The Travelling Detective: Boxed Set Read online

  Most of all she would have to actively start asking questions of everyone she met, instead of waiting for them to tell her things. She didn’t think she could solve the murder, if it was one, but at least she would be gathering good material to write about.

  And she would have the winter months to put it all together into an article or a book. She could hardly wait to get back to the B&B and get started on a Septic Stan file.

  She looked at the yard of the old acreage when she finally reached it, but there was nothing different. Traffic remained slow up to the next crossroads where everyone made a U turn to head back past the house to the highway. She breathed a sigh of relief as she continued through the intersection to the B&B. Peggy’s car was in the parking lot. So this was where she was.

  It was raining again, so Elizabeth grabbed her laptop and the bag of groceries and newspapers in one hand, and Chevy in the other and ran for the verandah. When she set him down, Chevy immediately headed back down the steps and over to a bush. So much for trying to keep his paws clean.

  When Chevy came up the steps and had his shake, Elizabeth told him to stay while she went in and set her things on the floor. She removed her wet shoes and placed them on the mat then went to the kitchen. Peggy and Shirley were washing strawberries.

  “Do you have a rag so I can wipe Chevy’s paws?” she asked Shirley.

  “Sure.” Shirley opened the door under the sink. She pulled a rag from a pile and handed it to her.

  Chevy was shivering as she wiped the rain off his back then picked up each paw and cleaned it. When she was finished Chevy headed to the kitchen and scratched at the door. While Shirley let him in, Elizabeth retrieved her packages from the floor, and carried them upstairs to her bedroom. The doors to the other rooms stood open. She must be the only guest now.

  In the kitchen Shirley was feeding Chevy some pieces of ham.

  “Where’s Stormie?” Elizabeth asked.

  “She went into town with Al,” Shirley replied. She set the bowl of strawberries on the table.

  “Did you come through that pack of rubberneckers?” Peggy asked

  Elizabeth nodded. “It took me forever to make it from one crossroads to the other.”

  “Al phoned us while he was stuck in the slow line,” Shirley said. “Who’d have thought there would be so much interest in a septic tank?” She went to the counter and picked up the coffee pot. “Would you like some?”

  Elizabeth had never developed a taste for coffee and for a caffeine jolt she relied on Pepsi. “No, thank you. I just finished a pop.” She sat in a chair.

  “How did your day go?” Shirley asked.

  “As well as I had hoped. I saw Head-Smashed-In, the Crystal village, Lundbreck Falls, and toured Bellevue Mine.”

  “You sure covered a lot of ground. You must have passed the turbines - are you going to mention them in your article?” Shirley pushed the bowl of strawberries towards Elizabeth.

  “I don’t know. I did take pictures of the signs telling how they are used to convert the wind to electricity.” Elizabeth took two strawberries. They were incredibly sweet and juicy.

  “Well, if you do, make sure you tell the other side of the story.”

  “What other side?”

  “That they funnel the wind until it whirls and blows so hard that the land is drying out and all the grasses are dying. And once they get turning, the noise is horrendous.”

  “They were pretty still this morning, but I can imagine,” Elizabeth said, glad for the local perspective.

  Peggy sat at the table. “Did you stop in at the tourist centre?” she asked.

  Elizabeth nodded. “The guy at the counter told me about all the people who had come to see you.”

  She grimaced. “They wanted to ask me who I thought the skeleton was, and point me out to their friends like some kind of freak show! I had to get out of there, so I called John to see if he’d take over. I was sure glad he could come.”

  The phone rang, and the women looked at each other. Shirley stood and reached for it.

  “Hello?”

  There was a pause as she listened.

  “No, I have no comment.”

  Shirley’s lips pursed in anger and she burst out, “I have nothing to say.” Elizabeth could hear the voice at the other end still talking when Shirley hung up.

  “Another newspaper reporter,” she said, sitting down. “They just won’t take no for an answer.”

  The phone rang again almost immediately. This time neither woman made a move to pick it up. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to answer it?”

  Shirley shook her head. “It’s been ringing constantly. People wanting to know what’s happening, reporters wanting to come out and ask questions. We’ve even had a couple of television stations wanting on camera interviews. We’ve only been answering it because we think it might be a guest wanting to book a room, but from now on we’ll let the answering machine get it.”

  The machine ran through its spiel about the bed and breakfast and asked the caller to leave a message and phone number. The voice on the other end said he was from a newspaper in Lethbridge and he wanted to get in touch with Mrs. Peggy Wilson.

  Shirley got up and erased the message with a flourish. “That’s what I like about answering machines,” she chuckled. “I can screen my calls.”

  She went to the refrigerator and took out some salad fixings. Peggy stood to help her. She took two stalks off the celery and went to the sink to wash them.

  “It’s strange that they aren’t sitting on your doorstep right now,” Elizabeth said, thinking about how in the city there was usually a lineup of television vehicles when a new story broke.

  “There was one from Calgary in front of my home when I went there to get some clothes earlier this evening,” Peggy said. “I just turned right around and left. I’d much rather wear these for a few days than answer their questions. They’re worse than the police.”

