There were gruff voices coming from the office. I kept quiet and listened.
They were muttering, playing cards and complaining about the amount of icecream they were allowed to eat. Suddenly a loud voice said that the poodle had to be fed at six. Poodle? That dog had to be talking about my Portia. So she was here. I had to find her before a member of the gang checked on her. I checked the nearest door.
Copyright Rachel Bradshaw 1999.