Page 62 of The Burnt
“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? Washe 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.”
