Читать книгу Space Patrol! - Sarah Nicole Nadler - Страница 3

Mrs. Izzie Phelps was an auburn-haired beauty. She kept her curly copper hair pinned back from her face with a clip fashioned of silver, gold and bronze leaves that her daughter had given her two years ago for Christmas. Her soft white hands were covered in just the right number of freckles and she typed in a steady patter of keys at her desk, eyes following the line of neat notes she had compiled beside her.

The phone rang. Her eyes flicked to the ID and one finger tapped the speakerphone button.

"Yes?"

“Mrs. Phelps?" the receptionist Anne had a high-pitched voice through the speaker, "The Dean of St. Lucia is on the line for you. It’s about your daughter."

"Put him through."

"Mrs. Phelps, this is Jean-Mark Sufflet, Dean of St. Lucia," the speaker had a nice baritone, "I'm calling about your daughter Lissa."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sufflet. Is everything alright with Lissa?"

"Yes, well," there was a pregnant pause in which Mrs. Phelps discerned that everything was not alright, "I'm afraid..." began Jean-Mark.

"What is it? Has she done something?" What could it possibly be? Lissa was a good girl and had never done anything before to warrant a personal call from the Dean.

"I'm afraid," Jean-Mark began again, "Mrs. Phelps, your daughter has been kidnapped by...space pirates." Mr. Jean-Mark sounded rather apologetic.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Mrs. Phelps felt her cheeks begin to warm with pique. What did he mean, uttering something so absurd?

"I'm afraid it is not," was the remorseful reply. Budding anger chilled instantly to fear in the pit of Mrs. Phelps's stomach.

"But..." she trembled.

"Have the seen the news today?" Jean-Mark cut her off, only to be interrupted in turn by Anne who appeared at the door, a worried look on her face.

"Oh, Mrs. Phelps--you better turn on the news," her words, warning and ominous, sent a further shot of trepidation into the other woman's heart, "They're covering it over in Switzerland right now!"

Without a word, Mrs. Phelps turned back to her computer, clicked the icon on her desktop for a news website, and glanced at the photo that flashed onto the screen.

The world stopped. For several long seconds Mrs. Phelps stared at the headline without reading a word of it. The font was bold and clear but no comprehension pierced her locked-up mind. All she could understand was that the face of her eleven-year-old daughter was staring back at her from the front page of Times paper.

Lissa had been kidnapped.

That word jarred her out of the shock and she went on to read the rest of the caption:

SPACE-NAPPED

Eleven-year-old American student stolen away by space pirates.

For the first time in her life, Mrs. Izzie Phelps fainted dead away.