The Travelling Detective: Boxed Set Read online

  “She was pregnant.” Corrine said, finally spelling it out for her.

  “Shirley?”

  “Well, all the evidence points that way,” Corrine said. “She was seeing Mike. Harry beat up Mike. Shirley goes away for a while and Mike vanishes. Shirley comes back and nothing more is said.”

  Except by you, thought Elizabeth with a shiver of distaste at the woman. But this did give a new slant to the story. “Are you saying that Harry killed this Mike and dumped him in the septic tank because he got Shirley pregnant?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  Elizabeth weighed the implications of this new information. “So you think Harry was capable of murder.”

  “Harry was capable of a lot of things,” Corrine said, with another wink.

  “Such as?” Elizabeth was pretty sure she knew what the wink meant this time.

  “Well, he liked a good time.”

  “And you showed him that?” She had the impression that Corrine was waiting for her to ask this question, almost like she wanted to be part of the mystery.

  “We had our moments.”

  Poor Peggy. “I hear he saw a lot of women over the years,” Elizabeth said.

  “He didn’t stick with one for very long.” Corinne nodded. It didn’t seem to bother her that he’d moved on. Maybe she liked an occasional fling, also.

  “Who did he go to after your bit of fun?”

  “Julia Clarke.”

  “What was she like?” Talk about a soap opera!

  “Well, she always dressed to the nines, put on lots of makeup, and her hair was never out of place. And,” Corrine snickered, “she went to church every Sunday.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a woman who would run off with a married man.”

  “That’s why everyone was surprised when it happened.”

  “What about her husband?” She’d heard two people mention that Julia had been married but she hadn’t heard her husband’s name.

  Corinne grinned. “That’s where the joke comes in. Raymond was the minister of the church.”

  “Now that’s different. How did he take it?”

  “Well, the good reverend threatened to kill Harry when he heard of the affair.”

  “But, if you figure the skeleton belongs to Mike then you don’t think the reverend carried out his threat.”

  “Maybe he did,” she said, standing. “But my money’s on the bones belonging to Mike.”

  Elizabeth sat thinking for a few minutes after Corrine left. This was becoming more intriguing every minute. There was now another possibility as to who was in the septic tank. If this Mike had disappeared then why hadn’t Peggy mentioned him to the police along with Harry and Julia? And what did Shirley know about what happened to Mike?

  Or if Julia’s husband, Raymond, had carried out his threat and killed Harry, what had happened to Julia? There were too many directions this could go. Elizabeth was now more anxious than ever for the police to get back the lab reports on the skeleton.

  Elizabeth’s stomach growled and she looked at her watch. It was almost four o’clock, closing time.

  Before going back to the B&B she stopped at the convenience store to see if she might learn something more from Carol Whitmore, the store clerk she had met yesterday on her way to Head-Smashed-In. She didn’t know what the etiquette was at B&Bs when it rained. Were the guests fed or were they on their own? Just in case, Elizabeth looked for some sandwich fixings and a case of Pepsi to replenish her stock, so she wouldn’t have to return to town for something to eat later.

  The headlines of one paper beside the counter asked: WHERE ARE THE LOVEBIRDS? Another: DID JEALOUS WIFE KILL PHILANDERING HUSBAND? Elizabeth added the papers to her purchases. The woman behind the counter was not Carol, nor was she as talkative. She just bagged Elizabeth’s purchases and told her the amount. Disappointed, Elizabeth paid and left.

  The gravel road had been muddy on her trip into town but now, with more rain, there were puddles of water and in places it was slippery. There were a few cars checking out the old Wilson place, but not enough to slow her down like the day before.

  When Elizabeth arrived at the B&B a police car sat in the yard. She lugged Peggy’s suitcase and bag and her own goods into the house. At the sound of voices in the kitchen, she set her stuff on the floor and took Peggy’s things in. Peggy, Al, and Shirley sat on one side of the round table and across from them were the officers, Hildebrandt and Martin. She put down her load and petted Chevy who had bounded over to greet her.

  “Ah, you’re back,” Peggy said, standing quickly. Her voice sounded relieved. “I’ll show you where they go.”

  “We’re not finished,” Hildebrandt said.

  “She was nice enough to go into town and get some things for me,” Peggy replied. “I can’t leave her standing there with my bags. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  They walked down the hall to her room.

  “What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked.

  “They’re asking a bunch of questions about Harry. Whether he had affairs and if I knew about them. They wanted to know the exact day he left and if I knew where he went and if I’ve heard from him.” Her words tumbled out.

  “All because of that rumour I may have started?”

  Peggy shrugged. “His leaving was common knowledge and it was only a matter of time before someone started speculating.” She sat down wearily on the bed.

  Elizabeth sensed there was more. “Is there something else?”

  “They didn’t know Harry or me nine years ago because they weren’t stationed here at the time. I don’t know if it would make any difference in their questions now if they had. They haven’t come right out and asked but I think they suspect me of killing him and putting him there.” She smiled tightly. “I told them that I wasn’t so stupid that I would sell the place where I had hidden my husband’s body.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “What did they say?”

