The next morning the Morans were back on the road by nine a.m. and cruising Interstate 80 through scenic Central Pennsylvania. They turned south on US 11 and followed the Susquehanna River south to Harrisburg, the state capital. One hour later, in mid-afternoon, they pulled into the Old Mill Stream Campground just off Route 30 in Lancaster County, the heart of the Pennsylvania Amish farm country.
Being mid-September, they had no problem in securing a large pull-thru site. The summer rush was over and families no longer flocked to the Dutch Wonderland Amusement Park, which was located adjacent to the campground.
As Hank was checking in, Helen browsed the racks full of tourist information and pamphlets. They had three days to explore the area before they had to leave for D.C. and dinner at the White House.
It was at the Kitchen Kettle Village in the nearby town of Intercourse that Hank had his first taste of wet bottom shoofly pie. After a one hour buggy ride through Amish farm country, Hank went back into the store and bought a whole pie to take back to their campsite.
They spent the next three days exploring the Amish way of life that Helen found so fascinating while reading the Heritage of Lancaster County Series books. Their sightseeing included an informative afternoon at the Amish Village in the town of Ronks.
They were driving through the quaint town of Bird-in-Hand when Hank spied the Bird-in-Hand Bakeshop and pulled into the parking lot. “Why are we stopping here?” Helen asked.
“I decided a taste test had to be performed to determine which shop made the best wet bottom shoofly pie,” Hank responded.
“Well, I’ve been told that the best shoofly pies are made at the Dutch Haven Bakery,” Helen added.
“Good, we can stop there also on the way back to the campground. A thorough investigation is warranted!”
“Hank, we’re both going to gain twenty pounds before we leave Lancaster County!”
“We can walk it off exploring Washington in a few days,” Hank replied.
Helen found a small round Distlefink hex sign at the Bird-in-Hand farmers market. The Distlefink, or thistle finch, is the good luck bird of the Pennsylvania Dutch. Helen decided to hang it inside the kitchen window of the motorhome thinking they needed all of the good luck they could garner considering the harrowing events of the past six weeks.
With the exploration of Amish country accomplished and parts of three equally delicious shoofly pies in the freezer, Hank headed the motorhome down I-83 past York, to Baltimore, then south on I-95 to the Cherry Hill Park campground in College Park, Maryland. The campground, conveniently located on the D.C. beltway with Metro bus service available to the nearest Metro-Rail station, was only a short train ride from the National Mall.
After checking in and hooking the Bounder up to the utilities, Hank called Senator Westbrook to inform him of their arrival. The senator’s secretary routed him to Westbrook’s cell phone.
“Hello, Senator. Hank Moran. We’re here in Washington.”
“Hank, glad you could make it! Are you and Helen all set for tomorrow evening?
“I’m not quite sure. What is the dress code for dinner at the White House?”
“A coat and tie will be fine, Hank. The president likes to keep these affairs as informal as possible. He likes to relax and enjoy the company.”
“That’s good to hear. I thought I would have to go out and rent a tux. OK, now that that’s settled, how do we get there? We’re at the Cherry Hill Park campground up in College Park.”
“I’ll have my driver pick you up at the campground at six, then swing around to pick up Clarice and me. We should make it to the White House just before seven.”
“OK, Senator, we’ll see you then.”
“No tux required, Helen. Only a coat and tie.”
“Well, you are not going to wear that old rag that you brought along,” Helen replied. “We need to go shopping to get you a new suit. I was thinking I should get a new dress for the occasion, too. I don’t want to wear slacks to the White House.”
A short hop on the beltway to North Bethesda and the White Flint Mall solved both of their wardrobe needs. Helen found a basic black V-neck sheath dress and a simple white pearl necklace at the Talbots store. A short distance down the mall, at the Men’s Wearhouse, Helen approved of Hank’s appearance in a charcoal multi-stripe suit, blue shirt, and maroon and gray paisley tie.
“Oh my, I forgot how handsome you look in a good suit and tie!” Helen exclaimed.
“It’s been quite a while, but I have to admit I do clean up pretty good,” Hank replied with a smile as he admired his own image in the full length mirror.
At five minutes to six the next evening, Hank received a call from the campground office that a limousine was there to pick them up. Hank said to send it on down to their site. The appearance of the sleek black limo and driver produced a few stares from fellow campers lounging outside of their RVs. The driver, dressed in black slacks and short sleeved white shirt, exited the limo and said, “Good evening, folks, my name is Hannah. I am Senator Westbrook’s driver. Are you ready to go to the White House?” Hannah had spoken loud enough for the neighbors to hear and Helen heard a few murmurs among the now attentive loungers.
“We’re ready,” Hank said as Hannah opened the rear door of the limo.
Forty-five minutes later, after a stop for the Westbrooks and a thorough security search by two secret service agents, the two couples were welcomed to the Executive Mansion by President Robinson and First Lady Marsha Robinson. President Robinson was the first African American to hold the office of president. The Morans were also introduced to FBI director Ted Kunzler and his wife, Anna.
