Teri McLaren
"But you are still his father," said Muni, almost smiling, his dark eyes half closed against the hard desert light.
Javin nodded, a little undone. Muni had a way of disarming all pretense.
Cheyne cleared the last step, panting from the effort in the blazing noon heat. His face was dry despite the exertion-perspiration evaporated as quickly as it formed here. He gratefully accepted the water jug, threw it back native style across his shoulder, and took a long pull on it.
"Zu said you wanted roe up here fast, Javin. What's going on? Did you find the Collector?" Cheyne gasped before he was quite through with the last swallow. He flashed a brilliant smile as the cooling water trickled down his neck, finding a quicker path along a leather thong at his throat.
Javin gestured to the dead man.
"Oh. I suppose not." Cheyne frowned, instantly comprehending the ramifications. "Not one of the crew," he breathed in relief. "But… who?"
"We don't know. Muni found him under this slab, in what looks like part of a house. As you can plainly see, he has been murdered. We have no idea who killed him or why. But we must keep this quiet, or we won't have a job by the afternoon bells. And watch out for yourself. The body can't be more than a few hours dead. Whoever did this is in sharp habit, from the looks of his method. The murderer could still be close," said Javin.
Cheyne lifted his broad-rimmed hat and ran his fingers through a thatch of dark blond hair, resettling the hat in exactly the same place. He stooped to examine the piece of marble that had been the dead man's crypt cover. "No scraping or pry marks around the slab-"
"We know." Javin slid his eyes over to the crew in warning.
Cheyne nodded and took out his bound tablet and a bit of charcoal. "Have you been down?" he asked Javin.