Free The Botanist by L. K. Hill Page B

might have accounted for it.
    “Do you by any chance remember a family by the name of Landes?”
    The rest of Helga’s plump body appeared as she meandered into the room, eyes on the wall while she thought. “First names?”
    “Father was Alastair. Looks like he died in ’87. Might have had a son named Jonathin.”
    “The family name sounds familiar to me, but I don’t know anything about them.”
    Lars nodded. “Well, thank you anyway. Is there anyone you could point me to in town that might remember more?”
    Helga regarded him suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “You been to the bar on the corner a block down?”
    “I passed it on my way here.”
    “There’s a gaggle of old timers who frequent it. They smoke their cigars and drink their beers and reminisce—you know the type. Most of them set up shop in Mt. Dessicate about the time the dinosaurs went AWOL. They may be able to tell you something. But”—she wagged an index finger at him—“I didn’t send you, you hear? They won’t appreciate an investigator pestering them with questions, so leave me out of it.”
    “They’re a tough group, eh?”
    “Yes. It may be hard to get anythin’ out of them.”
    Lars sighed. Great. “Any suggestions?”
    “Got any more donuts?”
    Lars grinned. “That depends, Helga. Have you got any more donuts?”
    Helga put her nose in the air and sniffed loudly. “ Everything had better be put away before you leave, or I won’t be so nice next time.”
    With that, she spun and marched crookedly from the room.
    From high atop the mountain, the Artist chewed his non-existent fingernails with worry. Though he was too far away and too high up to be seen, he had a clear view of what was happening several miles over. He wasn’t sure what they’d found—probably bodies, but then old Mudface didn’t keep him informed, so it was hard to be sure. If they began roving searches of these mountains, they could find him. They could expose the entire thing.
    Despite his fear for his daughter, that was exactly what the Artist wanted. To be free, to see her again after all these years. He closed his eyes and let the immortal line run through his mind.
    ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep . . .
    No! Perhaps not. If the police could find him, could do this right, without getting everyone killed, he might actually have some hope of rescue.
    For the first time since this entire thing began—so long ago now—he didn’t long for death.

Chapter 11
    Alex was in the precinct for another two hours. She met with the police captain and was introduced to the other detectives. They took a second statement, compared it with the first, and asked her endless questions.
    Before she left, they asked her to stay in town for a day or two while they checked out her lead, just in case they had any follow-up questions.
    Her mother wouldn’t be pleased, but Alex agreed. She’d made the decision to travel to Mt. Dessicate; now she’d have to deal with the inconvenience.
    It was getting dark when they finally released her, taking her cell phone number, as well as the name of her motel, and telling her they’d be in touch. Cody walked her out. “We’ll try to get you on your way as soon as possible. Unfortunately, with as many leads as are pouring in, this may take a little bit of time.”
    “I understand. I’m not in any particular hurry to get home. I just want to make sure this gets checked out.”
    “No husband or job?” He grinned, and she could tell he was teasing her.
    “No husband, but I’m a freelance photographer. I have a job lined up early next week.” She pretended to look stern. “So you definitely don’t have me longer than that.”
    “Fair enough. Where’s your car?”
    “A general store two blocks down.”
    Cody winced. “They may cite you for that.”
    “I went into the store and bought something. I’m hoping they think I’m still in there.”
    Cody grinned. “Good luck.”
    She