  “Are you going to stay here then?”

  “Al and I feel it would be best,” Shirley said. “That way we can protect her.”

  Protect her from whom, the reporters or the police?

  When the phone rang again, they listened for the message. This time, there was a pause and then, “Oink. Oink. Here piggy, piggy. Souie. Souie. Souie. You should have listened to us. What you need is some more crap on your lawn to teach you a lesson.”

  It sounded like the voice was muffled by a cloth or tissue over the mouthpiece, though you could still tell it was a man’s.

  “Oink, oink, oink.” The person hung up.

  There was a shocked silence. Shirley quickly put down her knife and hugged a visibly shaken Peggy. “Oh, Mom.”

  “I thought it was over,” Peggy whispered into Shirley’s shoulder.

  “We’ll call the police,” Shirley said.

  “What good would that do?” Peggy asked, stepping back. “It didn’t help last time.”

  “Do you have call display?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t show cell phone or pay phone numbers,” Shirley answered.

  “Why would they still be calling?” Peggy asked, beginning to calm down. “It won’t do any good to harass me now. The deal has gone through.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Shirley agreed, returning to the salad. “Unless this person enjoyed doing it so much, he decided to keep it up.”

  “I hope not … anyway I’m sorry he called here, Shirley,” she said, her voice quiet. “I guess someone figured out where I’m staying.”

  “Is this the first call since the sale?” Elizabeth asked. She wasn’t sure how this would fit into her writing but she might as well gather facts while she could.

  Peggy gave her head a weary shake. “I’m sorry. I really don’t feel like talking about this right now.”

  Elizabeth felt herself blush. Just because she wanted to try another type of writing didn’t mean she could intrude in other people’s lives. And she certainly didn’t have the gall
to think that because she had worked out who had murdered the schoolteacher in Red Deer she could do the same here. But if she was going to become a true crime or mystery writer, she’d better get serious.

  “I do apologize. I’ve done some amateur detective work in the past, and I guess I’m just in the habit of being nosy,” she confessed.

  “Detective work?” Shirley asked, her voice skeptical.

  Elizabeth explained about the body she had come upon and how she had discovered that the woman’s sister had killed her because they both were in love with the same man.

  “Wow, that’s impressive,” Peggy said, awe in her voice. “Does that mean you are interested in this investigation?”

  “I’m baffled like everyone else,” Elizabeth said slowly. How much did she dare say? Would they want to talk to her if they knew she might be writing about them in the future? “I’d like to learn more,” she continued carefully. “But really I’m here to work on my article.”

  “Do you plan on writing about the murder, about us?” Shirley asked, warily.

  “Maybe a little about the investigation,” Elizabeth admitted.

  “Well, you really can’t write about it without mentioning us,” Shirley snapped.

  “That’s true, unless I change the names of the people involved.”

  “Everyone around here would still know.”

  “Probably if she doesn’t do it someone else will,” Peggy pointed out. “A finding like this is big news and reporters and writers are going to want to report it or write about it.”

  “I don’t like the idea of someone snooping around inside my own home,” Shirley said.

  “I don’t either,” Peggy agreed, adding the chopped celery to the salad. “But we need someone on our side, someone who will get our side of the story right.”

  Elizabeth felt there was an underlying conversation going on between Shirley and Peggy.

  No one spoke for a few moments. “Do you think you can figure out what happened?” Peggy finally asked.

  Elizabeth smiled. “I don’t know. I may have just been lucky on the other one.”

  Peggy looked at Shirley who ignored her as she picked up the bowl of salad and carried it to the refrigerator. Peggy turned to Elizabeth. “Will you try to help?”

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to answer now. It was clear that Shirley didn’t like the idea. But Peggy seemed almost relieved at it.

  “Okay,” she said, glad that she now didn’t have to ask questions furtively. “I’ll try. And I promise I’ll never write anything that would show you in a bad light.”

  Al and Stormie bolted into the kitchen in a rush to get out of the rain. Al had two reusable cloth bags of groceries in his hands. Stormie had a small one and she headed immediately to Chevy.

  “Look what I bought you.” She kneeled down beside him and opened the bag. Chevy stood and wagged his tail expectantly.

  “Looks as if he knows what’s in there,” Al laughed.

  Stormie took out a box of dog treats and a rubber ball. “Can I give him one of these?” she asked, holding up the treats.

  “Sure. He likes those.”

  Al set his bags on the counter and kissed Shirley. She leaned her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

  “What’s the matter?” He put his arms around her and looked over her head at Peggy.

  “Mom got an obscene call here.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It’s still on the machine.”

  “Stormie, why don’t you take Chevy into the basement where you can throw the rubber ball against the cement walls,” Al said.

  “Can I take his treats, too?” Stormie looked at Elizabeth.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said.

  The basement stairs were to the left of the back door and they could hear Stormie pounding down them. When she reached the bottom, Al pressed the play button. The muffled voice came on again. Al listened to it twice, swearing angrily.

