Beware of the dog by Peter Corris

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By Peter Corris

Aussie inner most eye Cliff Hardy narrowly escapes a fireball that kills enthusiasts and lands him at the path of deception that results in a hell guarded by way of a snarling puppy and jam-packed with a family's darkest secrets and techniques. Reprint. NYT.

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I made a thorough search but found nothing—no letters under loose floorboards, no photograph taped to the back of the mirror, no nightclub book matches. Very little scope for detecting. The hairbrush was almost the only thing worth looking at. It held several very long strands of very blonde hair. The room looked like a place to crash rather than to live in. I went up a smaller staircase to the top level. The attic rooms were used for storage. Tea chests, cardboard boxes and old furniture lay around wearing an air of rejection.

Look, Cliff, I’m going to have to stay another night. ’ ‘OK, but I won’t be here the day after. ’ It was one of those difficult moments we encountered from time to time. She didn’t expect me to tell her what I was doing. I wanted to but we both knew it wouldn’t work. It was an uncomfortable thing, especially over the phone. ‘So,’ I said. ’ ‘You too. I’m in bed. ’ ‘Me too. ’ ‘It’s bloody freezing. ’ Glen had made a trip to New Caledonia as part of her recovery from her wound and returned with some pleasing French sleepwear.

This is Paula Wilberforce. I looked you up in the book. ’ ‘I think I did. Anyway, I wanted to apologise and to make it clear that nothing you tell me would ever be attributed to you in print. I’m simply asking for help, Mr Hardy. m. She sounded pathetically grateful, but I could see her blue eyes glittering. The woman was dangerous, even over the phone. I was thinking better of it as soon as I replaced the receiver, but what could I do? The snaky side of me said that it was Glen’s fault for getting me into the academic racket in the first place.

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