§ § § -- April 28, 1984

They were all occupied for the rest of that day: Leslie transported Janine Andrulaitis to her second book-signing appearance; Roarke checked up on Andrew Doren in ancient Rome; and Lawrence seemed to be trying to juggle half a dozen things at once. Mid-afternoon, Leslie and Julie, discussing possible additions to Julie's menu, came upon Lawrence in the clearing where the Saturday-night luau was usually held, directing caterers in setting up the buffet while jotting down additions to what turned out to be three separate lists.

"You know, Lawrence, you're gonna make yourself sick all over again if you don't slow down," Leslie informed him.

"I suggest, in that case," Lawrence replied acerbically, "that you handle this one." He handed Leslie one of the note pads he carried. "It appears all you have to do is shuttle our one guest from one author appearance to the next, and you obviously have time to chit-chat with Julie in between. So you can be in charge of gathering together some of the material for next weekend's Revolutionary War fantasy." Leslie saw Lawrence's lip curl as he said the words Revolutionary War and scowled, yanking the pad out of his hand.

"You guys ought to call a truce," Julie remarked. "You won't be working together very much longer. And shame on you, Lawrence. Leslie was concerned for your health, and you jump all over her case. You shouldn't have offered to find Mr. Roarke's next assistant for him."

Lawrence sighed deeply. "You're quite correct, Miss Julie. I really have been taking on too much. But I must admit that I still feel guilty for leaving Mr. Roarke in the lurch like this."

"Is that why you said you'd look for the replacement assistant?" Leslie asked.

Lawrence nodded. "I'm afraid so. My apologies, miss...although I won't apologize for my feelings on the Revolutionary War." He smiled teasingly at her, and Leslie grinned back.

"In that case, I won't apologize for the U.S. winning," she said, and they both chuckled. "Just what else are you doing, anyway?"

"Pulling together tonight's luau," Lawrence began, ticking off a finger with each item, "arranging a time and place for the next island council meeting, deciding in which newspapers to place an advert for a new assistant, making arrangements with three different television game shows to offer all-expense-paid trips here as grand prizes, and trying to arrange for someone to fix a leaky water hose in one of the vehicles...among other things."

Julie and Leslie looked at each other and shook their heads. "Let me at least get the newspaper ads placed for you," Leslie offered. "I'm not due to pick up Janine Andrulaitis for almost another hour. Where's the list for that?"

Lawrence handed it to her and smiled. "Thank you," he said. "If you see Mr. Roarke, do tell him that everything is under control, if you don't mind. I don't want him to worry."

"Okay," said Leslie, but secretly crossed her fingers behind her back as she said it. Julie saw her do it and smirked, looking quickly aside to hide her expression from Lawrence.

"Gotta head back to my house and relieve poor Frida in the kitchen," she said. "I can't believe that girl still hasn't decided what to do with her life yet...but that's for another time. See you two later on. And for heaven's sake, Lawrence, don't work too hard. I mean that literally." She hurried off down a well-worn path, and Leslie started in another direction for the main house.

Once she got there, she found Roarke already at his desk, still engrossed in paperwork. With a quick greeting, which she wasn't certain he even heard, she pulled a chair up to the side of the desk, appropriated the telephone and began placing calls to the newspapers on the list Lawrence had given her. She was about halfway down the list when there came the sound of pounding footsteps on the veranda; the door burst open and a frantic Janine Andrulaitis rushed into the room, clutching a copy of her book. She made enough noise to arouse even Roarke. Leslie, in the midst of dialing another number, stopped and hung up the phone.

"Good afternoon, Miss Andrulaitis, may we help you?" Roarke inquired, rising from his chair.

The distraught young woman raked her hair out of her face with one hand, almost dropping the book. "Mr. Roarke, you've got to help me," she pleaded. "I never in my life thought I'd have to face something like this. It's horrible."

Roarke glanced at Leslie, who promptly got up and went to the sideboard to get Janine a glass of water. "Calm yourself, Miss Andrulaitis, and please sit down," Roarke urged soothingly. "What exactly is the problem?"

Janine accepted the glass Leslie offered her and gripped it with a trembling hand. "Someone's accusing me of plagiarism, Mr. Roarke!" she cried, and her eyes actually filled with tears.

"Plagiarism!" Leslie echoed, stunned. It was clear from Janine's highly disturbed mien that this development had all but devastated her and completely ruined her fondest dream; the tears began to run down her cheeks.

Roarke mulled over Janine's response for a couple of seconds, then fully focused on her and saw her despair. "I am very sorry, Miss Andrulaitis," he said consolingly. "I will try to do what I can to help, but you must calm yourself and tell me exactly what happened."

Shakily Janine took a sip from her water glass. "I was at my second book signing, and everything seemed to be going normally..."

