Page 2 of The Burnt
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Simon pondered the letter all night. He wanted a second opinion, so he set up a walk with someone he trusted. Before he went out, he bundled up like he was preparing himself for a polar expedition. Icy temperatures in Banff were a winter certainty, but that didn’t mean he had to be uncomfortable. It was first thing in the morning and the cold hadn’t been tempered by the sun.
As he trudged along the frost-covered river walk, he said a brusque “Good morning” to each crack-of-dawn cross-country skier and snowshoer he came across. His companion, Tom Semple, frowned. In contrast to Simon, Tom dressed like he was going out for dinner at a high-end restaurant, sporting a camelhair coat with a tasteful scarf, brown gloves and shoes, and a fedora. His only concession to the cold was a pair of earmuffs.
“It’s damned cold out here and you have a gym in your house. If you’re trying to stay fit, you could be using that, instead of making us both freeze out here.”
“Fresh air, my old friend, is the key to a long and healthy life. Besides, I wanted to talk to you and be sure Jasmine didn’t hear us.”
“Oh?”
They trudged on for another ten metres before Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Tom.
“This arrived yesterday. It was hand-delivered by a kid who clambered over the fence. He said he was told to give it to someone in the house. Jasmine received it and gave it to me.”
Tom read it.
I’m watching you and I know what you did.
Milo.
The colour in Tom’s cheeks paled slightly. He turned the paper over to check the back, then held it up to the light of the sun. “Do you think it’s some sort of joke? We had the best people in the company look for him, and…nothing.”
“Why would someone do this?” Simon asked.
“There are a lot of sick bastards out there.”
Simon shook his head. “Why hand-deliver it and not mail it?”
“They wanted to make sure it got to you. Nobody trusts the mail anymore.”
Simon frowned. “It can’t be just to pick at an old scab. Whoever sent this must want something. But what? They haven’t made a request for money…yet.”
Simon stared at Tom for a moment before he asked the question foremost on his mind. “Could it really be from Milo?”
Tom pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”
They walked in silence until they reached the gate to Simon’s backyard. Tom turned to him. “You know I busted my ass looking for him when he left—my whole team did.”
“I know you did.”
Tom shrugged. “Look, I have an idea. Maybe we just need an outside perspective on this.”
“Meaning?”
“I briefly met this guy last year at a function at the Palliser Hotel. He’s a private investigator based in Calgary. He specialises in cases requiring…discretion. I looked into the guy.From what I hear, he’s reliable, fearless and they say he can really take a punch.”
“You looked into the guy?” Simon smiled. “Sounds more like you’ve got a crush on him.”
“The point is,” Tom said, “maybe he could help.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “I assume you already have this miracle-worker’s contact information?”
Tom rifled through his wallet, pulled out a creased business card and handed it to Simon. The card readDeclan Hunt Investigations.
Simon stuffed it into his pocket.
“All right. I’ll call him. And maybe if you’re lucky, he’ll want to interrogate you…personally.” Simon cocked his head. “You all right, Tom? You don’t look like you’ve slept in a while.”
