Page 27 of The Burnt (The Declan Hunt Mysteries #3)

Declan walked up the stairs to the office carrying a paper bag from Gwen’s. Mrs B was still at her desk, tidying up before she left for the day.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asked.

“Avoiding getting home too early. My sister Irene has her weekly knitting circle at the apartment every Wednesday and if I have to put up with those old biddies again…”

“You do realise that you’re probably older than some of those ‘old biddies’.”

She glowered at him. “You’ve obviously never experienced what needles and wool can do to a middle-aged woman. It’s enough to make you want to choke them with their own yarn. Whinge, whine, complain…” she muttered as she packed her belongings in her bag and went off to get her coat.

“Here,” he said, passing her the paper bag. “They’re end-of-day pastries Gwen gave me. I think you could use them more than Charlie.”

She pulled out a custard tart and devoured it. “You may have just prevented a homicide. I’ll see you tomorrow, and thanks for this.” She gently placed the pastry bag into her carryall and headed out through the door.

Declan went into his office and poured himself a drink. He sat, feet up on the desk, and sipped, enjoying the silence. At times it was good to be alone.

He thought back to his meeting with Gary Sawchuck.

How could he have missed the surveillance vehicle on the street?

Was he getting sloppy? And Katherine’s man in the brown coat that no one else saw…

If she was playing him, was there any way she could have killed Archie?

Then there was Charlie’s text… Too many coincidences, and Declan hated coincidences.

Declan’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller’s number and picked it up. “Martin! Thanks for getting back to me.”

“Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. I’m just sitting here enjoying a bit of peace and quiet.”

Declan drained his glass, slid his feet off the desk and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. “Now, any luck on the licence plate?”

“Was the car you were looking for a 2000 grey Chevy Impala?”

“That’s it.”

“It belongs to a Florence Keough on Geikie Street in Jasper. Here’s her address.”

Declan jotted down the details. “What else do you know about her?”

“Not much to tell from what I have here. She was born March 23, 1947. I can get you info on her insurer if that would be of any use?”

“No, don’t worry about that, Martin. This is perfect for what I need. I really appreciate it.”

“Appreciate it enough to meet me at The Greek sometime? You can bring that young male assistant of yours. He looks like he could be a lot of fun.”

The thought of dragging Charlie off to The Greek for what Martin had in mind made Declan laugh out loud. He could only imagine the look on Charlie’s face if he suggested it.

“Thanks for the invite, but we’re trying to make a go of it on our own, if you know what I mean.”

“So sad,” Martin said. “Oh, well. I’ll just have to keep reliving the memories, I guess. I’ll say hello to Mateo and the boys at The Greek for you.”

“You do that. Take good care of yourself, and thanks for the information.”

Declan hung up and pondered what Martin had shared with him.

Now, what would a seventy-eight-year-old be doing driving down from Jasper to Calgary in winter?

Declan turned to his computer and did a reverse lookup on the address. Charlie wasn’t the only one who could find people on the internet. And there she was.

He phoned the number and after a few rings, the call was answered.

“Hello?” a voice said.

“May I speak to Florence Keough?”

“Speaking.” The voice sounded hesitant.

“Ms Keough, I’m sorry to disturb you—”

“If you’re trying to sell me something, don’t waste your breath. I’ve got everything I need. And if you’re trying to save my soul, don’t bother. I got rid of that years ago.”

Declan liked this woman already.

“I’m doing neither, Ms Keough. I promise.”

“And you can drop the whole ‘Ms’ business. I was married once and death didn’t take that away from me.”

“Mrs Keough it is, then,” Declan said. “My name’s Declan Hunt and I’m a private investigator from Calgary. I’m looking into an incident that happened in the Forest Lawn neighbourhood of Calgary last Thursday.”

She hadn’t hung up yet, so that was a good sign.

“What kind of incident?” she asked.

“I’m sorry to say it was a murder and a car matching your Impala was spotted on 43 rd Street, SE. Were you in Calgary on Thursday?”

“A murder,” she repeated.

Declan tried to read the tone of her voice. There was no inflection that expressed shock or surprise.

“And you think I was involved?” she accused.

“Nothing of the sort, Mrs Keough. I’m really just trying to determine why your car was there that day.

You couldn’t imagine the number of people that end up on lists like these during an investigation.

That’s why crimes take so long to solve.

It’s not like you see on television. I just need to find out if you were in Calgary on Thursday. ”

There was a brief silence before she responded. “You must be mistaken. I was away almost all week visiting my sister in Edmonton, so there is no way I could have been in Calgary.”

“Are you sure? Because a car with your licence plate was seen on the street last Thursday.”

“I’m not answering any more of your questions. I have to go.”

She hung up.

Declan looked at the photo of the car on his phone. Well, if it wasn’t you, then s omeone had your car that day and I want to know who.

