The Travelling Detective: Boxed Set

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  According to the legend she had read, the indigenous people had called it “The Mountain That Walks” and they never camped at its base. She liked the name but had not been able to find out if they called it that because of falling rock or because it rumbled and shook for no reason.

  The mining company ignored the warning implicit in the name and went ahead with plans to extract coal from Turtle Mountain. Corridors wound deep into the mountain as the miners followed a rich seam of coal. Even when timbering crews discovered splintered props and other indications that the mountain was shifting, work continued until the side of the mountain collapsed.

  The main reasons for the slide were believed to have been the mountain’s unstable structure, water action and cracks caused by severe weather, with the underground mining a contributing factor. It astonished Elizabeth that the mountains she had always found so beautiful could be so destructive.

  Elizabeth did a quick one-and-a-half kilometre hike along the Frank Slide Trail through the rocks, then went into the interpretive centre to “mine some more information” as she said in her tape recorder.

  Back on the highway she drove to the turn into Coleman to visit the Crowsnest Museum set inside an old high school built in 1936. She walked through the yard taking in the firefighting and mining equipment, and the farming machinery. She looked in the Greenhill Mine rail-bending kiln, circa 1930. She read how the rails were split, heated in the kiln and then shaped into arches for supports in the mine. It sounded like a gruelling process—life certainly hadn’t been easy for the first settlers of this area.

  As she toured the inside of the museum and looked at the displays, another story idea came to her. Maybe, with some more research, she could do an article on the mining history of the Crowsnest Pass for a historical magazine. She liked that idea. There are all sorts of possibilities once a person starts searching, she thought, staring at a vintage wedding dress and wondering about the woman who had worn it.

  * * * *

  “I wish you could remember whose voice that was,” Peggy said, as she and Shirley tucked the corners of the bottom sheet in on the single bed in the small bedroom.

  “Me, too,” Shirley said. “I’ve gone over and over the conversation in my mind and I can’t put a face to it.”

  Peggy brooded over the question that had been bothering her ever since the phone call. She hated to ask, but she had to know.

  “Do you think it was Harry?”

  “No.” Shirley shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” Peggy tried to keep the dread out of her voice.

  “I think I would recognize my own father’s voice,” Shirley said softly. “It sounded like an older man but it definitely wasn’t Harry.”

  Maybe it’s not him this time, Peggy thought, but she fully expected him to show up and soon. This murder investigation was getting too much press coverage for him not to hear about it. And the worry was tearing her up inside. She could only imagine the problems he would cause when he did arrive. He’d demand half of everything, including the money she had made on the sale of the acreage.

  She hated the idea of giving him anything after the way he’d left her. She’d worked hard for what she now had, while he’d simply taken their money and left her with debts. He didn’t deserve a thing. She knew, though, that if she refused to give him what he felt was his, he would take her to court. Then her future would be in the hands of a judge, a person who didn’t know either of them or their history.

  There was a chance that once she told her story, the judge would see what a disgusting husband Harry had been. Maybe he or she would agree that Peggy had earned the money since she had paid up the mortgages on both places. Or maybe the judge would say that everything had to be split half and half. After all, Harry had made some of the payments while they were married.

  One way or the other, she would lose much of the money she had. Either she’d have to give Harry half or she’d have to pay the lawyer who defended her.

  Or, worse, Harry might decide he wanted to step back into her life and move into the house again. She wouldn’t put it past him. And that would involve even more legal battles of one kind or another. She’d had his name removed from the title but that was because he was supposedly dead. If he returned she suspected that might negate everything.

  Peggy had gained a lot of self-confidence by working and paying off the bank. But she wasn’t sure how it would stand up to Harry’s actual presence, his arrogance and smugness. He’d had a way of making her feel like a fool. The first thing he would do would be to tell her about all the women he’d slept with while he was gone, just like he had done when they were married. She’d never told anyone about his bragging, couldn’t bring herself to admit that she’d put up with it. While she’d endured it during their marriage, she liked to think she would refuse to tolerate it now.

