He is. Asleep in the back.”

“Good. Let's not wake him.

She pointed back to the truck, “I need to get these boats into the yard. Give me a hand.”

“OK, what do you need me to do?”

“I'm going to pull the truck into the boat-yard, and when I get it turned around, come up to the trailer.”

A six foot high, ivy covered chain link fence connected the Dolphin Tours building to a large lot. In the center of the fence, Sarah unlocked and swung open a 12 foot gate.

Then she got back into her truck, pulled through the gate and circled the lot, ending with the front of the truck facing the gate.

She got out and waved in my direction, “Don't just stand there. Give me a hand.”

When I got closer, Sarah pointed behind her, “I've been doing kayak tours all day. The kayaks get sand and salt on them. Got to wash them down.”

She walked back to the trailer, lifted it up off the hitch, swung it around and began pushing it toward the corner of the lot.

“You're going to just stand there while I move this trailer by myself?”

I laughed, “It looked like you knew what you were doing and I was enjoying the show. But since you asked so nicely, what can I do to help?”

“Grab the front of the trailer and pull it over there by the wall. By the water hoses.”

I picked up the trailer. Not as heavy as it looked, which was good. Would have hated it if I couldn't have handled it as easily as Sarah.

I pulled the trailer toward the wall, stopping when Sarah said, “That's good.”

“Now grab a sponge out of that bucket. And stand back while I hose the boats down.”

After she finished spraying, I grabbed a sponge and began wiping the boats on my side of the trailer.

We worked in silence. Sponging the salt and sand off each of the boats.

Finally Sarah said, “That's good. Stand back while I give them a final rinse.”

When she was done, she wiped her right hand on her pants, then reached out to me and said, “Let's start over. I'm Sarah.”

I shook her hand. “Just call me Walker.”

“Okay, Walker it is.”

She pointed behind me, “Everything within the fenced-in area is part of the old boat yard. I rent it and the building next door from Audrey Snyder.

“When it was a boat-yard, they had a night watchman who lived in a airstream trailer over there in the corner. He and the trailer are both long gone. But the power, water, and a sewer connection are still there.

“If you want, you can park your motorhome over there for the time being. But before you do, I've got some rules. You either agree to them or park somewhere else.”

“I'm listening.”

“No smoking in the boat-yard. No drinking in the boat-yard. No visitors unless I'm notified first. No other vehicles in the boat-yard. Keep the gate locked at all times. No loud stereos. And you can't do anything to call attention to being camped back here.”

She paused, apparently waiting for me to answer.

“Okay, I can agree to that.”

“One final rule. If I say it's time for you to pack up and move on, you go. No argument.

“Understood?”

I nodded, “Understood.”

Sarah continued, “It's nothing personal. But I don't know anything about you. You might be the greatest guy in the world. Or just another loser I don't need in my life.

“Better to get the rules straight before we go any further.”

I nodded, “I understand completely. Having rules will make it easier for both of us.”

Sarah continued, “Now that that's settled, let's get your RV in here.

“Pull in through the gate, then turn it around and back it up into the far corner over there. That's where the trailer hookups are.”

Without waiting for me to respond, Sarah walked to her truck and moved it out of the way so I could pull the motorhome through the gate.

I brought the motorhome in slowly, being careful not to hit anything. After I got it turned around, I lined up with the chain link fence on the far side, and started backing up.

Sarah guided me in. “To the right, OK, come on. Slow, slow. Stop.”

“That's good. Perfect.”

I put it in park and shut down the motor. Then I stepped out of the driver's door and walked over to Sarah.

She said, “Fits in pretty good. The neighbors will never know you're here.”

“Sarah, I really appreciate you letting me park here for a few days. I'm be happy to pay.”

She shook her head, “Nope, you're not going to pay to park here. But I might ask you to help me with a few chores. ”

I smiled, “Whatever you want, just let me know.”

She smiled, “I bet after four days on the road, you'd like a home cooked meal.”

I agreed, “Yeah, that sounds pretty good.”

Sarah continued, “Sounds good to me too. But I don't cook. So we're going to eat out tonight.”

A take charge kind of girl. I liked that.

I said, “Okay, as long as you drive. ”

Sarah replied, “No problem. I don't mind driving, but you're buying.”

I smiled, “Fine with me. You pick the spot, and I'll pick up the tab.”

There was a few moments of awkward silence.

I spoke up, “Hey, are you ready for Bob?”

Sarah shook her head, “No, not yet. I need to set up a space for him inside. And before I do that, I want to go in, take a shower. Get into some clean clothes.”

Sarah pointed at the building behind us, “I live in the back of the office. That's my private place, and it's off limits to you.

“I'm going in to clean up. I'll meet you back out here around five.”

Sarah pointed toward the street, “While I'm inside, close that gate and do whatever you need to do to hook up your motorhome.”

“See you at five.”

She went in the side door of her office, leaving me alone in the yard.

49

I closed and locked the gate. Walked back to the Love Bus and connected to shore power and city water. I didn't bother connecting up the sewer. I'd leave that for some other day.

Inside, I checked on Bob. He was still sleeping. Hadn't touched his food since earlier in the day.

As I started thinking about what I would wear for my 'home cooked meal' with Sarah, my phone chimed.

It was Molly.

“Hi Molly, What's up?”

“Just checking to see if you made it to Sarah's place yet.”

“I got here a few minutes ago. Met Sarah and helped her wash down her kayaks.”

“So,” Molly said, “What do you think?”

I said, “About what?”

Molly answered, “Sarah. What do you think about Sarah?”

“Molly, I just met Sarah a few minutes ago. What am I supposed to think? She's nice looking, likes to take charge. Gave me a set of rules I must obey or else. Other than that, I can't tell you much.”

“So you think she's good looking?”

“Molly, I'm not going to talk to you about your sister's looks. I just met her, and besides why are you so interested in what I think about it? Are you trying to set me up?”

“No, nothing like that. It's just you and Sarah have a lot in common. You'd be good for each other.”

“Molly, I've been here twenty minutes. Met Sarah and we talked for five minutes. So far, we haven't decided to have children together.”

Molly sighed, “Okay, enough about Sarah. Did the Boston PD talk to you about Harvey Tucker's murder?”

I had to be careful with my answer. I didn't want to tell Molly the full story just yet.

“No, I haven't spoken to anyone from the Boston Police about this. But I did read in the paper that Tucker was fired two weeks ago by Moreco. That means when he called you Thursday, he was no longer employed by the company.”

“It's just weird. I guess we'll just have to wait and see what the police find out.”

Molly agreed. “Enough about Tucker.

"What about you? Now that you're in Florida, what are your plans?"

“Molly, I just got here a few minutes ago and my plans are to stay here at your sister's place for a few days while I figure things out.”

“Right now my most pressing decision is what to wear this evening when I go out to dinner with your sister.”

Molly squealed, “You've got a date with Sarah? Already! Woohoo!”

“Bye, Molly.” I sighed and hung up.

50

Choosing what to wear for my dinner date with Sarah was easy. Mainly because my choices were limited to the few clothes I hadn't boxed up and stored in the basement of the coach.

All I had hanging in the closet were three pair of jeans, three long sleeve shirts, a sweater, and a winter jacket.

I washed up, found the least wrinkled shirt, matched it with the freshest jeans, and called myself good to go.

I still had about thirty minutes before Sarah said she'd be out, so I decided to check to see what local stations were available on the TV.

After cranking up the antenna and pushing the TV amplifier button, the TV scanned and found fourteen channels. Four from Fort Myers, two from Sarasota and eight from Tampa.

I clicked through the channels, pausing long enough to catch the local weather forecast. Clear skies, highs in the low seventies, lows in the mid fifties. No humidity and a slight breeze over the gulf. Nice.

That's all I really needed to know, so I turned the TV off and fired up my computer to check my email.

Nothing new. Just spam.

With time to kill, I called up Google maps and entered the Mango Street address where I was currently parked.

By choosing the satellite view and zooming in, I could see the boat yard and the surrounding area.

Zooming back a bit revealed a large body of water at the end of Dearborn, the street I had driven in on. Lemon Bay.

Beyond Lemon Bay was the long narrow barrier island of Manasota key, and beyond that, the Gulf of Mexico.

From where I was parked, it was just a few hundred yards to the beach.

From outside I heard footsteps, “Walker? You awake?”

“Yeah, I'm awake, just checking my email.”

The sound of Sarah's voice woke Bob. He jumped down from the bed, and came over to me and said, "Murrfph?”

Sarah was standing outside my open window. “Let's go. You don't want to keep me waiting when I'm hungry.”

Bob hopped up on the chair nearest the window, trying to peek at Sarah. “Murrph?”

Sarah heard him. “Bob, is that you? Is that my Mango Bob?”

I went to the door and said, “You might as well come in and see Bob. He wants to tell you his story.”

Sarah came in and headed for Bob. She reached down and let him smell her hand. He sniffed cautiously, then arched his back and leaned into her. Wanting to be rubbed.

Sarah sat down on the floor beside him and started petting his head and rubbing his ears, “Bob, I've missed you so much. You're such a brave kitty. Such a long trip.”

Sarah stroked Bob's back. Rubbed his ears. Bob meowed every time she said his name. It wasn't long before he was belly up on the floor, purring to beat the band.

Eventually, Bob had enough. It was time for his evening nap. He stood, stretched, and trotted back to the bedroom.

Sarah looked at me, tears in her eyes, “I've missed Bob so much. Thanks for bringing him back to me.”

I shrugged, “He wasn't much trouble. He kept me company, showed me his tricks, and kept me informed of his litter box habits.”