  “They ignored it and asked me about the three different renters I’d had there after I moved out.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t remember their names although I probably have receipts for what rent they managed to pay me. And I have no idea where any of them moved.”

  “Are you going to get a lawyer?”

  “I don’t need a lawyer,” she said indignantly. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Elizabeth could see she was upset. She asked. “Did you tell them about the obscene phone call?”

  “Yes. They said there isn’t much they can do about it, just like before.” She stood. “But I’d better go back and get this over with.”

  Since she was not invited, Elizabeth went up to her room where she stored her food on a windowsill. When she was a child rainy days made her sleepy and now as an adult, if she had nothing else to do when it was raining, she read a book for a while then had a nap. Chevy was always willing to have a sleep so they curled up together under the duvet. When she woke up, the police were gone and it was close to six o’clock.

  Elizabeth went downstairs. Everything was quiet. She slowly pushed open the kitchen door and saw Peggy sitting by herself at the table. She knocked gently.

  “Oh, there you are,” Peggy smiled, when she looked up. “I wondered what happened to you.”

  “Chevy and I had a nap.”

  “That’s what Al and Shirley are doing right now.”

  Al must have plugged in the phone again because it rang and within moments, the doorbell peeled. Elizabeth and Peggy looked at each other. The machine answered the phone while Peggy rose and headed to the dining room. Elizabeth followed.

  Peggy looked out the front window and sighed. Elizabeth could see the television vans parked on the road. She recognized the news reporters on the verandah as the ones who had questioned her. The bell rang again, but Peggy didn’t answer it. The reporters finally gave up and hurried back to their vans in the rain.

  “Who was that?” Al asked sleepily, as he and Shirley came down the hall.


  “Just some reporters,” Peggy answered.

  They went into the kitchen and Peggy pushed the message button. Another reporter.

  “Damn, why don’t they leave us alone?” Al swore.

  Deciding to take that as her cue, Elizabeth and Chevy climbed the stairs to their room. She had work to do, anyway. If she typed what she had recorded inside the interpretive centre at Head-Smashed-In into her laptop, then she could make up for the time lost because of the rain.

  She ate a bun with cheese, fed Chevy then took out her laptop and recorder and set them on the desk beside the window. She really hated doing this, even at home. She was not a fast typist and she had to keep rewinding the tape and replaying it. And when she reached a part where she had whispered while inside a building she had to crank up the volume to hear what she said. It hurt her ears if she didn’t turn it back down in time before her normal voice came on again.

  She was sure glad that this year she had invested in the voice activated software for her laptop. It had only taken a couple of hours getting the system to recognize how she pronounced her words, and it worked well. She had tried to play the tape recorder into the laptop, but unfortunately there was enough of a difference between her normal voice and her voice on tape that the system failed to activate. She had to look into getting a digital voice recorder, that would probably work better, but still, in the meantime, the software sure saved her a lot of time.

  She was half way through when there was a tap at the door. She opened it and found Peggy holding a plate with a piece of apple pie and vanilla ice cream.

  “I thought you might like this,” she said handing it to her. “I heated the pie in the microwave.”

  “Oh, wow, thank you!” Warm apple pie and cold ice cream was her favourite dessert next to chocolate cake.

  Elizabeth ate with gusto then took the plate back down to the kitchen. Al, Shirley, Stormie and Peggy were finishing their pie at the table. She thanked Peggy again and put the plate in the dishwasher. As she was about to leave the phone rang.

  They let the machine take the call. This time however, instead of a reporter or obscene caller, it was a man wanting to book a room. Shirley hopped up and grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello,” she said, shutting off the machine. “Shirley McNealy speaking. When would you like the room?”

  When he answered, she replied. “I’m sorry but all our double rooms are booked.” She looked at Elizabeth. “We may have one available on Friday.”

  It’s a popular B&B, Elizabeth thought.

  “Well, if you want it tomorrow we do have a small single room.”

  Another pause then. “What time will you be here?”

  She glanced at her watch then at Al and Peggy. “Eleven o’clock tomorrow night is fine. May I have your name?” She listened. “I’m sorry, but I need your name to be able to guarantee that the room will be kept for you.” A pause. “Okay, ‘bye then.” She replaced the receiver, a perplexed look on her face.

  “What’s the matter?” Peggy asked.

  “That voice is familiar, but I can’t place it.”

  “What’s his name?” Al asked.

  “He wouldn’t give it. He said I would recognize him when he arrived.”

  “Did it sound like someone who has been here before?”

  “I don’t know where I’ve heard it, but I do know it.” Shirley pushed the button. “Let’s listen to the tape again.”

  The voice came on but there was so little said that no one could put a name to it.

  “There was just something about his voice,” Shirley said sitting down. “Something that doesn’t come through on the tape.”

  “Do you think it might be a newscaster whose voice you’ve heard on television or the radio?” Elizabeth asked, trying to be helpful.

  “Yes, it could be some reporter thinking he can get a scoop by staying here,” Peggy agreed.

  “What will you do, if it is?”

  “Then we will simply kick him out,” Al said decisively.