  Peggy took a deep breath and made a resolution. She was going to fight to keep him from coming back in her life. She was in love again and with the man she should have married instead of Harry. She’d known that Harry was wrong for her since shortly after their wedding but her pride had kept her from admitting it. So she had put up with almost thirty years of abuse and humiliation. But she wasn’t going to take any more.

  She’d wait until he did make his appearance before she asked her lawyer how having Harry declared legally dead would affect his rights. If that didn’t work out to her benefit, then there had to be another way of dealing with him.

  She really hoped, though, that her resolve wouldn’t be put to the test.

  “Mom? Mom?”

  Peggy was pulled back to the present and saw that Shirley had finished making the bed. “Sorry. I was just thinking about something.”

  “Or someone?”

  “Someone,” Peggy admitted.

  “You don’t know that he will come back,” Shirley said, gently.

  “He will once he hears about the money.”

  “If he’s still alive, maybe. But if he does show up, don’t let him spoil your life again.”

  “I don’t plan to,” Peggy said, with determination.

  * * * *

  As Elizabeth continued west on the highway she crossed the Crowsnest River and was soon driving beside Crowsnest Lake. When she reached the parking area at Lost Keys she got out of the vehicle and walked beside the lake. It was so peaceful with the mountains rising around her, the sun shining warmly and the water lapping softly on the shore. She really wanted to stay and enjoy it for a while so she dug out a history brochure she had picked up and went to a picnic table to read it. She was still working, she reasoned.

  On August 2, 1920, CPR train No. 63 was robbed as it neared the Sentinel way station. Three men relieved the male passengers of money and watches and departed with about $400.

  Five days later two of the thieves were observed in Bellevue and were involved in a shootout with three police officers: two from the Alberta Provincial Police and one from the RCMP. During the fight, three men were killed: one APP, one RCMP and one train robber. The other robber fled the scene but was apprehended on August 11. The third man was captured four years later when he made the mistake of pawning one of the stolen watches. He was sentenced to 17 years in prison and he died before his sentence was over.

  One of the passengers on that train was a businessman named Emilio Picariello. Mr. Pic or Emperor Pic, as he was sometimes called, was supposedly carrying $10,000. According to the story, he slid the money under his seat and moved to another one. And it seems that Mr. Pic made some of his money a trifle dishonestly. During prohibition in Alberta from 1916 to 1923, rum running was a favourite sport. Mr. Pic owned the Alberta Hotel in Blairmore and brought rum into Alberta through the Crowsnest Pass from British Columbia. He first used Model T Fords outfitted with concrete reinforced bumpers, but later replaced them with the more powerful McLaughlin, which were nicknamed ‘the Whiskey Special’.

  Mr. Pic ran his business with his son until 1922 when his son was shot in the wrist a
t a checkpoint. Hearing that his son had been killed, Pic and his housekeeper Florence Lossandro went to the Alberta Provincial Police barracks where they confronted APP Constable Lawson and shot him. Although it was never said who fired the fatal shot they both were charged with the murder of the police officer, found guilty, and hanged.

  Florence Lossandro has the dubious honor of being the first and only, woman hanged in Alberta.

  Elizabeth put down the brochure and looked out over the calm water of the lake. The history of the Crowsnest Pass region of the province had sure had its share of tragedy, murder and mayhem.

  She turned her eyes to the mountains and thought of her mother again. She hadn’t been able to cry about it before but, here in her mother’s favourite setting, the tears came freely. Now that she had been able to talk to Peggy she was also able to release all her emotions with her tears, as she hunched over the picnic table sobbing into her arms.

  It was a while before she realized that Chevy was whining. She lifted her tear-streaked face to look at him. He was sitting on the table in front of her, his tongue hanging out and his tail still. He whined again and licked her face.

  She put her arms around him and hugged him close. “Oh, Chevy.”

