Primordial

Chapter 16

Aston woke with the mother of all hangovers. His parched mouth begged for water and his eyes burned from the thin light through the curtains. He groaned and rolled over.

Slater lay next to him with one arm draped over her face. “Yeah, tell me about it,” she said softly.

Aston forced his eyes open and found that his pounding head was relieved slightly at the sight of her curves under the covers. He drank in the sight for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he remembered the previous night through the slight haze of inebriation. They had certainly been compatible, at least in one aspect of their relationship.

He reached out to touch her, perhaps suggest a repeat performance, but the moment his hand landed she rolled over and got up.

“Lots to do today,” she said perfunctorily. “We’d better get moving.” Without a backward glance she disappeared into the shower.

“That’s that then,” Aston muttered, and closed his eyes again.

They finally emerged from the hotel room a little after ten. Ravenous, Aston’s stomach roared a rapacious counterpoint to the drumbeat inside his head. The bar was quiet and still as they passed through it and out into the crisp day.

Slater pointed across the street. “There’s a cafe. Breakfast and coffee await.”

“Excellent.” Aston caught her eye as they headed over the road. “No regrets?”

“None.” She kept her hands thrust deep in her jacket pockets. “But let’s forget about it for now and get back to work, yeah? Just a no-strings hookup, right?” She grinned. “An easy root.”

Aston laughed, though he was disappointed that he might not get to repeat such wonderful fun. “Sure.” He decided to change the subject quickly before the urge to wheedle rose all the way to his mouth. “So, Old Mo then? And where the fuck is Dave?”

“I’m worried,” Slater admitted. “I had tried to be content with telling myself he was goofing off, getting drunk and being irresponsible or whatever. Maybe arrested, like we talked about. But that Rinne guy would certainly have mentioned it last night, right? So it seems like he’s really gone. And that begs the question, gone where? And why?”

“You think something might have scared him off?” A thought occurred to Aston, from their encounter the night before. “You think maybe that Superintendent Rinne dickhead got to Dave while he was in town, but didn’t arrest him? Just gave him the hard word and that scared him away? He might be enough of a dick not to mention that and wait until we ask about it.”

Slater pursed her lips, shook her head slightly. “It’s possible, I suppose, but I know Dave. He wouldn’t just leave. He’d come back to me and tell me he was leaving. Or call, at the very least. I’m sure of it.”

They entered the café and picked a table covered by a red and white checked cloth. A small glass vase stood in the center holding a few ragged wildflowers, half wilted. Only a handful of other people were there, the smell of coffee and bacon rich in the air. Aston’s stomach rumbled. Tiny speakers let out some classic fifties rock’n’roll, Eddie Cochrane if Aston wasn’t mistaken.

They scanned the menus and ordered coffee and fried food. The waitress was tall and willowy, long blonde hair in a ponytail that almost reached the tie of her apron.

“Say, you didn’t happen to have a customer in here in the last day or two,” Slater said. She described Dave and what he was wearing.

The waitress, Ingrid according to her name badge, looked up at the ceiling for a moment in thought. “It’s possible,” she said eventually. “But I can’t be certain. We’ve been busy the last couple of days.”

“Coach party?” Aston asked, exasperated. It was the worst luck for them that a tiny town where everyone knew everything had been disrupted with so many visitors just in time to make his life difficult. Their life, he reminded himself. Dave’s disappearance was frustrating for him, but it must be truly distressing for Slater. Dave was her colleague and friend.

“Yah, coach party,” Ingrid said. “Sorry about that.”

Slater nodded. “No problem. One other thing. You know a local man, Old Mo?”

Ingrid laughed. “Of course! Who doesn’t? Dear Old Mo. Lovely man, but crazy as a loon.”

“Really?”

“Sure. He tells wonderful stories, but lives in a world of his own.” Ingrid punctuated the statement with a roll of her blue eyes.

“He lives here in town?” Aston asked.

“Not quite.” Ingrid pointed out the window, past the small harbor. “He has a shack not far from the lake edge, about a kilometer of town. You follow the road until it ends, then the path up the hill. You can’t miss it, there’s nothing else out there. You want to visit him?”

“We’re making a nature documentary about the lake,” Slater said. “It’s always good to interview locals about stuff.”

“Oh, really?” Ingrid straightened and drew one hand back over her hair. “I’m a local! I would love to be on television. I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Well, great,” Slater said, her TV smile suddenly gleaming. “When we’ve finished out on the lake I intend to do some interviews around town. I’ll be sure to come back here.”

Ingrid let out a small laugh of satisfaction, almost a yelp. “I’ll get your breakfasts!” She skipped away like a dancer.

“Nice girl,” Aston said with a crooked grin.

“Bless her,” Slater said. “The enthusiasm of youth, trapped in the middle of nowhere.”

After breakfast and coffee, feeling about three thousand per cent better than he had on waking, Aston trudged beside Slater as they asked around after Dave in several other shops and eateries. All with the same result. The cameraman had either been invisible in the unexpected crowd that had passed through town or he’d disappeared like a ghost. Or both.

Slater’s concern was clear and Aston felt bad for her. He liked Dave, despite only just meeting the man, and was worried for him too. He gripped Slater’s hand as they walked back toward the harbor.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Aston said, though his words sounded hollow.

“Are you?” Slater asked. “Really?”

Aston sighed, shook his head. “No, I guess I’m not. But I really hope he does. You know, he may be waiting for us back on the boat.”

“Maybe. But I can’t help thinking something terrible has happened.”

“It is starting to feel that way,” Aston admitted. “Should we go to the police?”

Slater shook her head. “Call me a callous bitch, but we have a job to do here and if we bring ourselves any more to the attention of that Rinne we risk having everything shut down around us. I’m really worried for him, but Dave is a grown man.”

“What if it’s something, you know, nefarious?” Aston asked.

Slater cocked her head. “Nefarious?”

“Yeah, criminal or whatever. What if Dave’s been abducted or attacked or something?”

Slater paused, looking back toward the small town. The lake made gentle wet sounds behind them. “Let’s give it twenty-four hours. If there’s still no sign of him by then, we’ll go to the police.”

Aston shrugged. “Okay. Your call. Meanwhile?”

Slater let go of his hand, turned, and walked purposely along the road past the harbor, heading for the trees beyond and the path that snaked between them. “Let’s go and see Old Mo and get us some more juicy monster stories.”