Ten minutes later, Hank and Helen were surprised and delighted to see Rolf Kramden and his fiancée, Linda Hartman, being escorted in to join them in the family dining room on the State Floor of the Executive Mansion. Rolf was the newspaper reporter who played an important role in the solving of the rest area murder that occurred in Indiana. Through a series of events, the murder led to Hank’s rescuing of Senator Westbrook from the Grand River in Lansing, Michigan.
President Robinson was anxious to hear the story firsthand from the participants. “OK, I believe everyone is here, let’s be seated,” the president said.
During the family-style dinner of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and vegetables from the White House garden, and with President Robinson’s prompting, the dinner guests related the entire story behind the rescue of Senator Westbrook and Helen’s ordeal with the wayward militia.
The First Lady was highly intrigued by Helen’s account of her extraordinary escape from the CCB militia kidnappers while Hank was rescuing the senator.
Director Kunzler spoke, “Mr. President, Mr. Moran was also credited with solving the Leviticus murders that occurred this past summer down in Florida, Mississippi, and Tennessee.”
“I had a briefing about those murders,” President Robinson said. “Please refresh my memory.”
“We should let Mr. Moran tell the story,” Kunzler replied as he motioned to Hank to take the floor.
Hank began, “The case involving the murder of gay men revolved around an overzealous preacher by the name of Billy Brantley, his twin brother Franklin Whitehead, and their step-brother Calvin Bixler. Brantley and Whitehead were separated at birth, thus the different last names. Reverend Brantley’s troubles began when he became irate at a church council meeting after they decided to open the congregation to gays in order to supplement the church’s dwindling attendance. The council fired Brantley from his position reasoning that he would no longer be compatible with their progressive ideas. Brantley then embarked on a mission to literally follow the demands of God as stated in the book of Leviticus to put homosexuals to death. He committed the first murder in Gulf Breeze Florida and under his influence Calvin Bixler committed the murders in Biloxi and Chattanooga.”
“I remember from a terrorist briefing that there was also an explosion at a gay men’s resort in Tennessee,” President Robinson added.
“You are correct, Mr. President.” Hank continued. “Bixler, with the aid of Whitehead, who was an explosives expert, tried to set off a bomb in the resort’s heavily occupied tavern. Along with agents from the Knoxville FBI office, I found and diffused the bomb. Bixler, after writing a note of confession blew himself up in his RV trailer. Whitehead was located, arrested, and is awaiting trial. Brantley escaped, fled the country, and is presently being sought by the FBI.”
“That’s quite an impressive story, Mr. Moran,” President Robinson stated. “It lends additional credence to what I’m about to do.”
Hank was overwhelmed when the president bid him to stand beside him in front of the dining room’s ornate fireplace. With the White House photographer snapping pictures and to the applause of all the guests, President Robinson presented Hank with the President’s Citizen’s Medal for exemplary deeds or services for his country or fellow citizens.
The next afternoon, as promised, Helen called their daughter, Ali. When Ali picked up her phone she excitedly blurted, “Mom, I saw Dad’s picture in the paper this morning with the president giving him the award and shaking his hand. We’re all so proud of him. I want to hear all about the dinner.”
“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back home, Ali. We are going to spend a few days seeing the sights in Washington and then we have to stop in Knoxville to give a deposition for the Whitehead trial. We should be back in Kenner in about ten days.”
“Good, that will fit into Chip’s school schedule just fine. He has a three day weekend coming up in mid-October. He’s already getting his fishing gear ready.”
“That’s great to hear. I’m glad Chip is excited about the camping trip. I’ll let your dad know.”
“OK, Mom, keep in touch and we’ll see you soon.”
Four days later, the Morans exited the Metro transit bus at the stop in front of the campground. “Well, that’s it for D.C. on this trip,” Hank said as they walked back to their motorhome.
“I would have liked to spend more time in the Smithsonian,” Helen replied. “I think we would need about a week just to see all of that. We’ll have to put another stop in Washington into a future itinerary.”
“Maybe we could stop here again on a trip up to Maine and Prince Edward Island,” Hank added. “Right now we need to get down to Knoxville to give that deposition and then head home for a while. I was also thinking about applying for my Louisiana private investigator license.”
“You could hand out cards like that old TV gunslinger show only have them read: HAVE RV—WILL TRAVEL,” Helen jokingly replied.
“Hey, not a bad idea,” Hank replied laughing.
During their brief stay in Knoxville to give their deposition for the Franklin Whitehead trial, they were glad to learn from FBI Agent Chris Emory that Agent Crawford had fully recovered from the knock on the head inflicted by the defendant. Agent Crawford was also nearly beaned on the head by Helen with a cast iron skillet when she thought he was a gunman lying in wait for Hank. Whitehead was accused of aiding in the attempt to blow up a tavern in a nearby gay men’s resort.