  He squirmed in delight and licked her face again. She laughed and let him go. He jumped off the table onto the ground and began barking. She wiped her face with her hands.

  “Yes, I know it’s time to go,” she said.

  They climbed into the vehicle. Elizabeth checked herself in the mirror on the visor. Her eyes were red and swollen. She dabbed them with a tissue, which didn’t help much.

  “Luckily, you don’t have to interview someone right now,” she said to herself.

  She gave up with the tissue and started her vehicle. In less than a kilometre from the lake she reached the Crowsnest Pass Summit and the Alberta/BC border.

  Elizabeth turned around and headed east. Since she was finished for the day, she stopped in at a fast food outlet and ordered a cheeseburger combo and a plain burger. While she was waiting, she went into the washroom and washed her face. It felt so much better. She took her order out to the Tracker, and broke the plain burger into pieces for Chevy while she ate hers.

  Back in Fort Macleod Elizabeth stopped to see if there was an update in any of the papers. The Calgary Herald had no mention of the story on the front page. A new one, the Lethbridge Southern Sun Times, had a small headline at the bottom of the page with a continuation on page 5. But the Fort Macleod Gazette had a special edition. Its headline screamed: DID FATHER KILL PREGNANT DAUGHTER’S BOYFRIEND? The subtitle read, Did Harry Dump Mike In The Septic Tank?

  It hadn’t taken long for that rumour to produce results! Elizabeth just bought the Lethbridge paper and the Gazette.

  The weather was drier so the rubberneckers were back on the gravel road. Some were even stopping to take pictures out of their windows. How do you explain a photograph like that to people, Elizabeth wondered. “See that faint line in the grass? Well, that’s the top of a septic tank where a skeleton was found.”

  The guy in front of her actually got out of his vehicle and ducked under the tape to take his picture. She shook her head but then remembered that she, too, had walked into the yard. With an embarrassed grin at herself, she justified her own nosiness by the fact she knew the previous owner.

  As Elizabeth neared the B&B, she saw the two news vans plus two other vehicles parked on the side of the road. One of the vans was partially blocking the driveway. She signalled that she wanted to turn in and there was a commotion as people jumped out of the vans and cars with microphones and cameras and notebooks and pens.

  They had this down pat. The cameramen stood in the driveway so she had to stop or run them over. Her window was rolled down and the others hurried up to it. When they got close Chevy jumped on her lap and began barking. Usually when that happened, she pushed him back onto his side or told him to be quiet but this time she let him bark. The noise, however, didn’t deter the newscasters. They began shouting questions at her.

  “Ms. Oliver. You were the one at Peggy Wilson’s house. What were you doing there?”

  “How well do you know the Wilsons and McNealys?”

  Bark! Bark! Bark!

  Elizabeth pretended she couldn’t hear.

  They yelled louder.

  “Has Peggy Wilson said anything to you about the skeleton?”

  Bark! Bark! Bark!

  “Did you know Harry Wilson? Did you ever see him hit anyone?”

  “Did Mrs. Wilson find out that he was seeing other women and put him in the septic tank as revenge?”

  Elizabeth just raised her hands, palms up, and shrugged like she didn’t understand what they were saying. Finally, they realized she wasn’t going to stop Chevy barking and with a disgusted look they motioned the cameramen to move out of the way. She slowly inched her way around the van and up the driveway.

  Peggy was waiting on the verandah for her. “What were they asking? Did you say anything to them?”

  “I’ve got nothing to say,” she replied.

  “What did they want to know?” Peggy asked, as they entered the house.

  “If I knew Harry, and of course I didn’t.”

  “They’ve been asking questions all day.” She ran her hands over her face. “And because we’re not answering the phone they’re coming right to the front door and ringing the bell. Al has had to throw three reporters off the property so far, and we’ve even had to ask our friends to leave.”

  They walked into the kitchen, which seemed to be the only room they used when there was just one guest. Shirley was pouring herself and Al a coffee.