Sarah frowned, “My loser ex-boyfriend hated cats. And Bob didn't like him. But you and Bob seem to get along pretty well.”

“Yeah, me and Bob get along pretty well. I talk to him, he tells me things. We're tight.

“Right now, it looks like Bob wants to sleep. Maybe it's a good time for me to take you out for that home cooked meal.”

Sarah stood, “Yeah, lets go eat.”

She went out the door first and I followed. I locked the door behind us, and made sure I had my wallet so I could pay for dinner.

Sarah looked at me, “So what's for dinner?”

I shrugged, “It's your town, you know all the places, you decide.”

“OK, but you'll have to help. What do you like?”

I thought about it. “I've been driving toward Florida for three days now, and have yet to see the ocean or the beach. If you can think of a place where we can see the water, I'll be happy.”

Sarah said, “I know just the place. Hop in the truck.”

51

Sarah was driving.

We headed up Dearborn Street and stopped at the light. Then we crossed the intersection and turned left into the Publix grocery store parking lot.

“We're eating at a grocery store?” I asked.

Ignoring my question, Sarah stepped out of the truck and said, “Grab a basket and try to keep up.”

I followed as she went through the sliding doors and headed to the back of the store where she stopped at the seafood counter.

The man behind the counter said, “Hi Sarah. What's it going to be this evening?”

“Hey Ed. How's the shrimp?”

“Fresh Florida shrimp just came in today. How much you want?”

“Give me a pound and steam it for me, okay?”

“Sure, you want Old Bay on that?”

“Yes a little.”

“Will do. It'll be ready in seven minutes.”

Sarah turned, “Follow me.”

She picked up a plastic container of shrimp cocktail sauce and dropped it in the basket I was carrying.

Over the next few minutes, she picked up a roll of paper towels, a stack of large plastic drinking cups, a fresh lemon, and a box of saltine crackers.

In the liquor aisle, she pointed to the shelves, “You prefer beer or wine?”

Hoping this wasn't a trick question, I answered, “I'm not much of a beer drinker. But I do drink a little wine now and then.”

Sarah smiled, “Good. My old boyfriend was a heavy beer drinker. Kind of turned me off to the smell. So wine it is.”

She picked out a bottle of inexpensive pino grigio and carefully placed it in the basket.

Leaving the wine section, Sarah headed to the dairy counter, where she picked out a block of extra sharp cheddar cheese. Then over to the seafood counter where our shrimp was ready.

“Okay, this should do it.” She turned and headed to the 'ten items or less' checkout line and removed the items from the basket. When the cashier greeted us, Sarah pointed at me and said, “He's paying.”

The cashier rang us up. I paid.

Sarah was already out the door as I grabbed the two grocery bags and followed her like a well-trained puppy.

After I placed the groceries in the back seat of the truck, Sarah said, “Buckle up and hold on.” And off we went.

From the parking lot, we turned left, then turned right at the second stop light which took us across a draw bridge overlooking a large body of water.

Sarah pointed out the window, “This is Lemon Bay. Where I do most of my kayak tours.”

We continued across the bridge and it was like driving into a different town. Instead of the sleepy feeling of Old Englewood, we were now in a beach town.

Both sides of the road were lined with jet ski and boat rentals, fishing guides, souvenir stores selling sea shells, t-shirts and beach attire.

A half mile further, Sarah pulled into a parking lot and announced, “We're here. Manasota Beach. Grab the food and follow me.”

She exited the truck and headed toward wooden stairs leading to a covered boardwalk.

With the two grocery bags I followed. And as I reached the top of the steps, I was amazed at what lay before me.

A picture post card sugar white sand beach with the deep blue water of the gulf of Mexico stretching to the horizon.

The sound of the surf mixed in with the calls of sea gulls and the smell of salt water filled the air.

I was in heaven. This was what I expected Florida to be like.

Sarah called out, “Quit gawking like a tourist, and bring the food over here!”

As instructed, I took the grocery bags to the picnic table where Sarah was sitting. She removed the bottle of wine from the largest bag, unscrewed the top and filled two of the cups.

As she handed me a plastic cup filled with wine, she said, “Welcome to Florida!”

I took a sip. Not bad.

Sarah did the same, then said, “We're not supposed to have glass on the beach, so if you'll put this bottle back in the truck, I'll have the food laid out when you get back.”

She tossed me the truck keys, “Be sure to lock it.”

When I got back from the truck, Sarah had spread out our feast. Steamed shrimp, horse radish cocktail sauce, sliced cheddar cheese, fresh lemon halves, and wine.

“I probably should have asked you this back at the store. Are you allergic to shellfish?”

I laughed, “No, I'm not. In fact, I love 'peel and eat um' shrimp.”

“Good. I guess that means you know how to eat them. I dated a guy once who didn't know you're supposed to peel the shrimp before you ate them. He crunched through the shells of several shrimp before I explained the process.

“He was pretty embarrassed. Then got mad at me, said I wasn't his type. Claimed I was too bossy.”

I smiled, but didn't say anything.

“What are you smiling about? You think I'm bossy?”

I tried to change the subject, “This is an amazing place. You come here often?”

It didn't work.

“So you do think I'm bossy!”

I carefully thought out my reply, “Sarah, I just met you, and you seem like a person who knows what she wants. Likes to lead the way. Those are excellent traits.”

She smiled, “Good save. Now eat.”

We piled freshly steamed shrimps onto our paper plates and started our meal.

Sarah was methodical. She would peel several shrimp, then eat them one by one. While peeling, she could carry on a conversation.

I instead, would peel a single shrimp and eat it. Then peel another and eat it. That limited my replies to Sarah's comments and questions.

As we ate our meal, I took it all in. The sandy beach. The sounds of the surf. The salty breeze off the gulf. The setting sun in the distance.

“This was a good idea. Fresh shrimp on the beach. No crowds, no smoky or noisy bars, and no dishes to clean.

“Thanks for doing this Sarah.”

She smiled, “This is the first time I've brought anyone out here for shrimp. You just seemed like a person who might enjoy a picnic at the beach.”

“I am, and I could get used to this. Eating fresh shrimp at the beach. Hanging out with a bossy woman.”

Sarah looked up, smiled, and threw a shrimp at me.

Then she laughed.

52

After we'd finished our meal, Sarah put the left over cheese and crackers and unused plastic cups, in a grocery bag and asked me to take them back to the truck.

Everything else she put in the nearest waste bin.

When I returned, Sarah asked, “Are you up for a walk on the beach?”

“You bet. Ready whenever you are.”

Sarah took off down the boardwalk, then down a set of wooden stairs leading to the beach. I followed.

On the beach, Sarah reached out and took my hand in hers, and we walked to the water's edge. We stood there, hand in hand for a few moments looking out over the surf.

I said, “This is nice.”

Sarah gave my hand a squeeze and then let go and started walking along the shoreline. I quickly followed, occasionally stopping to pick up sea shells.

We walked in silence for what seemed like ten minutes. Maybe more.

Sarah finally turned toward me and said, “Let's sit and talk.”

Without waiting for my response, she walked up the beach and sat down at the heel of a dune.

I sat beside her. Saying nothing. Just looking at the beach and setting sun. To me this was paradise.

Sarah spoke, “You probably think I'm bossy. And I am.

“But I'm bossy because I have to be. I take out four to six kayak tours a week, and most of the people in these tours have never seen a real kayak. Some can't even swim.

“I learned the hard way. They want me to be their leader, to tell them what to do when we're out there. By being bossy, I protect those people. I keep them out of trouble. I make sure they don't drown. I give orders and they follow them.

“So I'm in the habit of telling people what to do. Sometimes it spills over into my personal life. I give instructions and expect people to follow them.

“And I think I've been doing that ever since we met this afternoon. I apologize. I'm sorry.”

Sarah was being serious.

I didn't know how to respond, but I knew I had to say something. “Sarah, I've enjoyed every minute of your company. And yes, I can see you are a 'take charge' kind of person. But that doesn't bother me. In fact, it makes life easier.”

“It means I don't have to guess what I should be doing. I just do what you tell me. Up to a point.”

Sarah smiled at me and playfully said, “Hey, when I give an order, I expect you to follow.” And then she punched me lightly on the shoulder, jumped up and ran toward the water.

She looked back at me and shouted, “Come on, you're going to miss the sunset.”

I got up and walked to where she was standing, facing the setting sun. I thought about reaching down and taking her hand, but decided to await for further instructions.

53

After the sun had fallen below the horizon, we walked back to the dunes near the back of the beach and sat down.

“Sarah, I know you and your sister Molly grew up in Arkansas. So how did you end up in Florida?”

She laughed, “I met a guy. We dated for a few months. Neither one of us had a job, and we were struggling.

“His parents lived in Florida. Offered us jobs and a place to live if we moved down here to be close to them.

“I hated leaving Molly, but I was young and in love, and Florida seemed like an adventure.

“We moved down to Bradenton where Kevin's parents lived. They had an apartment above their garage, and we lived there.

“Kevin's father was a boat captain. He took tourists deep sea fishing five days a week.

“He offered us jobs on his boat as deck hands. Basically we were wait-staff for the tourists. We baited their hooks, removed and cleaned the fish they caught. Whatever they needed.

“Kevin couldn't handle it. Got seasick just about every time we went out on the boat.

“He quit, but I stayed on. I liked being out on the water, and I liked dealing with people.

“After two months, Kevin and I broke up. I had to move out of the garage apartment, but I kept working for Kevin's father for two more years.

“Then he sold his boat to Captain Bob in Englewood.