  “You mentioned that all your rooms are booked,” Elizabeth said. “When did this happen?”

  “Just today. First a couple, and then a man and his daughter booked rooms starting Thursday night. I’m not sure if they are coming because of what has happened or the fair or if they just put off phoning until the last minute.”

  “Do you normally have rooms available on short notice?” Elizabeth had made her phone call over a month ago to make sure she got a room.

  “It depends. Sometimes, we are turning people away and at others we can go a week without guests.”

  Later, upstairs, Elizabeth added what she had learned today into her Septic Stan file. Before going to bed, she turned on the news. An airplane crash had bumped the septic tank skeleton into second place. When the segment did come on, the film footage showed her entering Peggy’s house and then cut to her leaving with the suitcase and bag while the reporter identified her as Elizabeth Oliver, a travel writer from Edmonton, who was staying at Peggy Wilson’s daughter’s bed and breakfast.

  If she’d known she was going to be on television, Elizabeth would have taken more time with her appearance. As it was, the whole country saw her in her worn jeans, t-shirt, jacket and sneakers. She wished the rain hadn’t flattened her hair so much, and then laughed at her own vanity.

  “Well, I like to travel light and quickly when I’m working on an article,” she muttered to Chevy in her own defense. “What I look like has no bearing on my research.”

  Her cell phone rang. She opened it and barely got out the, “Hello.”

  “What’s going on there?” her father demanded. “What are you involved in?”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and explained everything from her first day to that night. “There is nothing to worry about,” she assured him.

  “What do you mean there is nothing to worry about? Someone was murdered and all you can say is ‘don’t worry about it?’“

  “Dad, it happened years ago. It probably has nothing to do with anyone here now.”

  “You had better move to a different accommodation.”

  Elizabeth didn’t think she should tell her father that she wanted to be right where she was, that she wanted to learn more about the whole investigation.

  “I’ll look around,” she said to appease him, “But I doubt there will be much left in the way of places to stay. This weekend is Fort Macleod’s annual South Country Fair. Around twenty-five hundred people are in the region already or coming soon.”

  “Then come back home. Writing an article is not worth being around a murderer.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not hanging out with murderers, I promise. I’ll be okay, Dad.” She wondered if he would ever accept her as a grown-up who was able to take care of herself.

  “Then you call me every night so that I know you’re all right.”

  “I’ll try Dad, but sometimes I get doing things and by the time I’m finished, it’s too late.”

  “Then I’ll call you.”

  Elizabeth knew there was no use arguing. Besides, it would give him something to look forward to doing at the end of the day.

  Chapter 10

  The sky was clear in the morning. Once more, Elizabeth skipped breakfast and headed out early. The road was still muddy so she drove slowly out to the pavement. She met the two news vans from yesterday.

  Once in the Crowsnest Pass again, she drove past the turn into Bellevue and went left to go to the Hillcrest Cemetery.

  Elizabeth let Chevy out and while he explored she walked into the graveyard. In the back she found what she was looking for: the mass graves for most of the 189 men and boys who died in an explosion that rocked the Hillcrest Mine on June 19, 1914. She had read that it was the largest coal mining disaster in Canadian history.

  She checked her tape to make sure she had enough room on it. Sometimes she became so carried away with describing something that she forgot to pay attention to the tape and the recorder would click off in
mid-sentence. She would have to stop her train of thought to turn it over or to get a new tape. Once, and only once, she’d flipped the tape over and continued talking, only to discover later that she was taping over her previous work. Now she highlighted sides A and B and always used side A first so it would never happen again.

  Elizabeth took her pictures of the information signs and the cemetery. She stood for a moment and contemplated the two large burial areas surrounded by white picket fences. There were monuments, dedicated to some of the miners, spaced down the centre. One of the graves, she knew, was over sixty-one metres long. For some reason she compared the men and boys buried here among their friends and fellow workers to the skeleton found alone in its repulsive grave, maybe never to be identified so family would know what happened.

  “No time to think of that now,” she said with a shake of her head. She called Chevy and went back to her vehicle. Just after she got onto the highway again she came to the huge rocks of the Frank Slide.

  She remembered learning in school that during the night of April 29, 1903, a wedge of limestone weighing eighty-two million tonnes roared down the side of Turtle Mountain. In about one hundred seconds, the rock from the slide sealed the entrance to a coal mine near the bottom of the mountain, barricaded the Crowsnest River, covered the valley with hundreds of metres of rock and continued across the valley to demolish part of the village of Frank.

  This area seemed to be prone to disasters, some particularly grisly, Elizabeth thought. Maybe that would be a good idea for another article: Grisly Disasters of the Crowsnest Highway.

  Elizabeth turned right and drove up the road to the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre. The Centre was high above the slide and looked down on the valley full of rock and boulders.

  “Caught under those rocks and boulders were a construction camp, livery stable, two ranches, part of the CPR rail line, and one hundred people living along Gold Creek. Of those, twenty-three survived, but of the rest only twelve bodies were recovered. The remaining seventy-five are still buried.” Elizabeth clicked off her recorder and looked across the valley at the open face of Turtle Mountain.