A quiet morning walk

Exactly six hours later you find yourself walking through a pretty New England forest. Some of the trees like the beech, oak and maple are identical to the ones from your grandparents homestead, but the stands of slender white birch and the silvery poplar trees remind you that you are much further North than that. There is deer sign crossing the gravel path that encircles the small lake, squirrel, raccoon and even a porcupine quill, but no hog or possum and the bird calls are different as well.

When you were a boy your grandfather taught you your woodcraft, and your years in the marines honed that skill even more. Disappearing into the woods and meadows was one of your favorite ways to think out difficult problems and ever since you learned of these trails you made it a point to visit these paths. As Diana predicted, Luisa was in the dining hall when you arrived shortly after six. You probably did yourself no favors when in spite of her attempts to prepare something special you grabbed a bagel and banana to go.

The trail around the lake (according to a plaque at the trailhead) was 2.2 miles long and roughly every one-hundred yards or so a smaller path lead towards the lake. These were the kinds of hidden little corners that the students of the Academy likely used to drink and smoke or meet with boys from Hamilton or some other elite college. You made it a point to visit these paths in the evenings often enough that the Academy students thought twice before assuming they could use the lake as their own private playground. At the moment though, you are all alone and as you walk slowly down the trail you let your mind work through the events since you arrived.

Before you could process your feelings about Monica Fulton and the formidable Ms. Naylor, or analyze your decision to enforce the old code of conduct, you had to figure out how to proceed in your investigation of last nights events.

The chattering of a squirrel in the thick bushes about forty meters off the main trail on your right alerts you that you might not be alone. You are careful not to break your stride as you walk past the overhanging hill but you let your eyes sweep through the brambles looking for any sign that you are being watched. You see no sign of anyone watching, but you've learned to trust your instincts. You walk a little further until you come to a bend in the path and slip into the bushes waiting to see if anyone follows you along this picturesque trail.