“Captain Bob asked if I wanted to continue on as a deck hand, and I took him up on the offer.

“I moved to Englewood. And Captain Bob taught me how to operate his boat. He helped me to get my six pack so I could handle the boat when he wasn't available.”

I interrupted, “What's a six pack?”

“It's a commercial boat captain's license. Allows you to take up to six paying passengers out. Gotta have it if you want to be a fishing guide or tour boat operator.

“Anyway, Captain Bob helped me get my six pack, and let me captain his boat.

“His health was failing and he was happy to let me handle the boat on the days he couldn't make it.

“Nine months after I started working with Bob, he dropped dead at home. Heart attack.

“Bob's wife listed the boat for sale with a broker, and moved back up north.

“That left me with no job and no boat. This was three years ago.

“Even though I had my license, there weren't many boat captain jobs available. Most boat owners captained their own boat. They didn't want to pay someone else to do it. Especially a girl captain.

“I found a part time job at the kayak store in Nokomis. And that led to me doing some kayak training and tours.

“I eventually bought some used kayaks and started doing kayak training and adventure tours on my own.

“I created a web page, uploaded a few YouTube videos, and put flyers at all the kayak stores and tourist arcades around here to attract customers.

“Right now, I do about five tours a week.”

Sarah paused.

“Interesting. You've got your boat captains license, your own business, and your own fleet of boats.

“And yet, you're still single?”

Sarah made a face, “Molly tell you to say that? She's always trying to fix me up with someone.

“After the last guy, I've sworn off men. I'm going to work on building my business and forget about relationships.”

“Yeah, I can relate to that. I'm just getting out of relationship myself.

“So tell me the story of Mango Bob. How'd he get that name?”

54

We were still sitting on the sand at Manasota beach. Sarah was telling me about Mango Bob.

“When I first came to Englewood and was looking for a place to rent, I couldn't afford much. Most places were priced way too high for my budget.

“A friend suggested I talk to Audrey Snyder, who was looking for a caretaker for the old boatyard. She wanted someone to watch over the place in case something needed fixing. Broken windows, pipes, leaks.

“The building had been empty for years, and she'd had many offers to buy it, especially during the real estate boom.

“But she didn't want to sell.

“She told me her husband, Bob, bought the building when they first married and he ran the boat yard.

“They called it “Bob's Boat Storage.

“But there was another Bob who had a boatyard in Englewood, and the locals started calling this one Mango Bob's - because it was on Mango Street and Bob was the manager.

“Anyway, Mrs Snyder took a liking to me, and agreed to rent the place to me for almost nothing, if I'd be the caretaker.

“The first night after I moved in, I heard a yowling out in the boat yard and when I went to check, I found this scrawny little kitten with no tail.

“He ran right up to the door of my apartment and followed me in like he knew the place.

“I fed him some tuna, gave him a bowl of water and he settled right in.”

“He was so tame I figured he belonged to someone in the neighborhood, so I posted signs. After three weeks, no one claimed him.

“Mrs Snyder came by one day and I showed her the kitty. She had a 'no pets' rule, and I wanted her to know I was trying to find him a home.

“She told me, 'no way are you going to give this cat away. He's found you for a reason. He's yours. And it won't hurt to have a cat around the boat yard. He'll keep the lizards and mice at bay.'

“So with Mrs Snyder's blessings, I kept the cat.

“With his bob tail, I naturally called him Bob. And then Mango Bob, because I found him on Mango Street, in Mango Bob's old boatyard.

“He's been with me ever since. Except this past summer when I let that low-life Eddie convince me that Mango Bob needed to stay with Molly.

“Next time I'll know better. I'll keep Bob, dump the boyfriend.”

Sarah paused, then said, “Let's go home. I want to see my Mango Bob.”

55

We were on the way back to the boatyard. Sarah was driving.

She said, “I'm giving a kayak training session in the morning. You want to come?”

“Sure, sounds like fun. What time and what do I need to bring?”

“It's scheduled for nine thirty at Indian Mound Park. Be ready to leave at eight thirty.

“You'll want a hat, sun glasses, sun screen, short pants and tennis shoes. And a towel because you're going to get wet.”

“I've got everything but the shorts. Jeans OK?”

“That'll work. But you'll need to get some Florida clothes if you plan to stay long.”

We pulled into the boat yard driveway. Sarah handed me a keyring, “Here's your key. Unlock the gate so I can get the truck in.”

After I unlocked and opened the gate, Sarah pulled the truck in and parked it. She walked over to me and said, “I hope you don't mind, but I'm not really set up to take Bob into my apartment tonight. No litter box, no kitty food.

“Maybe tomorrow after we do the kayak training we can get the things I need and move him then?

“But I do want to see him tonight. Would that be okay? Can I go see him?”

I smiled, “Bob would love to see you.” I walked over to the motorhome and unlocked it.

Before opening the door I turned to Sarah, “Bob's been good about not trying to escape, but he might be waiting at the door, so let's be careful.”

I opened the door just far enough to make sure Bob wasn't waiting to escape. He wasn't.

“All clear, we can go in.”

Sarah went in first, “Bob? Are you in here? Bob?”

I followed Sarah, turning on the lights. Bob was nowhere to be seen.

I went to the back bedroom and found Bob stretched out on the bed. I gave him a rub and said, “Bob, there's someone here to see you.”

Bob said, “Murrph”. He blinked his eyes, stood up and stretched.

Then he jumped down from the bed, checked his food and water, and then casually walked out toward the front of the coach.

When Sarah saw him, her eyes lit up. “Bob. Is that you? Did you miss me?”

Bob said, “Murrph.”

Sarah sat on the floor and began petting Bob, telling him how much she missed him.

After five minutes of rubbing, Bob rolled over, letting Sarah rub his belly.

Sarah looked up at me, “Did you teach him this? He never used to let anyone rub his belly.”

“Yes, that's one of the many tricks I've taught him. I've also taught him to cry before he poops. You'll love that one.

“And I've taught him to bark at squirrels. Oh yeah, I've taught him to sleep on top of me at night.”

Sarah was smiling, “You let him sleep with you? Most guys don't like a cat in bed with them.”

I laughed, “Bob really didn't ask me for permission. I just woke up and he was there.”

Sarah smiled, “You really like Bob don't you?”

“Yes, I guess I do.”

56

Sarah was sitting on the floor petting Bob who was purring and chirping.

She looked up, “Molly said you worked at the Conway plant for three years. What did you do before that?”

I thought for a minute, “Before Conway, I worked as a computer network security specialist for FMC. And before that I was in the military for six years.”

“What does a network security specialist do?”

“In my case, it meant the company paid me to try to hack into their own computer networks, then patch any security holes I found. Part of my job was to track down others who tried to get into the network illegally.”

“Sounds interesting. So you were a paid hacker?”

“Something like that. But it was all, well mostly, legal.”

“What'd you do in the military?”

“I was a recon patrol leader. Did two tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq.”

“Did you get shot at?”

“Yes, just about every day. But the heat was the real killer. Bad on our weapons, our communications gear, our people.

“I was glad to get out alive. Three tours was plenty for me.”

“So I'm guessing you know how to swim?”

“Yes, I know how to swim. Learned when I was a kid. Spent my summers on the lake. Even worked as a lifeguard at summer camp for two years.

“So yes, I know how to swim.”

“That's good. Because when we do the kayak training tomorrow, it's nice to know that at least one person other than me can swim.

“By any chance do you know CPR?”

I laughed. “Why do you ask, you need me to perform CPR on you?”

“I'm serious, do you know CPR?”

“Yes, I know CPR. And battlefield first aid, too.”

Sarah, serious again, “I've never had to do CPR in an emergency situation. But I had to take a CPR course as part of my captain's training.”

I nodded, “So, tell me about working as a boat captain. Is running a boat profitable? And what kind of boat would you run in this area?”

Sarah looked up, “When I was boat captain, we'd charged $250 per person per trip.

“We'd usually take out six people, and bring in $1,500 a day. We could only work when the weather was right and when we had at least three customers.

“In a good week, we'd bring in close to $5,000.

But out of that we'd have to pay for fuel, which could run $1,200 for the week. And we'd have to pay the deckhands, which would be another $800. And dock fees, and insurance.”

“So after all expenses, the captain would end up with maybe a thousand profit for the week.”

“But that money disappeared quickly if you had mechanical problems or needed repairs. And boats always have problems and need repairs.”

“Still, it's something I really liked doing. And would still be doing if I had a boat.”

Sarah paused, obviously thinking about her life on a boat.

“So, if you could afford a boat, what kind would you get, and what would you do with it?”

Sarah smiled, “I've thought about that a lot.

“If I won the lottery tomorrow, I'd get a 36 foot catamaran and offer nature and kayak tours out on the barrier islands.

“Maybe even take longer tours down into the keys, or overnights into the Thousand Islands.”

“The catamaran's shallow draft would let me go places other boats couldn't get to, and it'd have enough cabin space inside for six people double bunking.

“If it were a motor-sailer, I could keep the fuel costs low, and offer the kind of eco-friendly adventure tours people want these days.

“But unless I win the lottery, it won't happen.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because even a very used 36-foot catamaran will cost $75,000. And at the rate I'm going, I'll never be able to afford that.”

“Yeah, that's a lot of money. But a nice dream.”

Sarah stood, “Time for me to go. I had a long day today, and have to get up early in the morning. If you're going with me, you need to be ready to help me load the boats around eight thirty.”

Bob swatted at Sarah's ankle playfully and she bent over to talk to him, “Bob, you spend the night here tonight, and tomorrow we'll move you back home.”

