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come” to no avail. I went to the front office, but the desk clerk who looked all of sixteen years old, was busy talking on her cell phone and glared at me for interrupting her.
    “I haven’t seen no dog. The rules say, keep your dog confined at all times.”
    She turned back to her cell phone.
    I walked up and down the route that I had walked with Sam just a few hours ago. It was completely dark now and the street was only two blocks from the Interstate. I kept yelling for Sam. The wind carried my voice away. I stopped the few people still walking about. No one had noticed a large German Shepherd. Sam would be hard to miss.
    I leaned against one of the stores and called again. Guilt over dragging Sam and me a thousand miles from home overwhelmed my ability to think what to do next. I felt hot tears start down my cheeks. Just then a police car pulled up to the curb.
    “Everything okay, Miss?” One of the cops leaned out the window to ask.
    “No, I’ve lost my dog,” I said. I walked over to the cop car. Why hadn’t I thought about contacting the police?
    “I left him in his crate at the motel a few blocks from here and went to dinner. When I got back, he had broken out. I’m so afraid he’s been stolen or gotten hurt or something. We’re from Miami and he doesn’t have any idea where to go,”
    I paused for breath and heard, “Is he a very big German Shepherd?”
    “Yes, have you seen him?”
    “No, but we got a report a little while ago. Someone has him. He wandered into a restaurant near here. Hop in and we’ll take you over there.”
    So that’s how I happened to be riding in the back seat of a squad car in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, in the space usually reserved for prisoners. I hardly noticed the drunk snoring gently in the seat next to me. In a minute, we pulled up outside the diner with the delicious pie. We all got out, except for the drunk. I opened the door to the diner and Sam threw himself on me, knocking me into the cop who I could now see was a cute young guy. He took his time picking me up and standing me in front of the owner who was patting Sam.
    “No need to ask for proof that he’s yours,” Mrs. Gallogly, the owner, said. “Come on back here, all of you, while I get some pie and coffee for you.”
    “Sam, you bad boy,” I said as I hugged my dog.
    “That’ll teach him,” the young cop said.
    “But he found the place I went for dinner. I forgot that German Shepherds are great tracking dogs.” I couldn’t stop hugging Sam.
    We all sat down in a booth and Sam and I had a new bunch of friends.

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    CHAPTER
    FOURTEEN
    The next day was spent looking at the history of the Civil War. Miami has very little history. When a building reaches thirty years or so, it’s considered ancient and is promptly torn down in favor of the newest fad in architecture. Our real historic background in south Florida resides in the lore of the Seminole Indian Tribes that once inhabited all of South Florida. Our other claim to a history is the art deco buildings of South Beach which aren’t really old at all. Viewing real history whet my appetite for more.
    I kept Sam close by and started the next leg in our journey by midafternoon. My father’s brother’s daughter lived in Elkins Park, a suburb of Philadelphia. Uncle Max’s daughter, Madeline, and I grew up together in Miami Beach. We were close in age and shared friends, family, and school until Madeline won a full scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania. She graduated with an MBA, found a husband from Philadelphia where they both have jobs in banking or finance or one of those fields based on numbers.
    Madeline also has two children, Nancy aged seven, and Martin aged nine. She has the suburban house to go with the husband, job, and kids.
    I pulled into the long driveway lined with a tall privet hedge. The house was an English Tudor model. It fit the rolling landscape and looked like the set in the movie The Philadelphia Story .
    A Lexus SUV