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   Chapter 13 No.13

Prodigal Sun By Christina Engela Characters: 5743

Updated: 2018-07-05 19:01

Perhaps that life-pod had been from the same ship as Ms. Ferris? Two life-pods from one ship in the same night made much more sense to her than two life-pods from two ships on the same night in the same sky? In fact, that seemed much more likely.

There was nothing in the report to indicate that there was anyone inside the pod alive or dead, so that was anyone's guess… and in any case, the pod had been left to drift downriver – and everybody on Deanna knew what would've happened after that!

All things considered, Peg grimaced, it was probably just as well Ms. Ferris wasn't in the pod that landed in the Whatoosie!

A note from another Deputy told her that the local Sea & River Rescue unit had been dispatched to investigate. One of their search & rescue craft had flown over the Whatoosie River mouth and past Goodbye Point a few times, and didn't find any sign of a life pod. A postscript at the bottom of the note mentioned that falsely reporting an emergency was an offense and a waste of resources, liable to a fine and/or imprisonment. Peg didn't think the entire Club would make something like that up. They were a daft bunch of silly old coffin-dodgers, but they weren't prone to pranks. At least, not pranks that didn't feature at least one grenade. That would've been fairly pointless as far as they were concerned! The pod must've sunk, in which case, case closed. At least, as far as she was concerned.

A note from the senior Deputy investigating the previous week's arson attack at the Jim-waian temple in Green Street told her that no progress had been made yet on the case. The temple had been badly damaged in a fire – the cause was plain enough to see – someone had emptied several cans of

was exquisitely sharp, so it didn't take long. Adding a little more cold to his stare as if it were a kind of sauce, he also added a small piece of raw tomato to the meat skewered on his fork, and inserted it precisely into his mouth, chewing with equally steady, purposeful deliberation. All was silent, except for the sound of a parakeet squawking in a cage somewhere off the verandah, and the faint sounds of the Professor's genteel mastication.

Brandon Carver, who was the captive audience and recipient of the Cold Stare of the Month Award, began to suddenly appreciate what an unfortunate last name he had been given, considering the sharp knife in the hands of his terrifying captor. The detail that he was tied to a rather heavy and substantial piece of cast-iron patio furniture – standing on the very edge of the deep end of a rather large and deep swimming pool weighed heavily on his mind. The swimming pool was in the middle of a very well-tended garden enclosed behind high walls. He could hear cows mooing softly in the distance. Shouting for help would be quite futile, unless he expected them to come trotting to his rescue.

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