Page 63 of The Burnt
“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 43rdStreet, 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, thensomeone 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.”