Bob looked up and said, “Murrph?”

She looked at me, “You'll be okay with Bob one more night?”

“Yeah, he's no problem. I think he likes it here.”

“Well, don't get too attached, because tomorrow he's moving in with me. See you in the morning.”

Sarah went out the door.

Bob said, “Murrph.”

I agreed with him.

57

Thirty minutes after Sarah left, my phone chimed.

It was Molly.

“So how was your date with Sarah?”

“Molly, it wasn't a date. Just dinner and talk.”

“Walker, come on. Give me something to work with here! What do you think about Sarah?”

“Molly, Sarah seems like a fine person. Has an interesting life. No bad habits I've discovered so far.”

“So are you going to ask her out again?”

“Molly, I'm living in her back yard. So I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Maybe even eating a meal or two together.”

“Yes! I knew you two would hit it off.”

“Molly, I've got to go. It's been a long day. I'll talk to you later.”

I hung up.

It was getting late. Time to close the shades, get ready for bed.

Bob agreed. He was already in the bed when I got there.

I set the alarm for six thirty. I wanted to get up early, take a walk. Get a feel for the neighborhood.

Then be ready for Sarah at eight thirty.

58

My phone alarm chimed me awake. Time to get up.

Bob was still asleep. He wasn't an early riser.

He was on the bed with one paw over my foot. As I moved he said, “Murrph”. Then he flexed his claws, showing me who was boss.

“Yeah Bob, I know you're there. But I'm getting up anyway.”

Bob said, “Murrph.” Then he moved his paw off my foot, and went back to sleep.

I got up, took care of my morning business. Ran a hand through my hair. Pulled on a sweat shirt, a pair of jeans, and running shoes. Grabbed the keys and wallet and headed out.

It wasn't quite daylight yet. The eastern sky was showing the promise of morning, but stars were still visible in the west.

I slipped out the gate locking it behind me, being as quiet as possible. Didn't want to wake Sarah.

Out on the street, it was eerily still. Not many people up this time of the morning. Which meant it would be a good time to explore the neighborhood.

Remembering the layout of the area from the Google Earth satellite view, my plan was to go to the end of Dearborn where it met Lemon Bay, then follow Old Englewood Road to Lemon Bay Park, and return to Dearborn following the backstreets that lined the bay.

It'd be about three miles and give me a chance to check out the neighborhood and also see the waters of Lemon bay.

As I headed down Dearborn street, I took note of the different shops. An old five and dime. A soda fountain. A hardware store. A barber shop. A few antique stores. Three art galleries.

Not a single franchise fast food joint. No cookie-cutter mall stores. Just a slice of what main street America looked like forty years ago.

This early in the morning, all the shops were closed, except one. The Dearborn Corner Market, at the intersection of Dearborn and Old Englewood Road.

Even at this early hour, it seemed to be doing a brisk business. Trucks pulling fishing boats filled the parking lot. As soon as one pulled out, another pulled in.

As I got closer, I could see why.

In addition to the standard convenience store fare, the Dearborn Corner Market had aerator tanks outside filled with the kind of fresh bait fishermen wanted. Live shrimp.

With the boat launch just three blocks away, it was easy to see why fishermen stopped at the corner market. They could get hot coffee, cold beer, and fresh bait. A fisherman's dream.

I continued my walk to Lemon Bay park, passing through neighborhoods of small well kept homes.

Almost every home had a boat parked in the driveway, and it made sense. Because according to the map at Lemon Bay Park, there were four public boat ramps within seven miles.

All gave immediate access to Lemon Bay and the intracoastal water-way, which led directly to the Gulf of Mexico.

People living in these neighborhoods could launch their boats and jet skis from any of these ramps, and be on the water in minutes.

And unlike other parts of Florida, Englewood didn't have the crime, crowds, and traffic congestion of most coastal areas.

After reviewing the big map at Lemon Bay Park, I headed back toward Dearborn street, where I stopped at the Corner Market.

Inside, I picked out a mesh ball cap, a pair of cheap sunglasses, SPF 50 sun screen, and a 'Englewood, Florida' t-shirt.

The young lady at the checkout said, “Looks like you're planning a day on the water. You need any bait to go with that?”

“No bait today. Just doing some kayaking.”

She said, “It'll be a good day for it. The water's supposed to be calm through this afternoon.

“You need anything else? A lottery ticket?”

“Yeah, a lottery ticket sounds good. I'm new to Florida though. What should I get?”

“Get a Florida Lottery Quick Pic. And a Power Ball. That'll cover both lottery draws tomorrow.”

“OK, I'll take one of each.”

“Total for all this along with the lottery tickets will be $37.95.”

I paid with two twenties.

Handing me change, the cashier said, “Good luck with the lottery. And welcome to Florida.”

I nodded, “Thanks.”

Back outside, I checked the shrimp in the fish tanks. Looked pretty much like what we had eaten the night before. But these were still alive and still had their heads with their black beady eyes.

It was now almost 7:30. The sun was up, the sky was a deep blue, and the temperature was in the mid fifties and starting to climb. From the market to my motorhome was a easy five minute walk.

If I timed it right, I should be able to get back, shower, shave, eat breakfast, and still have a few minutes before meeting Sarah for the Kayak session.

Back at the boat yard, the lights in Sarah's apartment weren't on. This meant I had plenty of time to get ready.

As I unlocked the door to the motorhome home, Bob came running from the back and said, “Murrph.”

I gave him a rub, and he turned and walked toward the bathroom. “MURRPH”. This time much louder.

Apparently he wanted me to follow him.

I did.

When I caught up with him, he was rubbing against the bathroom door, still talking to me. “MURRRPHH!”

His food bowl was empty. His litter box full.

I poured him some food. Then found the plastic litter scoop and scooped large clumps of kitty poop from the litter box into an empty Walmart shopping bag.

After cleaning the little dumplings from the litter box, I tied off the top of the bag, took it to the front door, and dropped it outside. I'd deal with that later.

Bob checked his freshly cleaned box, and said, “Murrph.” He was pleased. Then he climbed back into bed. He'd done his duty by alerting me to my chores. Now he needed his rest.

For me, it was time for a quick shower, which meant moving Bob's litter box out of the shower stall and into the hallway. With that completed, I undressed, turned on the shower and got in.

There was no hot water. I had forgotten to turn on the water heater. Since I was already wet, a quick cold shower would have to do.

I followed the cold shower with a cold shave. Then put on jeans, tennis shoes, my new t-shirt, with a sweat shirt over.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I remembered to move Bob's litter box back into the shower stall. He'd be upset if I forgot to do that.

For breakfast, I had cold cereal. A bowl of Kashi GoLean Crunch in white grape juice. Sounds strange, but tastes pretty good.

Just as I was finishing up, I heard Sarah at the door, “Walker. Time to get up. We've got work to do.”

Through the open window I replied, “I'm up. Just enjoying a little breakfast with Bob. You eaten yet?”

“Yep, eggs and juice. About an hour ago.”

“OK. I'll be right out.”

Outside, Sarah was busy wiping the morning dew off the kayaks. When she saw me she said, “Morning sleepyhead. You ready to go out on the water?”

“Sure am. Been up for three hours. Checked out Dearborn street and Lemon Bay Park early this morning.”

“Good to hear you've got all that energy. It'll come in handy later on.

“So here's the deal. Before we go out to meet clients, we have to get everything ready. We start by getting all the boats on the trailer. Then we make sure we have paddles and life-jackets for each boat.”

“After that, we make sure we have a first aid kit, extra hats, sun screen, and dry towels. And a twelve pack of bottled water. Everything goes into the truck.

“Once the truck is loaded, we hook up the trailer and head out.”

“We're scheduled to meet our group at Indian Mound Park at 9:30. We want to get there twenty minutes early to reserve our spot.”

Sarah was loading the truck and pointing things out as she was telling me this.

She said, “OK, the truck's loaded, Time to get the trailer hitched up. See if you can do it by yourself.”

It didn't look too difficult. The trailer was pretty light, and all I needed to do was to pull it close to the truck, drop the hitch on the ball, lock the ball, and connect the safety chains.

Sarah inspected my work. “Good job. Looks like you've done this before.”

“Many times.” I didn't mention that during my tours in Afghanistan, we hitched far heavier trailers carrying weapons and gear every day.

Sarah looked at me, “You wearing jeans? We're going to be in the water. They're going to get wet. And heavy with the salt.”

“Yeah, I know. But jeans and long pants are all I have. Haven't had time to get short pants yet.”

“OK, they'll have to do. But maybe if you buy me lunch, I'll take you Florida clothes shopping later on today.”

I smiled, “Yeah, that sounds like fun. Anything else I need this morning?”

Sarah nodded, “Sunscreen, hat, sunglasses.”

“They're in the coach. I'll get them.”

I went back to the motorhome, checked on Bob. Made sure he had plenty of water. The perfect weather meant I could leave the windows open for Bob. He'd like that.

On my way out, I grabbed the sunscreen, my new ball-cap, sunglasses and keys. Didn't think I'd need my cell phone. So left it in the charger.

As always, I locked the door behind me.

Sarah was waiting, “Nice looking hat. Where'd you get it?”

“At the Dearborn Corner Market this morning. And while I was there, I got something for you.”

I pulled out the two lottery tickets from my wallet and handed them to Sarah.

“Lottery tickets?”

“Yeah, you said last night you needed to win the lottery to get the boat you wanted. So here you go.”

Sarah took the tickets, “Thanks. Maybe today is my lucky day. ”

59

I opened the gate and Sarah drove the truck pulling the trailer out into the street. I locked the gate behind her, and got in the truck.