  “That sounds like a threat,” he said. “And the police can’t do a damned thing about it.” Then he settled down a bit. “We’ll save it just in case and, well, I guess there isn’t much else we can do except drive by your place periodically to check on it.”

  “Al, Elizabeth was involved in finding the killer of a woman in Red Deer last summer,” Shirley said, suddenly.

  Al looked from Shirley to Elizabeth. “And?”

  “She’s going to write about the mystery or murder or whatever you want to call it anyway, so Mom asked her to try and solve it, like she did the last one.”

  Al thought it over then said, somewhat apologetically, to Elizabeth. “Isn’t it being a little naïve to think you can do any better than the police? Why don’t you leave it to them?”

  Before Elizabeth could answer, Peggy said quickly. “The police weren’t able to do anything about the phone calls or the manure.”

  “And, if you want to investigate and write about it, there is nothing we can do anyway, is there?” Shirley looked directly at Elizabeth.

  “Not really, but I can let you read my article before I send it to a magazine.” She didn’t add that if she fictionalized it for a book, she wouldn’t consult them.

  “Okay,” Al smiled at his mother-in-law, as if realizing it was important to her. “I think that if she’s going to ask questions and write about it anyway then we can make sure she has our facts right.”

  * * * *”

  Brian Sinclair stared at the television. One of the stories on the evening news had been about a skeleton found in a septic tank in the Fort Macleod, Alberta, area. There was an investigation going on and the names Harry and Peggy Wilson were mentioned as being the previous owners of the land where the bones were found.

  Harry Wilson. Brian frowned. Oh, how he remembered Harry. The man who thought the only way to work out any problem was to beat someone up. Even after all these years the memory filled him with revulsion.

  They continued the telecast by saying that Harry had disappeared nine years ago with another woman. Peggy Wilson had just had him declared legally dead and had sold the acreage to a corporation that wanted to build a hog barn on it. The bones had been discovered while the tank was being cleaned out prior to being removed.

  Could that miserable man be dead? Brian wondered. If the bones in the tank belonged to him, it was a fitting way for him to have died.

  But now what did he do? After his talk with Cindy yesterday, he’d found out where Betty’s funeral was to be held and sent flowers. Then he’d straightened up the house, stopped the newspaper and mail delivery and printed off a list of motels and bed and breakfasts in the Fort Macleod area from the Internet. All he had to do this evening was phone and book the rooms, and pack. He’d pictured them arriving there, him asking his questions and getting some answers, and then leaving without anyone knowing he was back. He’d planned on surprising Cindy with a tour through the mountains on their way home.

  Now with this discovery, the police would be asking questions of everyone connected with the place and the person who had been found. Did he want to go back and step into that? There was the possibility that he would draw attention to himself with his inquiries, and someone might figure out who he was. And there was the distinct possibility that he would run into someone he knew, someone like Shirley or her mother. He shuddered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to return there and have that wound opened up again.

  Then again, he might not be recognized. He had changed over the years, adding a few pounds, losing some of his hair, and growing a moustache and beard. And his name was different. When he’d finally admitted that it was a waste of time to look for his father and had settled in Victoria, he’d taken his real name.

  He could wait until after the matter had been cleared up but that might take a while and he only had two more weeks of vacation left. He’d booked his time off when he’d received the letter from Betty even though he hadn’t been sure if he’d wanted to go to Fort Macleod. If he didn’t go now, he would have to wait until next
year. And who knows what may have happened by then.

  On the other hand, it had taken him this long to make up his mind to go and look for his father. He wasn’t completely sure he wanted to even now. He’d already been back and forth several times about it since he’d read the letter.

  He heard the phone ring and Cindy pick it up. Probably one of her friends. In a few moments she came into the room.

  “Are we still going?” she demanded. “Because Mr. Preston wants me to babysit this weekend.”

  “Yes, we’re going. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.” If he changed his mind they would just do the mountain tour and then back home.

  “Jeeze.” She stomped out of the room.

  Chapter 8

  There was nothing more Elizabeth could do in the kitchen so she went to her room to read some of the papers she’d bought. She began with the Fort Macleod Gazette. A couple of stories caught her attention. The RCMP had tried to encourage the use of seatbelts by demonstrating the effects of not wearing one during an accident. The Empress Theatre had held a local talent night with six groups of entertainers taking part. There was a write up on the upcoming South Country Fair. It was a music and arts festival and performers came from across Canada, Europe, and South America.

  She laughed at the names of some of the entertainers like Washboard Hank and 5 Star Homeless. There was also a crafter’s mall, Kidz Kountry, and poetry readings. It took place over three days at the Fish and Game Park and there was camping available nearby. It was billed as One Of The Top 5 Small Festivals in Canada. Sounded like a busy weekend.

  Elizabeth ate her muffin as she read the third page of the Calgary Herald. A lot more had happened than what Peggy and Shirley had told her yesterday. In addition to the information she already knew, she learned that the officers had found most of the bones of a skeleton and a strip of leather that looked like it might have been a belt. The rest of what was in the tank had been sucked up into a clean container and sent to a lab to be examined for the smaller bones and other objects. The second tank on the place had been cleaned out but nothing more was found.