Free Hard Rock (A Hardboiled Private Investigator Mystery Series): John Rockne Mysteries 2 by Dani Amore Page B

murdered.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Twenty
     
    Unfortunately, the seller didn’t have a name. 
    “It was a company,” Melvin said.
    “Okay, is there any chance you could call me back with the name?” I asked.  “I know it’s asking a lot, but it would really help.”
    He hesitated.  “I could, I guess.  But what does this have to do with that company you were asking me about?”
    I was tempted to level with him, but I was on a roll.  “There may be some linkage with mortgage fraud,” I said.  “Not with your property, of course.  You’ve already said you didn’t work with them.  I just want to make sure there’s no connection at all.”
    He told me he would see what he could find.  There was a hesitation in his voice, though, that hadn’t been there earlier. I think he had started to doubt my veracity.
    We disconnected and I thought about what I’d learned.  It wasn’t uncommon for real estate to sell under a company name as opposed to an individual’s.
    It made sense, in fact.  Anonymity was big in Grosse Pointe.
    I put in a call to Nate and gave him the address to see if he had a quick way to find out who sold the property to Desmond Jamison, just in case Melvin didn’t want to help me out anymore.  Nate had a bunch of contacts within the real estate community in Grosse Pointe.  Realtors were great for gossip.  The first to hear, often times, about a marriage falling apart and a house going up for sale.
    My phone rang again before I was even able to put it down.  If this was Nate, he was going to be setting some kind of record for quick information.
    But it wasn’t.
    It was Amanda Collins.
    “I have an emergency,” she said.  “Can I see you? Like, right now?”
    I checked my watch.
    “I can be there in thirty minutes.”
    It was a good thing there weren’t any cops on the freeway because I flew past cars like they were standing still.  The drawback was Woodward, which is full of lights and people who are seemingly confused about what the speed limit is.  It didn’t matter to me because I ignored all traffic laws and made it to Amanda Collins’ house in exactly thirty-one minutes.
    Well, I didn’t actually make it to the house because it was surrounded by police cars and fire trucks.
    Even from a block away I could see what was happening.
    Her house was on fire.
    I dialed her number from my call history and it rang seven times before she finally answered.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.  “Where are you?” I asked.
    “I just left the hospital, but I’m fine,” she said.  I could hear that her voice was hoarse.  Like she’d smoked an entire carton of cigarettes.  “Just a little smoke inhalation.”
    “What happened?” I said.  “Can you talk?”
    “Yeah, I’m just waiting for a friend to pick me up.”
    She was putting on a brave front but I got the sense she was a little rattled.  I felt bad for her.   That house was beautiful.  A work of art.  And with all of that wood it must have burned fast.
    “I’m not sure what happened,” she said.  “I put a dish in the oven to bake and then went upstairs to change.  It seemed like about ten minutes later smoke was everywhere.  I managed to grab a few things before I ran out.  Luckily, the fire department arrived pretty fast so I hope it’s not totally ruined.”
    “Where did the fire start?” I asked.
    “I’m pretty sure it was the kitchen,” she said.  “That seemed to be where the fire was raging the most.  But I wasn’t cooking with grease or anything. It was a simple chicken dish baking.  I don’t know how a fire could have started, unless it was electrical.”
    “Is there anything I can do to help you?” I asked.  “Do you need anything?”
    “No, I have a place to stay.  I’ll be fine.  And luckily I hadn’t moved everything from my storage unit to the house so I didn’t lose everything.”
    I heard her voice catch.
    My next question was about why she called me, but I wasn’t