She asked, “The gate locked?”

“Yep. Double checked it.”

“Good. We always lock it when we leave.”

“So here's the deal. Today we've got a class at Indian Mound Park on Lemon Bay. It's about five minutes from here.

“There are four women in the class and they want to learn the basics of kayaking.

“I'll be doing the training, and you'll be my assistant. Your job is to unload the boats, do whatever I ask.

“If anyone in the class asks you questions, you refer them to me. That way they'll understand I'm the lead and you're the assistant.

“Now, these are older ladies, and if you want to flirt with them, that's okay. But nothing more than innocent flirting, understood?”

“Got it. You're the leader. I'm the assistant. Easy on the flirting.”

At Indian Mound Park we drove past the boat launch to a parking area that adjoined a small sandy beach.

As I started to get out, Sarah stopped me, “Hang on. No need to start unloading until the clients get here.”

I nodded, “Okay. Just tell me when.”

Sarah pointed over her shoulder. “There's a rest room over there. If you need to go, now's a good time. Before we get out on the water.”

“Maybe I'll check it out. Be right back.”

The restrooms were sparse, but had the necessary facilities. Adjacent to the restrooms, an information kiosk provided some history about Indian Mound Park.

According to the kiosk, the park was the site of several prehistoric shell middens, dating back more than three thousand years.

The original mounds were built by native tribes, using discarded clam and oyster shells which were abundant in the bay.

In addition to providing safe areas during tidal flooding, the shell middens provided shelter during the frequent tropical storms.

Today, the middens are still very visible, albeit covered by several feet of top soil.

When I returned to the truck, Sarah was talking with two older women.

“Ladies, this is Walker. He's helping us out today. If you have any questions about kayaking, ask me. If you need something hauled or lifted, Walker's your guy.”

The two ladies smiled, introduced themselves.

Sarah turned to me, “Walker, time to unload the boats. Get them off the trailer and line them up on the beach over there. Leave about three feet between each boat.”

Then she smiled, “If you need any help lifting them, let me know.”

I went to the trailer and started unloading the boats. Each weighed about forty pounds. Easy to handle.

It was about thirty feet from the trailer to the small beach. I carried each boat over and lined them up as instructed by Sarah.

As I put the final boat in position, Sarah said, “Good job. Now, put a life-jacket and paddle in each boat.”

While I was doing this, two more ladies arrived. Both looked to be in their mid-fifties.

Sarah introduced me again, “Ladies this is Walker. He's our gopher today. If you need anything involving muscle, ask him.

“If you have questions about kayaking or safety, ask me.

“We're going to start our training in about ten minutes. The training will last about two hours. We'll do about 30 minutes on-shore, then about an hour in the water.

During the water sessions, you're going to get your feet and legs wet. So be sure to wear shoes that you don't mind getting wet.

“There's a bathroom in the pavilion over there. If you need to use it, now is a good time. If you haven't applied sunscreen, do it now. If you didn't bring sunscreen, I've got some in the truck.

“Any questions?”

One of the ladies raised her hand. “Are there sharks or alligators in the water?”

“Nope, no sharks or alligators in these waters.”

Another lady raised her hand. “Should I wear my swim suit?”

Sarah smiled, “The water's a little cool for swimming, but the sun will warm us up later on. So if you brought your swim suit, feel free to wear it.”

The lady who asked the first question raised her hand again, “Why is Walker wearing jeans? Isn't he going to get in the water?”

Sarah laughed, “Walker is wearing jeans because he just arrived in Florida yesterday, and he didn't have sense enough to bring shorts with him.

“And don't worry about him. I'm taking him shopping later today to get some Florida clothes.”

The women laughed.

Sarah continued, “Okay ladies, we'll be starting in ten minutes. If you need to change or use the restrooms, do it now. If you have valuables in your car, put them in the trunk. And lock your cars.”

The women took off toward their cars. And then the pavilion.

Kaye, the woman who had asked about wearing a bathing suit, was the first one back. She had on a skimpy two piece suit which revealed a surprisingly nice body for a woman in her late forties.

The other women returned wearing shorts and t-shirts.

Sarah stood in front of the women and said, “Let's get started.”

For the first ten minutes, Sarah explained the basics of kayaking. Then she showed the features of each boat.

She explained that Florida law required kayakers have a life-jacket, either on or within reach in the boat. And a sound-producing device like a whistle, also in easy reach.

She then showed how to put on and adjust the life jackets found in each boat. She also showed how to use the whistle which was attached by a cord to each jacket.

“Now that we've covered the basics, choose the boat you want to use today. They're all the same except color.”

We'd brought six boats. Enough for everyone in the class, plus one for Sarah and one for me. The women took their time examining each of the boats, trying to find just the right one. Eventually, each settled on their chosen boat.

Sarah had been through this before and gave them time to make their selections. When they were ready, she said, “OK, now that you've chosen your boat, put on the life jacket you'll find in your boat. I'll come around and check each of you to make sure it's on correctly.”

With their life jackets securely on, Sarah continued her training for another twenty minutes. She stood in the water and showed her students how to safely get in and out of a kayak. How to keep from rolling over. How to get back in should they fall out in deep water.

After the safety lessons, she showed how to paddle efficiently, how to keep dry when paddling, and how to hold the paddle to keep from getting blisters.

Then she said, “OK ladies, time for you to get in your boats and paddle out to me. Take your time and do it just like I showed you. Walker will be on shore to help you if you run into problems.”

Each of the ladies got into their boats and with a little effort, were able to launch into the water and paddle out to Sarah.

I got into the remaining boat and joined the class on the water.

Sarah said, “OK, we're going to paddle single file over to the mangroves and stop there. I'll lead the way and Walker will bring up the rear.

“If you have any problems, blow your whistle and I'll come back to assist you.

“Any questions?”

No one spoke up.

“OK, let's head out. Follow me, and try to paddle the way I showed you.

Sarah turned and slowly paddled, staying close to the shore and avoiding the center of the bay where boat traffic was starting to pick up.

Three of her four students followed her closely. But one, the lady in the swim suit lagged back.

I quickly caught up with her, “We need to stay close to the group. Stay up with Sarah.”

“Walker? That's what Sarah said your name was. I'm Kaye.”

“Glad to meet you Kaye. Let's catch up with the rest of the group.”

“Walker, what's your hurry? You can give me private lessons back here.”

Kaye had stopped paddling.

“No, we need to stay with the group. Come on, let's catch up.”

Kaye dropped her paddle in the water. “Oops! Dropped my paddle. I need your help Walker.”

I could see this was going to be a problem.

I paddled over, picked up her paddle and handed it her. She grabbed it, and pulled me and my boat toward her.

As my boat bounced off of hers, Kaye said, “Come on Walker, what are you afraid of?”

As I turned to answer, I heard a whistle, then Sarah called out, “Walker, I need you up here.”

I pushed off Kaye's boat and began paddling toward Sarah at the front of the group. Kaye followed and coasted to a stop near the other boats.

As I got close to Sarah's boat, she said, “A little closer please.”

I paddled until our boats touched, side-by-side.

We were in front of the class, when Sarah said, “Ladies, we're going to see if Walker was paying attention when I showed you how to get back into a kayak while in deep water.”

She then grabbed the side of my kayak and lifted it up, dumping me into the water.

“Okay, Walker, show us what you learned.”

I was in the water, hanging on to my kayak. Wet from head to toe. My jeans dragging me down.

Trying not to embarrass myself, I remembered what Sarah had shown earlier.

First step, roll the kayak over so the cockpit was right side up. That was easy to do.

Then I reached across to the opposite side of the cockpit with one hand, and gripped the near side with my other hand.

Then carefully, on my belly, I pulled myself up onto the boat. When my hips were across the open cockpit, I rolled over, dropping my butt into the seat.

Next I lifted my left leg, heavy with the wet denim, and dropped it into the cockpit.

I did the same with my right leg, and was finally back in.

The women in the group applauded.

Sarah said, “Not bad. But let me ask you something.

“Where's your paddle?”

I looked around. No paddle in sight.

Sarah pointed out into the bay, about forty feet from where I was.

“It's over there. The current's picked it up. You'd be in trouble if we weren't here to retrieve it for you.

She spoke to the class, “An important lesson to learn. Always keep control of your paddle. If you fall out of your boat, be sure to grab your paddle right away and secure it to the boat before you try to get back in.”

“Any questions?”

Kaye, the swimsuit gal, raised her hand, “What about Walker? He's over there soaking wet. Without a paddle. You want me to go help him?”

“Don't worry about Walker. I'll get his paddle, then we're going to head to shore, where we'll practice getting out of the boats without tipping over.”

Sarah power stroked out to my paddle, secured it under the bungee cords on her kayak then made a sharp 180-degree turn and delivered it back to me.

As she got close she murmured, “Seems like you have a new special friend. You and Kaye have something going on?”

She handed me the paddle and said, “See if you can keep up with the rest of us.”

Sarah turned toward her class, “Any other questions?”

One of the women raised her hand. “When can we go on a longer tour? I want to see dolphins.”

“We do longer four hour tours most days of the week. During these tours, we'll paddle out to Stump Pass where we'll stop and have a snack. Then we'll paddle out into the gulf, where we usually see dolphins.

“If you visit our website, you can see photos and sign up for these tours.

“OK, it's time for us to head to shore. Back to where we launched the boats ”

Sarah paddled back to shore, the class following. I brought up the rear.

On shore, Sarah demonstrated how to get out of a kayak without tipping over. She then helped each member of the class get out of their boat.

