He left the Fickle Nickel a few minutes later, eighty-plus dollars lighter in his bank account, and a scowl plastered across his face. But at least he had a useless ceramic bear to show for it. He hopped in the Chief, set the bag down on the passenger side seat, and left Main Street. Rosie hadn’t given him much to work with, and he’d blown through his ‘chatting up the locals’ budget in one stop. He decided to skip out on the shopping and investigate something less financially taxing.
He made the cemetery his next stop, a local attraction that Rosie had mentioned while dutifully following him out the door. It was built on the side of a gently sloping hill at the southern edge of Ferndale, only a few blocks south of Main Street. A narrow road looped back and forth in between the various graves and tombs, eventually reaching the top and disappearing over the crest of the hill. He drove the Chief slowly up the incline, his window down so he could play the part of sightseeing tourist and stare at the names etched into the various gravestones. He stopped the truck at the highest point, right before the hill gave way to a long expanse of forest stretching south, and stepped out, thrusting his hands in his jacket pockets. The view to the north was fantastic. He could see the entire town of Ferndale, along with the fields and hills surrounding it for miles.
It was the view to the south that really interested him, though. It wasn’t unheard of for goblins to hide out near cemeteries. They didn’t like being close to people, but when they did need to be near civilization, they camped out near the parts where humans didn’t spend much time. Like cemeteries. Or garbage dumps. Or abandoned warehouses. Stereotypical stuff. The forest south of the cemetery could give them perfect cover to get back to their lair, if one existed around here.
A short, hunched over old man walked slowly across one of the looping car paths about halfway down the hill, carrying long pruning shears. Probably the groundskeeper. He glanced up at Ollie, squinting at him through a face so grizzled and wrinkled as to be a caricature of itself, then continued moping along to the far side of the cemetery. Ollie gave him a wave. The gesture was ignored.
Once the groundskeeper wandered out of sight, Ollie walked to the other side of the Chief and opened the passenger door.
“Work time.”
“Ugh.” Grika laboriously pushed himself up from his spot on the floorboard, making every movement seem monumentally tougher than it should be. He climbed out the door and dropped to the ground. “I liked you better when you were retired.”
“I like you better when you’re quiet.” He pointed at the tree line at the top of the hill. “Go check the woods over there.”
Grika scurried up the hill and into the woods, disappearing into the brush. Ollie waited by the Chief, trying to act casual while hoping no one else decided to sightsee through the cemetery at this exact moment.
A few minutes later, Grika emerged from the tall grass and waddled back over to the truck.
“Anything?”
“Yep. Definitely something out there. Can’t say where cuz it’s faint, but it’s also recent.”
Ollie pursed his lips. He’d been second-guessing himself since leaving the motel, thinking that since the Harons were killed years ago whatever got them, goblin or otherwise, had moved on by now. But his instincts had been unsurprisingly right. “Which way?”
“Both ways, the forest and the cemetery.” He clambered back up into the truck. “Good luck figuring THAT out.”
Ollie gave the cemetery another once over. The entire hillside was a tourist destination, which even the dumbest goblins would avoid. They’d be pushing their luck coming out here, but maybe they had reasons to do so. He made a mental note to spend some time searching those woods, even if it did take him a few extra days out here.
A car drove by the base of the hill, reminding Ollie that he was chatting up a pygmy goblin. Ollie shut the door and walked around to the driver side. He hopped in and started up the Chief, heading back down the looping road and into town. He took a back road this time, avoiding Main Street and the pedestrian traffic. A siren whooped nearby. Ollie checked his rearview mirror and groaned at the sight of a cop car flashing its lights.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Are you kidding me…?”
He angled down a side road and slowed to a stop in the parking lot of Henrik Motors and Body Shop. He flicked his hand at Grika.
“Stay down.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Grika pulled the tarp over him. “Don’t think I can afford any more tickets for being too handsome.”
Ollie glared until the tarp completely covered up the smirking pygmy. He watched his side mirror to see the door to the police car open and a tall, well-built man step out. His beach blond hair contrasted perfectly with his dark navy-blue uniform, and he wore aviator sunglasses that hung over a square, clean-shaven jaw. His physique was fit, yet still natural. He looked like a star quarterback dressed up as a cop for Halloween.
