The Travelling Detective: Boxed Set

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  Then her mind turned to Warren Davidson. He hadn’t struck her as being a very threatening man and Martha sure didn’t act as if she was afraid of him. And if Harriet hated him so much, why had they lived together and taken trips together?

  If they sold the farm after two years of marriage then Warren had sure lucked in. The farm originally belonged to Harriet Barber. It wasn’t long after he was hired that he began dating Martha and they were married. Within a year after they were married, he owned half the farm. A year later they sold the farm, keeping the house and acreage because Harriet liked it, and moved into Lethbridge. But if he was the terrible man Elvina said, why had he kept the acreage for Harriet?

  Was Warren a killer? Knowing him now, Elizabeth couldn’t see it, but according to Elvina, he’d frightened Harriet and kept both women from leaving the farm. Had he become more sociable in his older age or was his tenderness now towards Martha just a pretence?

  She wondered why they hadn’t bought an aerial photograph of their farm. Even if Warren didn’t want to, if Harriet had liked the farm as much as Martha said, you’d think she would have wanted one.

  She thought about Harriet and Elvina sharing their deepest secrets. What had Harriet said to Elvina that she’d kept to herself all these years? Was it that she’d had a baby out of wedlock and left him with his father? And why did Elvina think Martha would have any questions right now? Questions about what?

  Elizabeth looked at her watch. Sherry should be calling soon. What could she do to pass the time? She decided to stop and give Elvina’s message to Martha. Martha invited her in and they sat in the living room again. On the table was a sketch of the man in the septic tank. She pointed to it.

  “Do you recognize him?”

  Martha shook her head. “The police were here to ask us that yesterday.”

  “I’ve visited with Elvina Thomas a couple of times,” Elizabeth said.

  “Elvina? Why?”

  “Like you and Warren she has been helping me learn the history of the area for my article. She also told me that she and your mother were good friends.”

  “Yes, they were for most of my childhood.”

  “She said they were friends up until you married Warren.” Elizabeth paused, choosing her words carefully. She was getting personal. “Elvina said that your mother didn’t particularly like your husband.”

  Martha looked at her. “No, she didn’t at first. She thought he only married me in order to get the farm.”

  “Did you think that?”

  “Maybe, at first. But we’re still married so he must have felt something for me.”

  That was true. “Where is Warren this morning?”

  “He’s still in his bedroom.”

  His bedroom. A minor slip of the tongue? Or did they have separate bedrooms? That would be a little odd, but not if one of them snored or was a restless sleeper.

  “She also said that after you and Warren married she didn’t see much of you or your mother.”

  Martha didn’t answer that. Elizabeth kept talking.

  “She mentioned that Warren kicked her off your farm one day and she seems to think he was a bully who didn’t let you or your mother go anywhere.”

  Warren walked into the room. He must have dressed quickly because part of his shirt stuck out of his pants. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, his voice relieved. “I thought maybe the police were back again.” He sat beside Martha and took her hand.

  “Good morning,” Elizabeth said. “I was just telling Martha about my visit with Elvina Thomas.”

  “Elvina Thomas?” Warren pondered the name.

  “She and her husband used to be good friends with Mom and Dad,” Martha prompted.

  “Ah, that’s why I recognize the name.” He nodded.

  Elizabeth wanted to mention Brian Sinclair but couldn’t think of an appropriate opening. Instead she looked at the walls. “I notice you don’t have an aerial picture of your farm.”

  Martha and Warren looked bewildered.

  “You know. Those ones taken by the photographer from an airplane back in the late sixties.”

  “We didn’t want one,” Warren said, curtly.

  So it was true. “Why not? I heard most of the farmers bought those. Elvina has one.”

  “Well, we didn’t.” Warren’s voice rose and so did he. “I think you should leave now. We have some things to do today.” He went to the door and opened it. Elizabeth looked at Martha who remained seated.

  “Before I left, Elvina asked me to tell you that if you had any questions, you were to contact her.”

  “Questions about what?” Martha asked.

  “She didn’t say, but she did mention that she and your mother were such good friends that they told each other their darkest secrets.”

  Martha inhaled sharply and her hands flew to her mouth. She looked at Warren, her eyes wide. “What did she say Mom told her?” Her voice was muffled behind her hands.

  “She didn’t tell me. She just asked me to let you know you could contact her if you wanted.”

  In her vehicle Elizabeth looked at the clock on the dash. Sherry should have phoned by now. Oh, how she wanted to call her but she might be just having the biopsy or in the middle of talking with the doctor. If she was busy she wouldn’t answer her phone anyway. No, Sherry would call when she could.