She didn't bother helping me.

Sarah spoke to the group, “I hope you enjoyed your tour this morning. Are there questions I didn't answer?”

No one had questions, but the women agreed they had a great time. They were happy with what they had learned and confident they could handle a kayak.

Two of the ladies said they'd be signing up for a trip later on in the week.

Swimsuit Kaye asked Sarah if I would be going on the longer trips.

“It depends. Walker hasn't decided how long he's going to be in Florida. After this morning's dunk in the water, he might not want to go back out in a kayak. At least with me.”

The women laughed.

As they began packing and returning to their cars, one of the ladies came up to me and said, “You and Sarah are such a cute couple!”

I laughed, “Sarah and me? No, we just met yesterday.”

She smiled, “Really? Well you've got chemistry. Probably some interesting times ahead for both of you. Take care.”

She walked away just as Sarah called my name. “Walker, you're supposed to be helping me. You need to get these boats loaded onto the trailer.”

60

“Was the water cold?”

We were back in the truck, Sarah was driving.

I was soaking wet. Trying my manly best not to shiver. I said, “How about this. We go back to the bay, and I'll dump you in the water and you can find out yourself whether it is cold or not.”

Sarah laughed, “Don't be that way. I was just trying to save you from swimsuit gal.”

“Yeah right, like I needed saving.”

When she reached the boatyard, I got out without saying anything and unlocked the gate. Sarah pulled into the yard and backed the trailer close to the wash-down station.

Sarah grabbed two sponges, and threw one to me. She picked up the water hose, ready to spray down the boats.

“Walker, you did good out there. You're a natural.”

I said nothing. I just continued to wipe down the boats.

Sarah spoke, “That's good enough. Go in and change into some dry clothes. Meet me back out here in twenty minutes. You can buy me lunch.

“And Walker, be sure to bring your credit card. We're going to buy you the right kind of clothes for Florida.”

Back inside the motorhome, I checked on Bob. He was still asleep. He was good at that.

Remembering the cold shower from this morning, I flipped on the water heater. While waiting for the water to heat up, I stripped out of my clothes and checked my closet.

Five days on the road, and I was running out of clean clothes. I'd need to find a laundromat soon.

I grabbed a dry pair of jeans and a shirt I'd only worn once. They'd have to do.

The hot shower felt good. I was still drying off when Sarah banged on the door.

“Come on Walker. You take longer than a girl to get ready!”

“I'll be out in a minute.”

I pulled on my jeans and shirt. Ran a hand through my hair, grabbed my wallet and keys. No need for the cell phone, so I left it in the charger. On the way out, I locked the door behind me.

Outside, Sarah was hanging wet life jackets onto the top rail of the kayak trailer.

She looked up, “We're ready to go. Got your wallet?”

“Yep.”

Sarah smiled, “You still mad at me for dunking you in the water? You going to pout all day?”

“I'm not pouting. I'm planning my revenge.”

“Oh, I'm in trouble now. Walker is out to get me.”

Then she said, “OK, you can have your revenge later. But right now, lets go get you some Florida clothes. That way it won't be so bad when I dunk you in the water.”

I shook my head, “Don't be so sure it'll be me who gets dunked next time”.

Sarah smiled, “OK, enough of this. We're going shopping and then you're buying me lunch.”

She started the truck and drove out the gate and waited for me in the street. I closed and locked the gate and got in the truck with her.

As soon as I closed my door, we were off. East on Dearborn, then right on 776. Through three stoplights. Past McDonald's at Beach Road.

I was trying to identify buildings, streets and shops I could later use as guideposts if I were driving.

After about eight minutes Sarah pulled into the Merchants Crossing shopping center, and parked in front of a Bealls department store.

She announced, “We're here.” She got out of the truck and headed toward the store. I followed.

Inside, Sarah walked to the men's department, looked around, and headed to a display of Columbia fishing shirts.

“You'll need at least four of these. They'll keep you cool. They dry quickly when wet, and have plenty of pockets for gear.

“You probably wear a large. Hold out your arms.”

She picked out four shirts. Yellow, orange, green, and light blue, and piled them in my outstretched arms.

“You'll need some shorts. Get the Columbia PFG fishing shorts.”

She pointed to a display stacked with shorts.

“You look like a medium, but you'll want to try these on.” She handed me a pair and pointed, “Men's dressing room over there.”

I took the shorts into the dressing room and tried them on.

Sarah knocked, “Come out, let me see how they fit.”

“They fit fine. I'll be out in a minute.”

I changed back into my jeans, then went out.

Sarah looked amused. “Too embarrassed to show your lily white legs? No problem, we'll have you tanned up in no time.

“If those fit, get four pair.”

“Now, we need to look at t-shirts. Things you can wear while working around the boat yard. The Columbia PFG tee's are a good choice. Follow me.”

I followed Sarah to a table piled high with shirts. She picked out five brightly colored ones and added them to the stack of clothes I was carrying.

“Last thing we need to get you are some ankle socks. Let's get ten pair.”

Sarah picked out a package of ten socks and added them to the pile.

“That should do it. Anything else you need?”

“Sarah, this is more clothes than I've ever bought at one time in my life. Are you sure I need all this?”

“Yes, you need them. Next week you'll be thanking me. Now, let's check out.”

We walked to the nearest cashier and checked out. The total bill was $237.50. I paid with a credit card.

As we walked back out to the truck, Sarah asked, “So, what's for lunch?”

I pointed to the Subway sandwich shop across the street. “Subway works for me. How about you?”

“Oh, so you're a big spender.” Then, “Just kidding, Subway sounds good.”

We went to Subway and ordered our subs and drinks. The girl behind the counter quickly assembled the sandwiches and I paid.

We picked out a table, and started in on our lunch.

After a few bites, Sarah asked, “So what do you think so far?”

“About what?”

“Englewood. Florida. Kayaking. Me.”

“Sarah, I've only been here two days. So far, it's been fun. Great weather. Nice people. ”

“Think you'll stick around for awhile?”

I nodded, “I pretty much have to now that you made me buy all those Florida clothes.”

She poked me with her straw, “Hey, I did you a favor. Having the right clothes when working on the water can make a big difference. You'll see.

“Speaking of which, I've got a kayak tour scheduled tomorrow afternoon. Three of the ladies from this morning signed up, along with three others who signed up earlier.

“You want to go out with us? Be my assistant again?”

I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed without answering.

Sarah grinned,“I promise not to turn your boat over again.”

I smiled. “I'll think about it.”

As we finished our meal Sarah said, “On the way back I need to stop at PetSmart. Get some stuff for Bob so I can move him over to my place.”

I nodded, then said, “I'm in no hurry to move him out. He's no trouble.”

“Walker, you've had Bob long enough. This afternoon he's moving back in with me.”

PetSmart was across the street from Subway. We drove over and Sarah went in. I followed.

She picked out a large litter box, a twenty pound bucket of litter, and a five pound bag of Maxicat Roasted Chicken dry food, which apparently was Bob's favorite.

After paying for her supplies, we left the store, got in the truck and headed back to the boatyard.

Traffic was light. It took just a few minutes to get back.

As we pulled up to the boatyard, Sarah said, “The gate's open. Didn't we lock it when we left?”

“Yep, I locked it behind you. Anyone else have a key?”

“No, just you and me.”

Sarah pulled into the lot.

The Love Bus was gone. With Bob inside it.

61

Sarah looked at me. “Where's your RV?”

“I have no idea. It was here when we left. I locked the door. I have the keys in my pocket.”

“Someone must have stolen it.”

“And they've got Bob!”

Sarah looked at me, “Call 911.”

I reached for my phone. Then remembered I'd left the phone on the charger inside the Love Bus.

“No phone. It's in the motorhome”

Sarah pulled out her phone. “I'll call. But you'll have to give them the details.”

Sarah dialed 911 and handed me the phone.

“Nine One One. What is your emergency?”

“My motorhome was just stolen.”

Calmly, the 911 operator asked, “Has anyone been hurt? Is the suspect still there?”

“No, he's gone. My motorhome is gone, and everything I own is inside it. Along with Bob.”

“Who's Bob?”

“Our cat. He was sleeping in the back when we left this morning.”

The operator said “Hold please.”

She came back a few moments later. “Sir, a stolen vehicle isn't considered an emergency. I can contact the sheriff's office and ask them to call you to follow up on this. Would you like for me to do that?”

“Yes. Please.”

“OK, I've forwarded the information to the Sheriff's Office. They will call you back to get more details.

“Is there any other emergency you wish to report?”

“No.” I hung up and looked at Sarah.

“They said a stolen vehicle isn't an emergency. They're going to alert the sheriff's office and follow up with us later on.”

Sarah was visibly upset. “So what do we do? I've got to get Bob back!”

I thought about it, “We've been gone for less than an hour, so they couldn't have gotten far.”

“I had less than a quarter tank of gas in it, so they'll have to stop and get gas pretty soon.”

“Sarah, I've got an idea.”

“My phone has a 'where is my phone' app on it. If I text a secret word to it, it will text me back it's GPS location.”

I was still holding Sarah's phone so I quickly sent a text message to my phone.

Two minutes later, Sarah's phone chimed. A text message had arrived back.

The message showed the GPS location of the phone, the speed and direction of travel, and included a link to a Google map showing the current location.

I clicked the Google maps link, and it showed, “Walmart Super Center, Osprey.”

I looked at Sarah, “How far is the Walmart Super Center in Osprey, Florida?”

“It's on the north side of Venice, about 30 minutes away.”

