A Trip to New London

Part 9

by Stacey (SST205 at aol.com)

I'm back!

Well, I'm trying to be, anyway. I'm trying to get "uncaught up" on everything else and caught BACK up on my writing. I went over to the board, and saw that this was where I had left off. ;) I had a next part, too, but I can't figure out where I PUT IT!!! :(

Deidre entered the mall, excusing herself as she bumped into a patron. She gazed around the sea of people, wondering where to start, when she heard, "Hey, Deidre!"

The girl looked through the sea of people to a bench at the center of the mall. Three girls she recognized from school were gathered around it. Weaving her way through the crowd, she finally made it to them. "Hey, Aileen," she said, seating herself on the bench next to a girl. "What're you girls doin' here? "

"Oh, just hangin' out." Aileen answered, tossing a thick blond braid over her shoulder. "So what's up? "

"Yeah, how come you weren't here earlier?" asked the dark-haired girl standing behind the bench.

Deidre gave her a half-grin. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that the one place Deidre usually gravitated to was the mall.

"I'm helping Mister Holmes with a case," she explained, reaching into her jacket pocket and taking out the picture. "We're looking for this fellow."

A blond girl at the far end of the bench reached over Aileen and took it. She frowned. "What in the world--" she handed the picture back. "I'd know it if I'd 'a' seen him. "

Aileen grabbed the picture on its way past her. After studying it a second, she nodded. "You're right, Kris. So would I."

The dark-haired girl standing behind the bench looked over Aileen's shoulder. "Nope. I sure haven't seen 'im either. Kinda cute, though. "

Deidre rolled her eyes and took the picture back. "He's married, Susan."

"Too bad. "

Deidre got up off the bench and headed away. "Well, thanks anyways, girls, I've got to be off. "

"Next time you come around, bring the fella with you if you've found him!" Susan yelled after her.

Deidre looked at the mall ceiling. "Lord, please let Tennyson and Wiggins have a better time at this that I am. "


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