Declan’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice that called out. “I’m back!” Charlie poked his head in though Declan’s door. “Just give me a sec to get out of my winter gear, then I’ll give you a proper hello.”

A moment later Charlie walked in, leaned over and gave Declan a deep kiss. Charlie smacked his lips. “Mmm, someone’s had a scotch.” He walked over to the credenza and poured himself a finger of the golden liquid.

“Yes, please,” Declan said, holding up his glass.

“Yes, sir!” Charlie replied.

When Charlie had refilled his drink, Declan slid his hand up the back of Charlie’s leg, stopping when he reached his rock-hard buttocks. He sighed and accepted the glass.

“Something tells me we’re not going to be going out tonight,” Charlie said.

“Not if I have anything to say about it. But first…” Declan raised his glass in a toast. “To your great Banff excursion. I’ve gotta say, your text intrigued me. So tell me what you found out.”

Charlie plopped himself into a chair. “First of all, to call Jasmine a housekeeper seems a little…insufficient. It’s a gut feeling, but I think there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Anyway, she helped me find the boy who delivered the note to Simon.

The kid told me that the guy who had him drop it off was in his twenties and had long black hair—said he looked like a hippie. ”

“Did the kid get paid to do it?” Declan asked.

“I don’t think that he would do anything for free. That kid’s a wheeler-dealer in the making. I also met a guy named Tom Semple. He’s a tough one. Looks like he spent a good deal of time fighting. And winning.”

Declan jotted down the name. “What’s his role in all of this?”

“He’s supposedly Simon’s right-hand man, and was a bodyguard for Milo.”

“Now what would a kid like Milo need a bodyguard for, unless daddy was involved in something he shouldn’t have been?”

“Jasmine said it was because of Simon’s money. When I asked Semple to clarify what Simon did for a living, he was more than a little evasive. Come to think of it, he was not very forthcoming with the answers to any of the questions,” Charlie added.

“I’ve known guys like that before.”

Charlie continued, “So when I found out he had a camelhair coat, all of a sudden I remembered what Katherine had said to you. She said that the mystery man wore an expensive, long light-brown coat. And he looked like a stylish gangster.”

Declan pondered this. He took another sip of scotch. “Could be a coincidence. Probably that’s all it is. Those coats are pretty common…”

“Yeah. Probably just a coincidence.”

They both sat in silence before Declan said, “I mean, what would connect a man like Tom Semple to a low-end bottom-feeder like Archie Whitcher?”

Charlie took a sip of his scotch. “Yeah. Archie was definitely a crook and Semple is working with Simon in import-export, whatever that really means.”

Declan put down his glass on the desk. “Wait. Katherine said Archie used to store lots of boxes of stuff for other people in his basement.”

“Lots of boxes?” Charlie asked.

“Truckloads, sometimes. Like they were maybe from…”

“An import-export business?”

Charlie leaned forward. “What if Archie had been skimming a little off the top? And what if this came to the attention of the importer?”

“Simon might have been tempted to send out his right-hand man to look into it. It’s starting to look like our two cases may be connected.”

“What do we do now?” Charlie asked.

“Tomorrow, I want you to find out everything you can on Tom Semple. Dig as deep as you can into the recesses of the web.”

“Will do.”

“In the meantime, I’ve got to puzzle out what is motivating Katherine O’Grady.”

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked.

“My meeting with Gary this morning didn’t yield much, other than I’m slipping up when it comes to spotting a surveillance vehicle. It turns out the police have been watching the house all week. One thought Gary planted in my brain was that Katherine just might be playing me.”

“Oh. That isn’t good.”

“No it isn’t. I hate being used. On the positive side, I’ve been looking into that mystery car that she photographed.”

“And you found out who owns it?” Charlie asked.

“I did.”

“So…who is it?”

“Florence Keough,” Declan replied.

Charlie stared at him blankly. “I have no idea who that is.”

“And neither do I. I just know that she is a seventy-eight-year-old woman who lives in Jasper.”

“Okay. And…”

“Katherine O’Grady was certain that the car had never been on that street until the day of Archie’s murder, which means either Katherine is lying, or an elderly woman was reckless enough to drive her car hundreds of kilometres down wintry roads from Jasper to Archie’s street then deny doing it.

Or…someone used her car, with or without her permission. ”

“So, what are you going to do?” Charlie asked.

“How do feel about going on a road trip to Jasper tomorrow? I want to talk to Mrs Keough in person and get to the bottom of this car business. It’ll probably go better if you come along so I can take advantage of your astute observation and intuition.”

“What about my background checks on Tom Semple?” Charlie asked.

“It’s mostly research work, right? Bring your computer along and you can hunt for details on the mysterious Mr Semple when we’ve finished up with Mrs Keough.

And by the way, it’ll be an overnighter, so pack some clothes.

Think of it as a contribution to our work–life balance.

What do you say? Will you come to Jasper with me? ”

Charlie smiled. “For the sake of work–life balance… Yes, boss.”