“That's where the motorhome is right now. Maybe we can get there before they take off again.

“Do you know anyone you can call up there who might be able to get there faster?”

Sarah shook her head, “No, everyone I know lives here in Englewood.”

I pulled out my wallet. Looked for the card given to me by Jack Daniels. He said he and Jean were renting in Venice.

Using Sarah's phone, I called Jack's number. He answered on the third ring.

“Jack, this is Walker. My motorhome was stolen about an hour ago. Right now it's in the Walmart parking lot in Osprey, and I'm driving that way to get it back.”

“It'll take me about thirty minutes to get there, and I'm afraid the thief will be long gone by then.

“Is there any way you can get there quicker?”

Jack replied, “I'm six minutes away, getting in the car right now.”

“Jack, when you get there, don't confront the guy. Just park your car to block him in.”

“Walker, have you called the police?”

“Yes, and they said it was a low priority crime. Not an emergency.

“Jack, Mango Bob's in the motorhome. Along with everything I own. I don't want this guy to get away.”

“Walker, I'm on my way. I'll call you back when I get there.”

Jack hung up.

62

Sarah was driving as fast as traffic would allow. It was quick getting out of Englewood, but traffic through Venice slowed to a crawl.

“Who was that on the phone?”, Sarah asked.

“That was Jack Daniels, a retired cop I met on my way down here.

“He and his wife are in Venice. He's going to try to get to Walmart before we do, block the motorhome in so it can't go anywhere.”

Sarah looked at me, “What are you going to do when we get there? What if the guy who stole it is armed?”

“If he's armed, we'll call the police. But I'm not worried about that. If we block him in, he won't be going anywhere. And there'll be a lot of witnesses in the Walmart parking lot.”

Sarah concentrated on getting through traffic, trying to dodge the snowbirds who seemed to block her at every turn.

She slammed her hand on the steering wheel, “Damn this traffic! We're not going to get there in time!”

Sarah's phone chimed. It was Jack.

“Walker, I'm in the Walmart parking lot. Your rig is still here. No one's in it. I've parked so it can't leave.”

“Great! We're about six minutes away. Call me if anything happens.” I hung up.

I told Sarah, “The motorhome is still there. No one inside.”

Sarah was visibly relieved. “Maybe Bob's still in it. He better be!”

Five miles past the Nokomis Beach turn-off, we finally saw the Walmart sign in the distance. Sarah pulled into the right lane, and then turned into the Walmart parking lot.

Once in the parking lot, it was easy to find the motorhome. Being taller than all the other cars it stood out in the far corner of the lot.

As we got closer, we could see a black Mercury Marauder parked in front of the motorhome. Jack, in his Florida car, which looked like a undercover police car.

We drove over and parked behind the motorhome, boxing it in.

I got out and walked over to Jack. “Anything going on inside?”

“Not yet. Looks like nobody's home.”

I patted my pocket, “I've got the keys, we could just take it back.”

Jack shook his head. “Not a good idea. Better to find out who took it and why. Else they might come back and try to get it again.”

We were still standing there as a man carrying a Walmart bag in one hand and wiping his eyes with a tissue with the other, approached.

Since there were no other vehicles parked nearby, we figured he was our man. We stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He looked surprised.

I turned to Sarah, “Call the police. Tell them there's a disturbance in the Walmart parking lot. Tell them someone is going to get hurt.”

The man looked confused. “What's this about?”

I pointed to the motorhome, “That's my motorhome. Someone stole it a few minutes ago. We're here to get it back.”

The man held up both hands, “Hey, no need for violence. I'm just doing my job.”

I looked at Jack, then back to the man. “Your job? You just stole my motorhome. That's not a job. That's a felony.”

“You're wrong, I didn't steal anything. I have a repossession order from the lien-holder.”

Jack looked at me, shook his head.

I said, “That can't be right. I own this vehicle free and clear. It's registered in my name. No liens on it.”

The man shook his head, “That's not what I was told. I got a repo order. Got the paper-work inside.”

He reached for the door. I blocked his way.

“You're not going inside. This is my motorhome. There's no loan on it. Nothing to repossess.”

The repo man stepped back, “Look, I've driven twelve hundred miles trying to get this motorhome and I'm not giving it up.

“The client has already paid me. He sent me the keys and a GPS tracking address.”

Jack interrupted, “A legal repo requires you to have a copy of the title and the lien showing a delinquency. Let's see those things.”

The repo guy said nothing.

“Let's see the paperwork. You do have it don't you?”

The repo guy shook his head. “The client said he'd send the paperwork along with the keys and the payment.

“He sent the payment and the keys, but no papers. I called him, but haven't been able to reach him.

Since he paid me five thousand up front, I figured he'd be good for the paperwork later.”

I looked at the repo guy, “Here's the problem. I'm the legal owner of this motorhome. I have the registration and bill of sale in the glove box.

“So who's the client that's paying you?”

“His name's Tucker. Harvey Tucker.”

I looked at the repo guy, “Harvey Tucker never owned this motorhome. He rented it for a few days from the company that did own it. Probably made a copy of the keys then.

“The company that owned it sold it to me. Tucker has no claim on this motorhome.

“He tricked you into stealing it. You picked it up without the proper paperwork. That means you committed felony theft.

“One more thing. Tucker's dead. You won't be collecting any further payment from him.”

A police car pulled up. The officer rolled down his window. “This the disturbance call?”

“Sure is. This guy stole that motorhome. It belongs to me. We're here to get it back.”

The officer got out of his car and interviewed each of us individually. When he spoke to me, I retrieved the registration and bill of sale from the motorhome. The officer checked the license plate, called it in.

After twenty minutes of interviews, the officer came over to me, “Your story checks out. The repo guy had no legal right to take your vehicle.”

He continued, “It looks like he made an honest mistake. Relied on faulty information. But if you want to press charges, we can do that.”

I thought about it for a moment, “Let me speak to him. See if I can clear this up.”

I went over to the repo guy. “The officer says I can press felony theft charges against you. I haven't decided whether I will or not. Maybe if you answer some questions, it'll help me make up my mind.

“When Harvey Tucker called you, what'd he tell you to do with the motorhome?”

“He said get it to a storage yard and call him. He'd tell me what to do next.”

“What about the GPS tracking info Tucker supplied? ”

“Tucker gave me an internet address and password, which let me log in and see the GPS location of the motorhome. Probably has a GPS tracking box under the hood. Usually on the driver's side, close to the fuse box.”

“Show me.”

We walked over to the coach and I popped the hood.

The repo guy looked in the engine compartment for a moment, then said, “Right there. That little black box with the flashing light.”

I nodded, “How do we disable it?”

“Easy. Disconnect the red wire, then pull the unit off. It's held on with Velcro.”

I disconnected the wire and pulled the tracking unit. The red flashing light continued to blink.

I showed it to the repo guy.

“It has a battery backup. Good for about a week.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “You driving back to Arkansas?”

“Yep.”

“Mind taking this with you? Dropping it into the Mississippi river when you go over the bridge?”

“Yeah, I'll do that.”

“OK. What about the keys Tucker sent you? Let me see them.”

He handed me a set of keys. They were copies of the ones I got with the coach. I put them in my pocket.

“One last question. Why'd you stop at Walmart? Why not keep going until you got further away?”

The repo guy blew his nose, “After I started driving my head stopped up, my nose started running, my eyes were watering. I couldn't hardly breathe.

“I stopped here to get some fresh air, clear my head, get some tissues and eye drops.”

I laughed, “You allergic to cats?”

“I sure am. Don't tell me there's a cat in there.”

“Yep. Name's Mango Bob. Probably still asleep on the bed in the back.

“You stay here. I'm going to check and make sure everything inside is okay, and if it is, I'm not going to press charges.”

The repo guy looked relieved, “I wasn't trying to steal anything, just doing my job.”

I opened the side door and stepped into the coach and walked to the back. Bob was on the bed, sleeping.

Checking the closet and drawers I found everything was where I had left it. Nothing was missing.

Satisfied that the repo man hadn't disturbed anything, I went out and advised the police officer I wouldn't be pressing charges. I thanked him for his time, and he left.

I went over to Jack, shook his hand. “Jack, thank you for your help on this. Hope I didn't ruin your afternoon.”

“No problem. It was fun. Gave me an excuse to get out of the house. Plus I got to meet Sarah. We were talking about you while you were dealing with the police.

“She seems nice. Told me she dumped you in the water this morning. Bet that was fun.”

“Yeah, she's loads of fun.”

“Walker, you know those two guys you tased back in Mississippi? The state police picked them up.

“The car they were in was stolen. And both guys had felony warrants out on them.

“So they won't be getting out on bail. Probably do a few years in Mississippi jails.”

I smiled. “Good for them.”

“Walker, I hate to run, but I need to get back home to Jean. I've promised to take her to dinner this evening. I don't want to be late.

“Oh, and Sarah has invited us out to dinner with you and her next week. Said you'll pay. Jean will be calling to arrange a time.”

I laughed, “Jack, at the very least I owe you dinner. I'll call you later.”

Jack got into his car and drove off.

The repo guy was still there. I asked him, “You need a ride somewhere?”

He shook his head, “Nah, my wife's down here with me. I've called her and she's coming back to get me.

“Even if she weren't coming, I wouldn't get back into that rig. I'm allergic to cats.”

I walked over to Sarah and gave her a hug. “Everything's OK. Bob's safe. Let's go inside and see him.”

63

After settling everything at Walmart, Sarah drove her truck back to Englewood and I followed in the Love Bus. Bob stayed with me.