About ninety minutes earlier, things had indeed been going smoothly for Janine. Leslie had just left, with the promise to be back in a couple of hours to take her to her bungalow, and she had settled comfortably in her chair, signing her name left and right, sometimes chatting a little with her newfound fans. One of them asked her if she was planning to write a sequel, and she confessed with a laugh that she hadn't thought that far ahead just yet.

The bookstore manager brought a pitcher and a glass and set them on the side of the table behind some copies of her book, and during a short lull Janine poured herself a glassful and gently massaged her wrist, which was beginning to ache after so much autographing. A couple of teenagers appeared looking to have their books signed, and Janine willingly obliged. Behind them stood a bespectacled, nerdy-looking young man, a little taller than average and too thin for his height, accompanied by a serious-looking man dressed in suit and tie and carrying a leather briefcase. As soon as the teenagers had left, they stepped smartly up to the table and stared hard at Janine.

"Are you Janine Andrulaitis?" demanded the man in the suit.

"Yes, I am," she said, still mostly curious, but already feeling a twinge of uneasiness.

"It's her fault, Grady," said the man in the glasses, pointing at Janine with a finger that shook with the same indignation his voice carried. "She's the one, I'm telling you. You gotta arrest her right this minute."

Janine sat up straight in horror. "What are you talking about?" she exclaimed.

The man in the suit cleared his throat. "Miss Andrulaitis, my name is Grady Harding. I'm an attorney, and this is my client, Henry Charles March. Mr. March claims that you have taken entire chapters from his own unpublished work and used them in your book." He lifted a copy of Road to Kingdom Come and displayed it at her as if he thought she had never seen it before.

Janine gaped idiotically at them both, stunned beyond words for a long moment. She glanced back and forth between the lawyer and the accuser, struggling to comprehend this turn of events, before at last she fixed her astounded stare on March and protested incredulously, "That's impossible! I've never even heard of Henry Charles March, let alone met him. How could I have copied passages from a book written by someone I've never seen in my entire life?"

"I'm sure I don't know," replied Grady Harding in a voice that might have been meant to soothe, but which came out patronizing. "Nonetheless, that's Mr. March's claim. And I suggest you retain an attorney yourself, Miss Andrulaitis, so that you can properly answer these charges. We are prepared to produce proof."

"You'd better," Janine snapped, adrenaline shooting through her and propelling her into a standing position. "I'm not going to take this meekly, Mr. Harding, you can be sure of that. As for Mr. March, I'm sure he knows his claims are totally unfounded and completely groundless. I can hardly wait to see this alleged 'proof' you think you have."

The stunned store manager finally stepped in. "Excuse me, Mr. Harding and Mr. March, but I think you two had better leave here. If my understanding of the law is correct, then Miss Andrulaitis has the right to get herself an attorney and take enough time to gather her facts and present her case. I think you both should leave right now so she can start doing that, if you really intend to go through with your plan."

Harding and March glanced at him, then left the store without another word, although March did turn a little and glare at Janine over his shoulder. Her only consolation was that this made him bump heavily into the doorsill on his way out.

"Ha," grunted the manager. "Serves the little nerd right. Don't worry, Miss Andrulaitis, I'm sure you have to be innocent. It's undoubtedly a case of a jealous nobody hoping to make some easy money off someone else's success. My shift's about over. Can I take you somewhere?"

Janine nodded, her whole body quaking from adrenaline withdrawal. "Yes, please, if you're sure you don't mind," she murmured dazedly. "I need to see Mr. Roarke."

"So that's how I got back here, Mr. Roarke," Janine finished her story. She had drained her glass by now, and Leslie took it from her to refill it. "I know that man is lying -- I've never seen him in my life, and I have no clue who on earth he is. But if he really does have this proof he claims to have, then what chance do I have against him?"

Roarke smiled gently. "Oh, there are ways, Miss Andrulaitis. Don't worry, I will help you in every way I can. For now, I suggest you relax and try to put this problem out of your mind for a time. It will do you no good to let it rule your every moment, and you'll find it difficult to rest and be in good form for your defense against this Henry Charles March. My advice, for the moment, is that you relax at your bungalow for a little while. And by all means, do attend our luau this evening. All right?"

Janine nodded, looking a little dubious, but taking him at his word. "Okay, Mr. Roarke. I'll try to take your advice, but I have to tell you, that...that little bloodsucker has totally destroyed my fantasy." Her face contorted as though she were trying to hold back more tears, but she regained control and left the house.

Leslie, who had never gotten around to refilling the glass, set it aside and approached the desk. "Mr. Roarke, how in the world could anyone accuse her of plagiarism and think they could get away with it? I mean, that book hasn't even been published outside of Fantasy Island!"

"Indeed," said her adoptive father, and then he smiled at her. "But Miss Andrulaitis is not without her own resources, even if she doesn't fully realize it yet. Wait and see."