Death in Big D: a Harry Calhoun Mystery by Dick Avery

Author:Dick Avery [Dick Avery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: -
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2016-12-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

My phone rang. It was Jimmy Bond.

“Hey, Harry! How’re you doing?”

“I’m doing, Jimmy. What’s up?”

“I’m going to make up for the Morales thing, Harry. A friend of a friend contacted me this morning. She wanted me to check out her boyfriend. I told her I didn’t do that kind of work, but knew someone who did. I don’t know all of the details, but she’s very nice and definitely capable of paying you. High on Dallas’ social registry, oil money and all that. Anyhoo, I assumed you would talk to her so I gave her your number. Good luck.”

He hung up.

I guess I should be at least slightly pissed at his presumption, but I needed the money, so I swallowed my pride. All this pro bono sleuthing for Ed and Lisa’s killer had put a dent in my wallet.

Two hours later, my phone rang. “This is Harry Calhoun.”

“Hello, Mr. Calhoun, my name is Katherine Simmons. I was referred to you. I would be interested in speaking with you regarding your services. Are you available?” Voice like warm syrup.

“Yes, ma’am. When and where would you like to meet?”

“How about this afternoon at my house, say, 4pm?”

“That would be fine.”

She agreed and gave directions to her house. I recognized it as a very exclusive area of Dallas. We said goodbye and hung up.

At a few minutes before four I arrived at her house. It appeared to be about 12,000 square feet and done in a French Provincial style. Located on a pretty tree-lined cul-de-sac, it sat at right angles to the street, which faced most of the front windows to the wooded area on the property. It made the house appear to be in a small forest. A tall fence of ornamental metal ringed the property. A surveillance camera kept an eye on the gate. I rang the gate’s doorbell, which was attached to a small speaker. “Yes?” a voice asked. I announced my name and said I had an appointment with Simmons. The gate shuddered and began to open immediately. A circular driveway led to the front door. I rang the doorbell.

A short dark woman in maid’s attire opened the door and smiled a welcome.

“Hello, I’m Harry Calhoun to see Ms. Simmons.”

Wordlessly, she gestured for me to enter and follow her. She guided me to a back sunroom. The rooms we passed were tastefully and expensively appointed. A talented interior designer had been at work.

As we reached the sunroom, the maid disappeared and a tall, attractive woman stood, smiled broadly, extended her hand and said in a soft East Texas accent, “I’m Katherine Simmons.” She gestured to a facing wicker chair. On the winter side of middle age, she had retained her figure. Green eyes looked at me from an intelligent, genial face that looked younger than her supposed age. She had allowed her shoulder length salt and pepper hair to remain natural and had foregone the Dallas fashion of big hair and bling. She had makeup on but it had been applied with a deft hand.

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