The Search

Gorge, River, Mountain, Jaen, Andalusia, Spain

“I’m pretty sure we came this way,” Wendi said.

“Pretty sure?” the deputy asked.

“It was dark, but I do remember a wood walkway and the sound of water.”

“Even in the dark you should know if you were on this side of the river or not. Was the water on your right or left?”

“It was – um – I’m not sure,” Wendi said.

“So you can’t say if we are going in the right direction, even if you at this spot last night?”

“No. Sorry,” she said trying to sound coy.

“You are telling me that you left your friend injured out here, and you don’t know where you left her.”

“She wasn’t exactly injured, just kinda passed out. That’s when her phone fell in the water, or I’d just ring her.”

“So you left her passed out in the river?” he asked in a shocked tone.

“No. She was on the edge. Only the phone was in the water.”

I hate sorority girls, the deputy mused. “So she was passed out on the river bank, and you left her.”

“Well I had to pee. Besides she was passed out in a good way. It was wine, not drugs our anything.”

“Wine?”

“Yes, and I might of had a little bit too,” she said with a childish lisp. “And when I finished peeing – I couldn’t find her, so I called you.”

“So you were drunk?”

“No just a bit ditsy, I mean tipsy.”

That about explains everything, he thought.


Padre

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