Page 69 of The Burnt
She turned to him. “Well, as long as you filled up the tank with gas. I lied to those detectives because I wanted to find out the truth from you first, but if it’s really nothing and they ask again, I might have to be honest with them. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * * *
Declan had turned off the engine for the stakeout and was beginning to notice just how poorly insulated his van was. This was the unglamorous part of being a private investigator—sitting, watching, waiting for someone to do something. And in Alberta in winter, it usually involved freezing his nuts off.
The door of the house opened and a body bundled up in a coat made their way to the street. And it wasn’t Mrs Keough.
Declan started his engine, put the heater on full then pulled out his cell phone.
“Hello,” Charlie answered.
“Where are you? I have a body on the move.”
The van door opened and Charlie slid in.
“Some detective you are. What if I’d had a knife?” Charlie asked.
“I’d have done this,” he said, stepping on the gas and throwing Charlie back in his seat.
“Hey. I’ve got coffees!”
Declan reached over and took one. “Thanks.”
“So, who do we have? I’m assuming it’s not Mrs Keough?”
“Not sure, but I’m pretty sure it’s the owner of the large boots. Let’s see where they’re going.”
* * * *
Charlie and Declan carefully followed the person who had left Mrs Keough’s. The suspect strode confidently around the corner and headed toward Jasper Avenue. As Declan’s van approached the main street, traffic started to build and their suspect started to gain ground. Charlie said, “I’m getting out. I’ll follow them on foot. If they pop into some place while we’re backed up in traffic, we’ll lose them.”
Without waiting for Declan to respond, Charlie slipped out of the van and hurried down the street. As he got closer, Charlie was able to make out that the suspect appeared to be a young man. He was moving fast. And who could blame him? It was fucking cold out. Charlie’s ‘going for a car ride’ sneakers weren’t the best footwear for the job. He prayed that this guy would reach his destination before Charlie froze his toes off.
Charlie rounded a corner and saw the man walk up to the side door of a restaurant. He kicked his boots against the wall, dislodging the snow they carried, then flipped back the hood of his parka and went in.
The young man had shoulder-length black hair.
Coincidence?
Charlie waited fifteen minutes, then went around to the front of the restaurant. The person of interest was serving tables inside.
Charlie looked around, then pulled out his cell phone and called Declan. “I know where we’re going to eat tonight. I’ll be in front of the Christmas Store next to a restaurant called the Tonquin Bistro. You can’t miss it.”
Declan pulled up and Charlie hopped in.
“Christ, you must be frozen,” Declan said.
“Would it be bad to pour coffee on my feet?”
“You just need to get inside someplace warm,” Declan replied. “You said you were hungry. Shall we go for dinner now?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Declan parked the van and they made their way to the entrance of the restaurant. The Tonquin Bistro was plainer than the name suggested—a faux log structure designed to fit the town’s architectural theme. Charlie wondered if it was designed to mimic the Jasper Park Lodge, the grand-dame of Jasper hotels not far away. Perhaps if it looked like the lodge, the food would be as good.
Through the window, he saw the young man with the long dark hair. He was dressed in a white shirt, tight-fitting black trousers and a matching black vest, as was the young woman he was standing with.
