Page 68 of The Burnt
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 youthink?”
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.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Milo headed downstairs, dressed for work. He preferred the evening shift over lunch. The food was pricier and the clients drank more, which meant the tips would be better, especially if he flirted a bit. And it didn’t matter if it was a man or a woman, Milo could tell by how their eyes grazed over his body if he’d get a good tip. Not that they hit on him. Not often. And it wasn’t like they’d be able to track him down outside the restaurant. The name tag he wore on his uniform never carried his real name. His tag read “Mark”. That was the owner’s idea. She thought it would give the staff another level of security in case the clientele got a little too drawn toward one of her servers. Security or not, the owner did know the value of sex appeal. She was the one who chose the uniforms which accentuated chests and bottoms.
As he turned toward the front door, he walked by the entrance to the living room. Mrs Keough was sitting in her chair in front of the fire.
“I’ll bring some more wood in when I come home,” he said. “By the way, who were those guys that were just here?”
“They said they were private investigators,” she replied, staring into the blazing fire. “One of them phoned yesterday when you were at work. He seemed to be very interested in why my car was in Calgary last week. Apparently it was spotted near a crime scene.” She looked up at him. “Initially I thought it was a mistake, but today they showed me a picture and it was definitely my car. I covered for you, Milo, but it does haveme wondering why you drove all the way down to Calgary and parked on a street in Forest Lawn.”
Milo walked into the living room. “You said I could borrow the car anytime I wanted. I know Calgary’s a long ways away but I made sure that I filled up the tank as soon as I got back and I’ll give you some money for maintenance—how about if I pay for the next tune-up? It would only be fair.”
“Milo, dear, I don’t mind you using the car. You can drive it to Saskatoon if you want. I just hope that you’re not mixed up in anything bad.”
He smiled and sat on the ottoman near her. “I just went down to visit a guy I met at the restaurant. We’ve been chatting back and forth. I didn’t want to tell you because…well, it’s personal.”
“A new beau?” she replied. “Must be something special to drive all that way. Have you been more than once?”
He gave her a lopsided grin and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe.”