Driving back was a lot less hectic than the trip over. I was able to relax knowing that Bob was safe and the motorhome was recovered.

Hopefully, this Harvey Tucker business was behind me.

Back at Sarah's, I carefully pulled the motorhome through the gate and parked it in the corner as before.

Then I made a point of closing and locking the gate.

Sarah had gotten back before me and had already unloaded Bob's food and new litter box and had taken it into her apartment.

When she saw me locking the gate, she came out and said, “I'll be coming to get Bob in about ten minutes. In the meantime, get your new clothes out of the truck.”

She then turned and walked back to her apartment. She didn't seem to be in a talkative mood.

I got my new clothes out of her truck and took them into the motorhome. I'd hang them up later.

Bob was waking up, so I gave him a few pets and explained that Sarah would soon be taking him home.

He said, “Murrph.”

A few minutes later, Sarah knocked on my door.

When I opened the door, Sarah said, “Everything's set up. I'm ready for Bob.”

“OK, I'll get him.”

I went to the bedroom and picked Bob up off the bed. When I got back to the motorhome door, Sarah said, “I'll carry him from here.”

I handed Bob over, and she took him to her apartment, closing the door behind her.

I wasn't invited in.

64

I was standing in the boatyard. No invitation by Sarah to come in, no mention of dinner.

Maybe she needed some 'alone time' with Bob.

That was OK with me. There was still two hours of daylight, and I had a few things I wanted to do.

First on my list was to check the website for the GPS tracker. I wanted to be sure it no longer showed the correct location of the Love Bus.

I tapped the address into my cellphone, entered the password, and looked at the display.

It showed the coach was on I-75, moving north toward Tampa.

That was good. Meant anyone who was following the tracker, wouldn't find the coach.

Next on my list was to connect up to shore power and city water. I was becoming an expert at doing this. Only took about five minutes.

Back inside the coach, I checked the system levels. Battery good, propane good. Black water and gray water tanks were three quarters full. Not good.

With the holding tanks nearly full, it was time to dump them or risk sewage backing up into the shower pan.

Outside, I opened the utility compartment door, and quickly found the connection to dump the holding tanks, but no sewer hose. I'd need the hose to connect the motorhome to the sewer pipe in the boat-yard.

Checking in the other compartments, I eventually found a sewer hose. Brown and disgustingly dirty. Looked like someone had dumped sewage directly onto the outside of the hose. And hadn't bothered to clean it up. Nasty.

I remember what Jack had told me about dumping the tanks. He said wear rubber gloves. I now understood why.

I hadn't remembered to purchase rubber gloves, but I was hoping there might be a pair in the coach. Maybe under the bathroom sink.

Back inside I checked. Some cleaning supplies but no rubber gloves.

As I looked around for other places where gloves might be stored, I wondered if there was any storage under the bed. It looked like the platform under the mattress might lift up, revealing storage space.

I checked, and sure enough, it did lift up revealing a large storage area. But no rubber gloves. However, there was a large metal toolbox. Red, with a chrome handle. Maybe I'd find gloves in it.

I reached into the space and grabbed the toolbox by the handle. But it wasn't moving. Either it was glued to the floor or was quite a bit heavier than I expected.

On my second try, I planted my feet firmly and grabbed the box and lifted. Even through it was much heavier than I expected, I was able to lift it out and place it on the floor.

From the weight of the box, I assumed I'd find heavy tools inside. Pipe wrenches, hammers, maybe an anvil.

I flipped up the chrome latch on the toolbox, and opened it. Inside there were no tools. Just two rows of round white tubes. Ten in all.

I'd seen these tubes before. In the briefcase given to Harvey Tucker.

These were the rolls of gold coins he had accepted from the man in the white suit.

And this explained why Tucker had been so interested in getting the motorhome back. He had stashed his gold here.

65

Gold.

Each of the tubes contained twenty gold coins. For a total of 200 ounces of gold. Worth close to half a million dollars.

The question was, who did the gold belong to now?

It was in my possession. And I'd legally purchased the motorhome and presumably everything in it.

So was the gold rightfully mine?

Tucker was probably the only person who knew it was here. And he was dead.

So if I kept it, no one but me would know.

On the other-hand, I didn't want to end up in jail if the gold didn't belong to me.

I decided to call Jack.

After three rings, he answered. “Jack, this is Walker. You got a minute to talk?”

“Sure, what's up?”

“First, thanks for your help today. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“No problem. Glad to be of assistance.”

“So Jack, I have a question.

“Let's say that hypothetically I found a gold coin in my motorhome. Probably left by Tucker.

“If I found one of those coins, what should I do about it?”

Jack thought a minute, then said, “Hypothetically speaking, if you were to find a gold coin in the motorhome, I'd say you should keep it. And don't tell anyone about it.

“You bought the motorhome and everything in it. That should cover anything left by the previous owner.”

“Seems like the only person who could claim ownership of the coin would be Tucker. But he's dead and has no relatives. That means there's no one left to make a claim.

“So, I'd keep it. This is all hypothetical, right?”

“Yeah, right. Just wondering what I should do if I stumbled onto one of those coins.”

“Walker, if it were me, I'd get a safety deposit box at a local bank and put the coin in there. Then when I needed money, I'd sell it to one of the local coin shops.”

“Sounds good to me. Jack, I appreciate your advice. Tell Jean I said hello. Looking forward to dinner together. And thanks again for your help at Walmart. You saved the day.”

“Walker, as always, good to talk to you. Let's get together soon.”

I ended the call.

Thinking about what Jack had said, tomorrow might be a good day to get a safety deposit box at the bank.

66

With the toolbox and coins safely back under the bed, I carried on with the dirty task of dumping the holding tanks.

It wasn't something I wanted to do, but it had to be done. Either that or no shower and no using the bathroom for a while.

After successfully dumping the tanks and cleaning up after, it was well past dinner time.

I had expected to see Sarah. But she hadn't been back out in the yard since getting Bob, and had made no mention of eating dinner together when I'd last talked to her.

I called her phone, but no answer. And the lights in her apartment were off.

Maybe she had other dinner plans.

My stomach was telling me it was time to eat. Not wanting to leave the motorhome and the half million in gold under the bed, I took the last TV dinner out of the freezer and heated it in the microwave.

Then ate dinner alone. No Bob. No Sarah.

Just me and ten tubes of gold coins no one else knew about.

An hour later, my phone chimed. It was Molly.

“Hi Molly. Guess you heard about our big adventure today.”

“I did, and Sarah's really mad at you!”

“She's mad at me? What'd I do?”

“For starter's, you flirted with some senior citizen in a bikini during Sarah's training this morning. Then you didn't thank her for taking you clothes shopping.

“Then you were responsible for someone breaking into her boat yard, stealing your motorhome and taking Mango Bob.

“And then you made Sarah drive across the county chasing down the thief. And then you almost got yourself killed confronting the guy in the Walmart parking lot.

“And even worse, you didn't offer to take Sarah to dinner after all she did for you today!.”

“Molly, in my defense, I didn't flirt with swimsuit gal. She was coming on to me.

“And I did thank Sarah for taking me shopping. I even bought her lunch.

“And I did recover Bob. No one got hurt.

“And I would have asked Sarah for dinner, but she took Bob and left without inviting me in or speaking to me. And she didn't answer her phone when I called her.

“So I ate alone.”

“Walker, you've got a lot to learn about women.

“After a day like today, Sarah needed someone to talk to. It should have been you. You should have knocked on her door, asked her to dinner. Treated her nicely after the rough day she's had.”

“You're right. I should have done all those things. So is it too late? Should I call her now, see if she wants to eat?”

“No, it's too late. She ate alone. Just her and Bob.

“But you'll get another chance tomorrow. Start out by being nice to her. Don't flirt with other women. Ask her to dinner.

“Walker, you're camping in her backyard. That means you're a part of her life now. So be nice.”

“Molly, I promise I'll do better.”

“Good. Now tell me what the repo guy told you about Tucker.”

I told Molly the story. Leaving out the part about the gold coins I'd found.

“Well it sounds like you guys had a busy day. I can see why Sarah might be mad at you. You could have gotten hurt.”

“Molly, it ended well. We got Bob back. Got the motorhome back.

“But I'm sorry about upsetting Sarah. I'll try to fix it tomorrow.”

We said our goodbyes and ended the call.

67

I didn't sleep much that night. Thinking about the events of the day. The coins, Sarah, Bob.

My phone chimed me awake at six thirty. Time for my morning walk.

Sarah's lights weren't on. She was still asleep.

I slipped out the gate and locked it behind me. Then headed down Dearborn toward the corner market.

I wanted to pick up some supplies and get a local paper, see if we made the news.

Unlike yesterday morning, Dearborn street was packed with cars this morning. All heading toward the market.

A news truck with satellite dish was parked in the street. A long line of people waited to get into the market.

As I got closer, a young man walking my way said, “Are you the one?”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn't you hear? The winning ticket from last night's Florida lottery was sold here yesterday morning. Someone won nine million dollars!”

I had bought a ticket there yesterday morning, And given it to Sarah. Maybe she had the winner.

I turned around and walked back to Sarah's place. Her lights were still off.

It didn't matter. I was going to wake her.

I knocked on her door. No response. I knocked louder. Lights came on.

A few moments later, Sarah opened the door a few inches, “What?”

She was wearing a long tee-shirt, nothing else.

She asked again, “What?”

I smiled, “Get dressed, I've got something to show you. You're going to love it.

Today just might be your lucky day.”

The adventure is just beginning . . .

Follow the further adventures of Mango Bob, John Walker and Sarah Burke at:

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