LITMIR.BIZ

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and that isn’t usual for him.”

      “How would you say the girl looked when she left?”

      The bartender thought as he mixed two martinis. “Hard to say. Maybe scared. No, that isn’t right. She looked like someone who’d just got the bad news she’d been expecting.” As he pulled another pint of draft for Jackie, he looked closely at her.“Sure you ain’t a cop? You sure ask questions like one.”

      Jackie held up her hands. “See? No notebook. Cops always write things down.”

      “Maybe you got a good memory.”

      Stories went like that the rest of the night. Everybody who’d heard the girl sing said the same thing: how great she was. Several commented that they expected she’d disappeared because she’d gotten a recording contract and was moving on. All were very protective of her. Olivia was everybody’s “little girl”, men and women alike.

      As for Curran, reviews for him were positive. Those who knew him, liked him. Even Jackie, who knew little about jazz, could tell that he was a terrific drummer. Apparently he kept to himself, although he was friendly. Someone said they’d overheard Curran talking to the bass player about his wife, who’d apparently walked out on him not that long ago.

      One woman, alone and obviously on the prowl, mentioned that she’d seen Curran and Olivia leave the club together every night. Maybe she had the hots for the good-looking drummer and felt the girl was queering the deal. That was confirmed when Jackie was leaving. The woman, talking to Curran, was standing a lot closer to him than she needed to.

      Later, as she got off the streetcar at Queen and Dowling, Jackie’s mind drifted back to her last bit of conversation with the waitress.

      “So you think Felton might have something to do with Olivia not being here tonight?”

      “Let’s just say it wouldn’t surprise me, honey. I don’t think he could stand the competition.”

      Chapter 4

      Shannon looked at the pages of a very neat and well-organized handwritten report. “Textbook style!” her dear old dad would have proclaimed. She was further impressed by the fact that Goode had been waiting in the reception area when she’d arrived at the office. It had taken a long time to put this material together. The woman must have been up half the night.

      “This is fine work, Goode,” she said, nodding. “You’ve done well.”

      “Thanks.”

      Shannon tipped her chair back. The woman had done a good job. Not often did she receive such a detailed report from one of her operatives – and within twenty-four hours. She still had her doubts about Goode’s overall suitability, but she had to admit she was impressed. To get to the office from downtown and to be there before the boss had arrived, Jackie would have had to leave well before seven a.m.

      “What do you think our next steps should be?”

      Goode had obviously thought about that, too, because her answer was quick.

      “I need to talk to the client personally. He’s obviously keeping information from us.”

      Shannon nodded. “I got the same impression when I met with him.”

      She didn’t elaborate about her suspicion that Curran and Olivia might have been “an item”. Let Goode suss out that bit of information for herself.

      “I don’t think it would be good if I just showed up at his door, though. Could you set up an interview for me?”

      “Not a problem. From your report and what you’re saying, it’s obvious you don’t seem completely sure of him.”

      Goode looked at her levelly. “I’m sure of no one.”

      “Have you considered how to approach looking for the girl and the two men who led her off?”

      Goode considered for a moment. “Curran told you they said they had a plane to catch.”

      “Pearson Airport?”

      “Wouldn’t we have to check all of them?”

      “And there’s the rub. That’s a lot of footwork for possibly no results.

      Our client has intimated he doesn’t have much money available.” “It would have to be a private plane, quite possibly a jet.”

      Shannon nodded. “I don’t have much on today. I’ll handle the airports, and you interview our Mr. Curran.”

      Shannon had been this route at airports quite a few times in her career. Usually it was tracing the movements of executives who had the use of corporate jets, so she already had some connections who might be of help.

      Since it was close by, she first tried Buttonville, one of the Toronto area’s two small plane airports, but that had led to a quick dead end, so it was on to Pearson on the west side of the city. Toronto Island Airport was a long shot, so it was third on the list.

      The area servicing private planes lay on the less trafficked north side of Pearson, the international airport serving Toronto. Surrounded by an industrial wasteland of warehouses, factories, strip clubs, and some small businesses, it was not the prettiest of places. Combined with the airport’s wide tracts of open land, it always filled her with an odd sense of loneliness.

      In the old days, things were run a lot more loosely. Planes came and went, and unless they were carrying something special, everything was pretty casual. Since 2001, though, security and the less regimented business of private aviation had tightened up considerably. A big cargo plane could be flown into an office building just as easily as a commercial airliner, and no one forgot that.

      The day was turning positively warm, but the blustery west wind caught Shannon off guard as she stepped from her SUV. She stood for a moment watching a plane land on the runway nearby and wondered how pilots could keep the damn things so steady with that kind of wind buffeting them.

      Having called ahead, she entered a low office building, where a receptionist waved her through. Her contact, an airport official, was waiting in the doorway of his office as she walked down the hall. Actually, he was big enough to stand in as a door.

      “Shannon O’Brien, how good to see you,” he said as they shook hands.

      “Likewise, Fred.”

      Getting his bulk comfortable behind his desk, he asked, “So you’re looking for information on a plane that left Tuesday evening or early yesterday morning?”

      Fred, who ran the refueling concession for this side of the airport, had helped O’Brien Investigates on numerous occasions. Shannon knew his assistance was predicated on the fact that he enjoyed looking at her.

      “There probably would have been three passengers, two men and a woman.” She slid a copy she’d made of Olivia’s photo across the desk. “This is who I’m looking for.”

      “And the two men accompanying her?”

      “Bounty hunters, I believe.”

      “I hate those guys. Do you have a description of them?”

      Shannon had typed up something based on Curran’s story. It wasn’t very detailed.

      As Fred alternately skimmed the page and stared at the girl’s photo, she said, “I also don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to what I’m looking for.”

      “Was the girl going willingly?”

      “On the surface, from what I’ve been told.”

      “Any idea of the destination?”

      “There’s only sketchy material to work with at this point. We’re pretty sure the men are from the States and quite possibly the girl. I don’t know if she ran away from a legal problem, or if it’s something else.”

      “Sounds

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