The T-Team With Mr B (13)

Dad slowed the Rover to a crawl and slotted into a space at the end of the carpark. ‘Well, there’s the tourists,’ he said.
‘And what are we?’ Mr B asked.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (12)

‘Liesel,’ I leant over to her. ‘Monica, here, says the room I’m staying in is haunted.’
‘Well, Holly, you should know.’ Liesel wiped her mouth with a napkin. They all think my gift allows me to talk to dead people.

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The T-Team with Mr B (12)

As there were more tourists in their Land Rovers and cars also circling the Rock, Richard and I descended from our high status on the top of the Rover and crammed into the back cabin. The roads, though not sealed, were better graded with gravel tempering the bull dust, so though the dust was still a nuisance, it didn’t make me cough.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (11)

As I negotiated the now lime green corridors on the Sister Ship, I met a willowy young mother, Monica and her two-year-old son. Her boy was so cute with Mediterranean features, olive complexion, wide brown eyes and a tumble of dark curls. Dr Mario’s, Minna had told me. Poor Liesel, the blonde, I mean, Monica, had won that battle.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (9)

Besides, I didn’t want to be employed by ISF only for my empathy abilities, swanning around the fleet, mending broken emotions, collecting mental forensic evidence, picking brains in endless sessions of ISF court, weeding out truth from the stack of lies and in the end being solely responsible to save or space a life.

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