Ollie rolled down the window as the officer approached.
“Nice car,” the cop said, chewing on a piece of gum. His green eyes peered over the top of his sunglasses. “License and registration.”
“Sure.” Ollie opened the glove box, frowning at the slight movement on the floorboard below. He handed the papers and his license to the cop, whose nametag read ALLSOME. “What’s the problem?”
“You got a taillight out,” he said, scanning the documentation.
“Right. Been meaning to get that fixed. Been a busy day but I’ll make sure to do that tomorrow.”
“Mmmhmmm,” the cop eyed him skeptically before staring at Ollie’s driver’s license. “Well, Mr. Hauk, I’ve been meaning to let people slide for not keeping their vehicle in working shape, but I’ve also had a busy day. I’ll probably start doing that tomorrow.”
He flashed a sarcastic smile and walked back to his car. Ollie fumed. Cops were trouble. No matter where he went.
“Wow, what a jerk,” Grika whispered from the floorboard. “I like him.”
“Quiet!” Ollie whispered furiously. A tiny giggle escaped the crumbled tarp.
A couple mechanics from the auto shop stood at the entrance to one of the bays, watching the scene with amusement. A few moments later, Officer Allsome returned from his car, ticket in hand.
“Sign here, please.”
Ollie looked over the ticket, and his eyes nearly bugged out. “Two hundred and thirty-two dollars? For a busted taillight?”
Allsome shrugged. “I don’t make the laws, guy. I just enforce them. Sign there at the bottom.”
Ollie slumped over in defeat, then signed the ticket.
“Have a good day.” The cop patted the top of the Chief as he walked back to his cruiser. “Hey Ricky!” he shouted to one of the mechanics. “Tell Hands that if this guy gets his taillight fixed here, I get the referral fee.”
Ollie rolled up his window as fast as the crank would allow, ignoring the laughter outside. He shoved his ticket into the glove box and started his truck.
Grika poked his head back out. “He sounds fun.”
Ollie ignored the obnoxious pygmy, who retreated into his space with a grin.
*
Ollie continued his trek to the southwest corner of town, hopping onto a road that took him a few miles west of Ferndale. A quarter mile from the coast a gravel road forked off to his left, marked by a cluster of four wooden mailboxes decorated to look like birdhouses. He turned down the side road, the Chief kicking up a cloud of grey dust behind him.
The road ended about five hundred yards later at a yellow, two-story house covered with flower and bird decorations. A few cars were parked in the driveway, essentially a gravel field in the front of the house. Some cows lingered at the edge of a pen in back, peering at his monstrosity of a vehicle while chewing lazily on their cuds. It looked like the kind of house featured in a travel magazine. Probably part of the allure, since it was another bed and breakfast.
He pulled to a stop behind a red VW Passat with Ohio plates.
“Let me guess,” Grika said, “stay here.”
“Look at you, learning where you belong.”
Ollie turned off the truck and stepped out. He checked his reflection in the driver’s side window and adjusted his clothes to make himself at least somewhat presentable. A little more dirt on his face and stains on his clothes and he’d look homeless. Oh well. He’d make up for it with a winning personality.
He walked up to the door and knocked using a small, metal knocker at eye level shaped like an owl. This was the Harons’ old house. He assumed their niece owned it now, since this was the client address he’d been sent by Canary – so he’d have to break out a cover story just in case. Good hunters had a trove of good disguises and identities. Ollie had maybe two.
Dogs barked loudly from inside, followed by a woman’s voice hushing them. The door opened and a striking young woman in jeans and a flannel shirt stood before him. Her long black hair was pulled into a ponytail, showing off an oval face with wide, brown eyes that belied a hint of Asian ancestry.
She rested one hand on her hip and looked at him expectantly.
“Yes?”
Ollie blinked, suddenly realizing how ridiculous he looked to this surprisingly beautiful woman.
“Ma’am.” He gave her a nod, trying desperately to remember his cover story. “I’m, uh, Arlen Smith with the Redding Record Searchlight newspaper. I’m looking for the owner of the house.”
She glanced over at his truck and then stared at him for a long moment, recognition slowly coming to her eyes. A huge smile broke out on her face.
“Oh my God, it’s you!”