Page 29 of The Burnt (The Declan Hunt Mysteries #3)

It was a little after one-thirty in the afternoon when Declan and Charlie entered Jasper National Park.

The drive from Calgary had taken longer than expected, due to a traffic accident on the slippery highway—one of the reasons Declan had suggested that they use his van rather than Charlie’s car.

While the car would have been more fun for the road trip, the van had better gas mileage and weighed six hundred kilos more—weight they wanted in winter conditions in the mountains.

Declan took a glance sideways. Charlie had fallen fast asleep, his head bobbing with the motion of the vehicle. Declan decided not to wake him as he pulled off the highway to refuel. By the time he got back in the van, Charlie was stretching his arms and stifling a yawn.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Declan said as he started the engine.

Charlie took in his surroundings. “Wow, I had no idea it was this bad,” he said, pointing to the charred remains of the forest on the edge of town, burnt during the previous summer’s wildfires.

Declan nodded and pointed to the snow-covered mountains surrounding the town.

“It’ll take a long time to recover, but it doesn’t take away from the beauty of the area.

When I booked our accommodation, they were happy we were coming.

The owner said whatever was burnt will come back better and stronger in the future.

He said that fire cleanses the past. I don’t know how people make it through their present suffering, though.

” They sat in silence as they drove through the town.

Ten minutes later Declan pulled into the parking lot of the Miette House Motel. Charlie got out first. Declan reached into the back seat to grab his duffle bag and felt the cardboard box.

Shit.

He’d been so preoccupied that he’d forgotten about the photo and teddy bear he’d stowed there the other day. He fished them out of the box and placed them in his bag. He’d show Charlie after they’d checked in.

“It says ‘No Vacancy’,” Charlie said, pointing at the sign out front.

“I booked ahead. I got the last room at the inn.”

They made their way inside to the check-in desk.

The young woman, who looked like she was barely out of high school, asked what name the reservation was under.

After several failed attempts at spelling ‘Hunt’, she finally found their booking.

“It only has a single king-sized bed. I’m not sure if you were told about that when you booked. ”

“That won’t be a problem,” Declan said with a smile.

“Oh. I see,” she said as she winked at them. “Enjoy your time in Jasper.”

They made their way to the room, which was decorated in basic boring. It had a plaid green rug on a black and white tiled floor, panel-board walls and a tourist poster of Whistler Mountain over the bed.

“Ah. I see you spared no expense and reserved us the ‘mountain rustic’ suite,” Charlie said.

“This trip’s on my dime,” Declan replied. “I don’t have a rich client like you.”

He looked at Charlie and gave him his best leer, then reached into his duffle bag, pulled out a pair of handcuffs and threw Charlie on the bed. “What do you say we test out the mattress?”

“Shouldn’t we be getting over to Mrs Keough’s before it gets too late?” Charlie asked.

“It’s only two in the afternoon and she’s not expecting us.”

Charlie smiled. “I suppose, all work and no play…”

Declan started to take off Charlie’s clothes. “Let me show you a trick an old friend of mine, Martin, taught me. I think you’re gonna like it.”

* * * *

Declan rolled over and looked at the clock. It was three p.m.

Charlie started to stir. “I’m starving.”

Declan burst out laughing. “You’re always starving.”

“How can you not be hungry after a workout like that?” Charlie asked.

“We ate in Edson, and that was only a few hours ago. Look, we passed a coffee shop down the street. If I get you a coffee and a donut, can you hold off ’til dinner?”

Charlie pouted. “I guess.”

“Good, but first I want to check in with Mrs Keough before it gets too late.”

After a quick shower, they drove the short distance to the Geikie Street address and pulled up in front of the brown clapboard house.

“I’ll take the lead,” Declan said as they made their way past a grey Impala that was tethered to the house by the telltale electrical cord of a block heater—an Alberta car owner’s best friend in the winter.

Declan entered the enclosed porch then rapped the knocker on the front door.

There was no response. Declan knocked again.

He turned and shrugged at Charlie. “We’ll wait back in the van and see if anyone comes home.”

Just then the deadbolt was drawn back. A spry-looking older woman, barely reaching Declan’s shoulders in height, opened the door. She was nicely dressed, like she was preparing to go out.

“Yes. May I help you gentlemen?” she asked.

“Mrs Florence Keough?”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “Look, if this is about the fellow who bumped into my car in the shopping plaza yesterday, he was totally at fault and he admitted it on the spot. And it was just a little ding and I don’t plan on pursuing it any further.”

“Actually, it has nothing to do with that, but it does have to do with your car.”

“Oh?”

“My name’s Declan Hunt and this is my partner Charlie Watts. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday. As I said, we’re looking into a case involving a murder in Calgary and we wanted to talk to you in person. Do you have a few minutes?”

“My goodness, this must be serious if you came all the way up here.”

“Do you mind if we come in?”

She frowned. “Do you have some sort of ID?”

Declan handed her his private investigator’s licence. She looked it over closely and handed it back.

“Will this take long? The house is a mess, but I can answer your questions right here.”

“That’s fine,” Declan replied. “When I spoke to you and asked if your car was in Calgary last Thursday, you said no.”

He pulled out his phone, “But this picture seems to show your car, the same one that’s over there”—he pointed to the Impala on the street—“parked in Forest Lawn near where the murder happened last Thursday.”

She rubbed the knuckles of her left hand with the thumb of her other hand. “Last Thursday, or the Thursday before?”

“Last Thursday,” Declan answered.

She paused then nodded her head. “Oh, last Thursday. I thought you meant the week before when I talked to you on the phone. I get my weeks mixed up sometimes. Yes, I was in Calgary last Thursday.”

Declan smiled to put her at ease. “Do you remember where you went when you were there?”

She leaned against the door jamb. “I like to get out now and then. I’d go crazy sitting here all winter, so I headed down to the big city. I was meeting a friend who recommended a coffee shop off Sixteenth Avenue, but it was busy and I had trouble parking, so I parked a street over.”

“And who is this friend?” Charlie asked.

“An old school chum. I was born and raised in Calgary and went to school in the south-east part of the city. God, it sure has changed. The trees just keep on growing, sprouting up like kids—”

“Mrs Keough,” Declan interrupted, “Does anyone else have access to your car?”

She crossed her arms. “Nope. Just me. Sorry to have caused you any trouble. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get going. I have dinner to prepare before I do my volunteer shift at the Legion and I’m running late.”

She quickly shut the door in their faces.

Declan and Charlie returned to the van. Once he was back in the driver’s seat, Declan fired up the engine and put the heater on full blast. He turned to Charlie. “She’s lying through her teeth.”

Charlie nodded. “Do you think ?”

Declan said, “Her hands are stiff with arthritis. My aunt was like that and she couldn’t hold onto a steering wheel for long distances, only short trips in the car.

And did you have a look around the porch?

There were two pairs of snow boots on the mat inside the door.

One that I was certain were hers, and a second pair that would have been big on me.

And they were wet. I’ll bet you anything that Mrs Keough did not drive to Calgary last week, but the owner of that second pair of boots may have. ”

Declan put the van into gear and drove down the road, turning around in an intersection, then returned part-way back down the street, facing Florence Keough’s house.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed Charlie two twenties.

“Back there at the intersection, just down the street on the right, is a coffee shop. Grab us a couple of coffees and something to eat. We might be here for a bit. And keep your phone on. If we have to leave in a hurry, I’ll try to pick you up.

Otherwise, stay put until I can come and get you. ”