  Stormie immediately ran to Chevy. “Can I give him some of the meat I saved?” she asked.

  Elizabeth looked questioningly at Shirley.

  “She kept some of her chicken from supper for him. I told her she would have to ask you before she gave it to him.”

  “Are there any bones in it?” Elizabeth asked, realizing too late that it was a poor choice of words.

  “No bones,” Shirley said, grinning at Elizabeth’s beet red face.

  Now thoroughly flustered, Elizabeth turned back to Stormie. “Sure,” she said. “And he’d probably like some water, too,” she added, glad to change the subject.

  “Elizabeth was stopped by the news people in the vans,” Peggy said, as they sat down. “They asked if she knew Harry.”

  “They also wanted to know if he had a temper and if you knew he fooled around.”

  “Why do they keep asking about his temper?” Shirley asked. “They’re making it sound like no one else ever had one.”

  “They’re trying to use it to show that he may have killed someone in a fit of rage,” Al said.

  “He never got that angry,” Peggy protested.

  “He got angry enough to hit one of Shirley’s boyfriends,” Elizabeth commented.

  Shirley glanced at Al. He did not look at her, staring at his hands instead.

  “That was a long time ago,” Peggy said, quietly. “It’s not worth mentioning.”

  “If you can believe today’s papers, Harry may have killed him.” Elizabeth wondered if she should bring up the pregnancy but didn’t know how much Al had been told. Hopefully, he knew and would not have to find out about it through the media.

  “Who’s Harry?” Stormie asked, coming over to the table. “And who did he kill?”

  There was silence.

  “Harry is a man I knew a long time ago,” Peggy said.

  “Is he my grandfather?”

  Shirley picked Stomie up and put her on her knee. “How did you know that?”

  “I heard the guy on television say that he was your father, so that would make him my grandfather.”

  Shirley hugged Stormie. “Yes, you are right. He is your grandfather.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know where he is. He left a long time ago before you were born.”

  “Why?”

&nb
sp; Shirley looked at Peggy as if for help.

  “He was not a very nice man,” Peggy said. “Certainly not as nice as your Grandpa McNealy.”

  Stormie smiled. “I like Grandpa.”

  Al stood. “Come on, Stormie. Let’s go phone Grandma and Grandpa in Saskatchewan.”

  Stormie jumped down and followed Al into the living room.

  “That could have been awkward,” Shirley said.

  “Maybe it’s about time you told her about Harry,” Peggy said. “She’s already hearing things.”

  “I know.” Shirley sighed. She followed Al and Stormie out of the room.

  When they were alone Elizabeth asked Peggy a question that had been bothering her. “Why did you stay with Harry?” She knew she was getting quite personal, but Peggy didn’t seem to mind.

  “At first it was because I didn’t think I could raise Shirley alone. Then after she moved to Calgary, I was afraid I didn’t have the skills to earn a living for myself. I thought it was either stay with him or go on welfare.”

  “But once he left you were able to pay off two mortgages,” Elizabeth pointed out.

  “Yes, I was,” Peggy said, lifting her chin. “And if I’d had more confidence in myself earlier I wouldn’t have had to put up with him for so long.”

  This didn’t sound like a woman who would have a picture of her husband on her dresser. But Elizabeth couldn’t bring that up. Her seeing it had been just an accident and she didn’t want them to think she was a snoop.

  Chapter 11

  When Elizabeth took Chevy out for his walk, the vans were gone. “Even news people have to sleep,” she muttered as they headed down the road in the opposite direction from Peggy’s former place. When they got back Chevy had to nose around the bushes in the yard. Elizabeth heard a vehicle coming and when it slowed to turn in, she picked up Chevy so he wouldn’t get run over then slipped into the bushes out of the range of the front porch light. She wasn’t the welcoming committee.

  Dick Pearson got out of the truck and climbed the verandah stairs. He knocked on the door and when Al answered it, Dick asked for Peggy. She stepped out and they went and sat on the swing.