Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 51
~

My phone pinged. The Chief’s name displayed. I answered quickly, with a hey.

“A tourist who’d been here when Thomas disappeared dropped a message on our tip line. Of course hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, but with the news still keepin’ the status of the search—”

I waited.

“Got a team gearin’ up,” the chief continued, “but I’m takin’ the helo to get a better fix on where the tourist claims he’d been hikin’. Wanta go with?”

I looked down at the foot-tall stack of papers on my purdy new desk—and I’m pretty proud at how well the company uses digital. Most anything on paper requires my signature, and of course entails a bit of serious study. Arg. “Of course,” I said. Maybe without a lot of energy. Been two weeks since Mama and I roughed it, and not a single tip thus far had proven promisin’.

Chief Nazre said he’d pick me up in five, and disconnected. Be twenty. Everyone underestimates the time from the Hamlet to this side of the Lake—stinkin’ speed limits. I stood, strode across the hall to Uknol’s office. “Can ya cover a conference call for me in fifteen minutes. There’s a tip on Thomas. Goin—”

Her growl stopped me. “Can ya get Crita? I’m hammered, what with all the new hires, interviews, background checks.”

I’m afraid of Crita more than I am of Uknol. The call involved Euro sales, and Crita has less tact than the average honey badger. So I dialed Kriz. Without answerin’, he texted he was busy.

I still stood in Uknol’s doorway, but she was keepin’ her head down. Shuffled a thick stack of what looked like resumes, to make a point.

And a thought came to me. I dialed Daze. He picked up quickly, for a guy that claims he’s retired now. “I’m not goin’ into the warehouse,” he snarled. Maybe I’ve been lobbyin’ him some.

“Got two important things tearin’ me in two,” I said. “Got a call where decisions off-continent have to be made, and a flight with Chief Nazre to check out a possible sightin’ of Thomas two weeks ago.”

“We’ve explored hundreds of worthless tips,” the troll growled. “I can’t—no more—disappointments. And I’m no longer an OW employee, so don’t try to go pushin’ me into no idjiotic meeting.”

I was already walkin’ toward the bull pen. Worst case, I’d drop the call on my favorite pointy-head engineer. Ezo. For an ogre hen she’s got a modicum of tact. May not be too interested in the bigger management picture, but she’s dedicated, and will ask good questions. Represent the company well in a crunch.

“Why do ya keep callin’ me, Ike?” Daze asked. “Haven’t I been clear enough?”

“I’m afraid ya’ll go to work for the competition,” I said. Nothing else came to me. I hit the first-floor landing and looked for Ezo. She must have caught my eye, because she slumped down behind her three monitors.

“I shouldn’ta let Thomas go out there by himself,” Daze said. “His death is on me.”

I may have physically flinched. Hate hearin’ words like death, and recovery. We ogres and trolls must not be very optimistic folk. After an uncomfortable pause, steppin’ in front of Ezo’s desk, I told Daze after I got back from this look-about, I was gonna go kick his worthless troll butt.

~ Ezra ~

There was pretty much just a roar comin’ over my phone. Had only answered because the call—not a text—came from Ike, and though the second morning rush, of those Inn residents who don’t like to hit the trails at sunrise, was still pressin’ us hens, my main tasks were done. Bringin’ in and carvin’ up a dozen carcasses has pretty much been my thing for years. Was just helpin’ out, refreshin’ trays and such. Guess I’m more a butcher than a cook.

“That ya, Ike? Can’t hear a thing.”

The roar ended, and ten seconds later his text tone pinged. “I’m with Chief. May have found Thomas. Got excited constables on the ground. They’ve called for a trail litter.”

My knees crumpled on me. My butt struck the wood floor hard. My lungs collapsed, as a weird sound drizzled out of my face. I leaned forward, head between my knees. Tears blinded me. Everything from my waist to my throat crimped tight in a cramp like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

I sensed hands on my shoulders, and the knife in my hand bein’ pried away. Head rocked a bit there between my knees, as strong hands worked to lever my phone away.

Thomas. Alive? Ike hadn’t said he was. Just found. I worked at raisin’ up to find my phone. Maybe Ike texted more, but the pain in my chest and gut didn’t want me to unwind. What must be plaguin’ me must be called sobs. Pretty sure never done such a thing. Had an ogre hen done such a thing in my lifetime?

Strove to catch my breath, but my lungs felt more concerned with emptyin’ not drawin’ in more air. Did I have an orc hen tryin’ to crawl into my lap? Several voices were cooin’, have no idea what. I think. Zarade was. Readin’ Ike’s text. Out loud for. The world.

A thing snapped in my head. Embarrassment, I’ll call it. I was behavin’ so unlike a proper ogre hen. Hen’s don’t slobber like—like. What slobbers and sobs? Prolly humans. Human hens—women, might do something so loathsome. Bet no orc hen has ever acted so idjiotic.

~