Page 14 of Bait and Switch
Opening the gate, Casey let Bowie squeeze through first and then relocked it after he’d done the same. Not that it would keep someone from dumping a dead body there, he thought grimly.
Covering the mic, Casey yelled, “Bowie, get back here! We don’t have time for the cat. Sorry about that,” he said to Rowan.
With a doggy roll of his eyes, Bowie trotted over to the car and waited for Casey to catch up. Once Bowie was safely in the back, Casey buckled himself in and started the engine, continuing to listen to what Rowan had to say about the missing person.
“Not much else to tell you. I already alerted Tor and his team. We just need experienced searchers before it’s too late for this guy.”
Brush work was fast money this time of year, but the conditions could be dangerous. Weather conditions were always iffy and there was little to no oversight. The work was exhausting, there was always the risk of serious injury, and they were paid by the pound, which meant the quicker folks made more money but encouraged carelessness. Casey found it ironic that most folks had no idea where the holiday wreaths they hung on their walls and doors, or the pretty salal leaves that were often added to bouquets, came from. Or the effort that went into harvesting just the boughs themselves—it was back-breaking work.
“I figure we’re an hour out, hopefully less.”
Travel time was, obviously, unavoidable, but even two more hours out in the cold for Carlos Garcia was too long; fingers crossed, they would find him quickly, alive and relatively uninjured.
“That’s all I’ve got for you,” Rowan said.
“Great, see you when we get there.” Casey set his phone back in the cup holder and focused on the road in front of him.
He was proud of his tracking abilities. After a lifetime spent as much in the forest as possible, he was pretty damn good at finding people. But Greta was even better. His partner had incredible instincts when it came to locating lost hikers,campers, and other creatures. Once she’d located a cat that had escaped its owners and spent a few days in the woods. The only other being Casey personally knew who was better at tracking was Bowie, and he had the advantage of an incredible sense of smell.
“What doyou know about this guy?” Greta asked from the passenger seat, her go-cup gripped tightly in her hands.
Bowie was staying with Greta’s partner, Abby, for the day. He wasn’t an official tracking dog and he’d probably get in the way. Casey made a mental note once again to research training schedules when things calmed down. When they’d pulled out of Greta’s driveway, Bowie was happily playing fetch with Abby, not caring that he was being left behind.
“Nothing that I haven’t told you already. Male, mid-twenties, has worked for Rowan’s group before so should know not to wander off. The crew is heading up The Valley at first light.” This time of year, the sun didn’t rise until just before eight a.m. “Fingers crossed, he’s waiting for them up at the site. But since he didn’t answer calls to his cell phone, I’m not holding my breath.”
“Don’t these crews generally stick together?”
Casey shot her a Look; the question had to be rhetorical.
“It’s part of their training, you know that.”
“Training,” she scoffed. “We both know what that means.”
Greta had a point. Training was often five minutes of pep talk before they headed into the woods with sharp tools.
“We’ll talk to the team—obviously. Maybe one of them can tell us more about him. I, for one, would love to learn that he has backwoods survival experience.”
Being an experienced outdoors person didn’t ensure survival or even that the worker would be found, but it might help. Caseynavigated around a deep pit in the road but managed to hit another in the process.
“Did they bring a pothole installer up here?” Greta griped. “Blessed be the inventor of the thermal go-cup with a tight lid.”
“Maybe they did. Maybe potholes keep the riffraff out? But I’m pretty sure there’s been some equivalent of the go-cup since the Romans. Probably before that.”
“And now I have an image of Sasquatch hanging out in the forest with his hollowed-out stone mug.”
“You’re welcome.”
They passed by the sign advertising Snowcap Estates. Somehow it looked even more tattered and bedraggled than it had only ten days ago. There weren’t any signs of construction, just the orange survey tape fluttering in the wind.
“Mmph,” said Greta. “I’d sure like to know whose pockets were lined in order to push that through.”
“And why has it been sitting for as long as it has? Not that I want a brand spanking new development up here, but they were so hot to do it. Came in right away, cut all the trees down, and now, nothing. I hate it and the people responsible for it.”
“Ironic, considering the LLC that got their hands on the land chose Trillium as their business name, yet they’ve probably destroyed a huge swathe of the plant’s habitat. Fuckers.”
Casey had to agree. Trillium was exceedingly slow-growing and hated to be disturbed. It was illegal to pick or harvest the native species growing on state land, but sadly, Snowcap Estates was privately owned.
“Definitely fuckers.”