They were also pleased to learn that Reverend Billy Brantley was now in custody in Florida for the murder of a gay man by the name of Lutz. The reunion of the twins and the finding of their mentally ill cousin/step-brother led to the bizarre series of events that left the cousin dead and the brothers in custody.
When the Morans arrived back home in Kenner, Louisiana and walked into their house Hank remarked how large it seemed. “Wow, this place seems huge after spending over a month in the Bounder.”
“Well, we really didn’t miss the size while we were traveling in the motorhome,” Helen replied. I can see now how some people can give up a permanent home and go full-time in an RV.”
“We might consider that in the future, but right now I wouldn’t want to give up our home base. I think we would need to be on the road a while longer before we were experienced enough to make a decision like that,” Hank added.
“Have you made up your mind about applying for a P.I. license? I imagine you would need a home base office if you become a private investigator.”
“I am going to send for an application first thing in the morning,” Hank replied. “Having been a qualified police officer in the state I am not required to take the training course but I still need to take the two hour test. I am sure I need a physical address in the state to apply for an agency license.”
“Where do you send in the application?”
“The board that handles it is up in Baton Rouge.”
“How long does the process take?” Helen asked.
“If all goes well I should be in business by Thanksgiving,” Hank replied.
“I’ll tell you what, since I need to spend the whole day tomorrow catching up on laundry, why don’t you just drive up there to fill out the application? You might speed up the process and save a week or two.”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll do that.”
“No, I don’t mind. Anyways, I need to get you out from underfoot so I can get my work done, sweetheart. Then we need to get ready to pick up Chip this weekend.”
“OK, sounds like a deal. In the meantime I’ll go ahead and make reservations up at the state park,” Hank replied.
The next day Hank drove the sixty miles to Baton Rouge and found the Louisiana State Board of Private Investigator Examiners on Silverside Drive. He presented his post academy certificate and history of employment with the Kenner Police department and a request to be exempt from the forty hour PI training course. He was told that the board would perform a background check and then if his exemption was approved he would be eligible to take the PI test. Upon a satisfactory test grade he would then be allowed to submit his application for his agency license.
After shelling out thirty dollars for a PI Test Study Manual he was on his way back home.
Helen heard him come in as she was sorting wash in the laundry room. “How did it go up in the capital, Hank?”
He replied, “Not too bad,” as he appeared in the doorway. “I bought a study manual to prepare for the test and should be cleared to take it in about two weeks. After I pass the test it’s just a matter of waiting for the board to approve my application. I couldn’t get a clear answer from the administrator on how long that would take, but knowing how bureaucracies work it could take another month.”
“Well, let’s just think positive that we’ll be celebrating the creation of the Moran Investigations Agency at Thanksgiving dinner,” Helen added.
Thursday morning, Hank and Helen set off on the seven hour run up to Shreveport. The motorhome was lightly packed for the weekend fishing trip with their grandson, Chip. Their excitement about taking Chip on his first outing with them in the RV was only exceeded by Chip’s. He had been glued to the front window since arriving home from school, anticipating the arrival of the large motorhome that would soon fill up the front driveway.
“Here they are, Mom,” he hollered as he went charging out the front door to meet his grandparents.
The door to the motorhome opened and Helen came out first and gave Chip a big hug and kiss. Hank was right behind and followed suit with even bigger hug that lifted the sandy haired lad off the ground.
“Can I see inside?” Chip excitedly asked.
“Sure, go on in,” Helen answered. “We’ll give you a tour of your home for the next three days.”
“Wow, this thing is huge!” Chip exclaimed as he stood in awe and peered around the inside of the Bounder. “Where’s my bed?” he asked.
Helen showed him how the sofa pulled out and transformed into a bed.
“Hey, cool. Can I sleep out here tonight?” he asked.
“You sure can,” Hank replied. “We need to get an early start for the lake in the morning so let’s get your gear loaded.”
Preston arrived home from work at five-thirty and greeted his in-laws. “Where’s the Honda? I thought you pulled that on behind the motorhome.”
“We didn’t see any need for it on this trip,” Hank replied. “Everything we need is packed inside except the fish bait. That and the boat rental are within walking distance from the camping area.”
At dinner that evening Helen related all their adventures regarding the rescue of Senator Westbrook and their dinner at the White House, where Hank was awarded the President’s Citizen’s Medal. Chip said that he used the story from the newspaper about Grampa as a show-and-tell in school. He was proud that he received an ‘A’ for the presentation.
Preston voiced concern about his in-laws’ proclivity for involvement in strange adventures with Chip in their care for the weekend. Chip said, “Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll keep Gramma and Grampa out of trouble. We’re only going to do some fishing.”
Chip’s remark produced chuckles around the table and had the immediate effect of dispelling any second thoughts in Preston’s mind about the weekend outing.
Since Chip was spending the night out in the Bounder, Hank and Helen opted to do the same instead of using the guest bedroom where they normally slept when visiting their daughter. This meant retiring early, as Chip’s bedtime was nine o’clock. This was agreeable with Hank and Helen, as they were a bit tired from the long drive up from Kenner.