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about it had made me feel better. “I don’t know . . . something horrible, I suppose.” I laughed. It came out sounding like a cackle. “You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve actually been fantasizing about killing him.”
    Guy rolled his wineglass in his hands. “Very understandable. I’ve been there myself.”
    Just then Caldwell handed me my third pint of beer. “Good evening,” he said to Guy. To me, he said, “Karen, we’ve commandeered a table on the other side of the room. When you’re ready.”
    I swayed slightly as I stood there. I couldn’t believe what I had just told this stranger. But it had felt good to get some of that anger off my chest. “I hope I haven’t said too much.”
    “Not to worry,” Guy said. “You’ll be surprised. Dave will be taken care of. I’ll make sure he is.”
    Caldwell took my arm as I started to walk. I was glad of his assistance. The floor of the old pub seemed to slant in all directions.
    Twad and Tweed were sitting together on one side of the table. Caldwell and I slipped into the other side—a tight fit that forced Caldwell to keep an arm on the bench back behind me. The three men talked about cricket for a while, trying to explainthe game to me, but I felt like Alice fallen down the rabbit hole. Or maybe Dorothy gone over the rainbow. Somehow I’d landed in a strange land in which I didn’t know the rules.
    “Wickets and crumpets and toppers,” I mumbled. “Oh my.”
    Halfway through the third pint of beer I started to fade.
    “I think it’s time to call it a night,” Caldwell suggested.
    “But I haven’t bought a round,” I protested.
    When I looked around, I saw that Guy was gone. No matter. Talking to him had done me good. I knew I would never kill Dave for real, but murdering him in my mind had helped a little.

EIGHT

    Nodded Off
    I n the deep middle of the night I woke up. My head ached, my toes hurt, and everything in between was not feeling very good either. I didn’t know where I was or what time it was, but I knew I needed to try to mend myself. I stumbled out of bed, crashing into the nightstand, then righted myself.
    My head was trying to lift off my shoulders and go into orbit. I put both hands on it to keep it in place. Aspirin and orange juice might do the trick, might quell my body aches enough to get me backto sleep. I turned on the bedside light and squinted my eyes against the glare. My purse was by the door to my room, so I stumbled over there and found the bottle of aspirin I carried with me just in case of a sinus headache. However, I was well aware that what I was feeling was the result of too much drink on top of severe jet lag.
    The clock read three in the morning. Everyone should be sound asleep. I could safely make my way down to the kitchen and see if I couldn’t find some form of juice in the refrigerator.
    Wrapping my bathrobe around me, I hoped I looked presentable enough if I ran into anyone. I opened the door as quietly as possible and stepped out into the hallway. A night-light shone on the floor so I could make my way without fear of running into anything or anyone. Down the stairs I went and turned toward the kitchen. There appeared to be a light left on in the sitting room, and I could see well enough to find a switch in the kitchen.
    I found no orange juice in the refrigerator, but I did find elderberry syrup. It would have to do. The label said to mix with water. I found a glass and mixed the liquid half and half. Two aspirin and a large tumbler of some very sweet juice later, I thought I might live. But I didn’t want to go back to my room quite yet. I decided to wander into thesitting room and look out the window until my head stopped swirling.
    However, when I walked into the back room I found it was already occupied. Mr. Worth was stretched out in the most comfortable chair, his head tilted back, his eyes closed, his mouth a crack open.
    He was a tall, lanky man who didn’t quite fit into the