  Elizabeth went back to see Elvina Thomas. To keep her mind off Sherry, as she drove she went over the conversation she’d just had. Martha had been open with her until Warren had entered the room. He’d sat beside her and held her hand. Had that been a warning to her not to speak to Elizabeth? Thinking back, every time she’d seen them Warren had stuck close to Martha. Was that his way of keeping his hold on her? Maybe he’d become subtler in his control over the years. He’d also become upset when she’d asked about the photograph. Why? And what had scared Martha so badly when she’d said that Elvina and her mother had traded confidences? What had happened in their lives so many years ago? Did it have anything to do with the skeleton?

  She found Elvina watching television.

  “I gave Martha your message,” Elizabeth told her.

  “And?”

  “I think it startled her that her mother might have told you something about her past.”

  Elvina’s smile was a little sad. “Harriet and I were very good friends and sometimes I still miss her.”

  Elizabeth went to the farm photograph on the wall. “May I ask how you knew that the Davidsons hadn’t bought one of these?”

  “The photographer had just seen them before coming to us. He was agitated saying that he’d been run off their farm by a man with a pitchfork.”

  “Warren?”

  “Who else?”

  “Do you remember the photographer’s name?”

  Elvina shook her head. “That was a long time ago, but I think there is a stamp on the back of the picture.”

  “Do you mind if I look?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Elizabeth took the picture off the wall and turned it over. In the corner was some faint lettering. She read it out loud. “Gunther Studios. Does that sound like it?”

  “It was probably something like that,” Elvina said vaguely.

  Elizabeth hung the picture back on the wall. “Do you have a telephone book?”

  Elvina pointed to a small cupboard in the corner with a telephone on it. “In there.”

  The phone book was a lot smaller than the Edmonton one she was used to. She put it down beside the telephone and looked through the G’s.

  “Well, what do you know! There still is a Gunther Studios.” She copied the Lethbridge address onto a piece of paper Elvina gave her.

  “Thank you, Elvina, you’ve been very patient with me dropping in like this,” she said, then paused at the door. “What are these secrets you are keeping?”

  “I haven’t told anyone in over fifty years, and the only one I’ll tell is Martha,” Elvina said firmly.

  Elizabeth’s cell phone rang. She
quickly said goodbye to Elvina and dug the phone out of its case as she left the room.

  “Hello?” She tried to keep her voice neutral. She was afraid of what she was going to hear.

  “Oh, Elizabeth, it was horrible. Poor Mom. It didn’t sound so bad when she told me about it. I feel so awful now that I wasn’t more sympathetic.”

  Elizabeth felt a pit open in her stomach. She quickly climbed into the Tracker and closed the door. “Tell me,” she said, fearing the worst. She rubbed Chevy’s head while Sherry took her through her arrival, the interview with a nurse, the mammogram, ultrasound and the biopsy.

  Sherry finished with. “I was told the results would be back by next Monday and that I should have some family members come with me to hear them.”

  Elizabeth’s heart sank. That was exactly what her mother had been told. “Oh, Sherry,” she said. She wanted to be more optimistic but the news was too devastating.

  “It doesn’t sound very good, does it? Will you be able to come with me?”

  Elizabeth didn’t even think about her research or her story or the skeleton. She only had one thought on her mind. “Yes. I’ll be there. What time is it?”

  “I have a ten o’clock appointment.”

  Elizabeth sat there numbly after Sherry hung up. It was a long time before she was able to open the Lethbridge map and trace the route to the photography studio. The desire to unravel the clues to the murder had left her but she didn’t want to go back to the B&B. There was nothing to do there.

  She forced herself to drive to the building. The large foyer was outfitted with three leather couches, arranged in a semi-circle. There were artificial plants hanging in front of the windows and in pots between the couches. On the walls were dozens of photographs of children, wedding couples, families and animals.

  The receptionist sat behind a wooden desk flanked by two closed doorways. Her nameplate said Stella.

  “May I help you?” Stella asked. Her formal voice matched the surroundings.

  “I’d like to see Mr. Gunther please.”

  “There is no Mr. Gunther,” she said. Her tone indicated she had said it many times before. “There is, however, a Ms. Gunther.”

  Must be his daughter. “Then I’d like to see her.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” She looked down at the book in front of her.

  “No. I’m not here to have any photographs taken. I’d like to talk to Ms. Gunther about her father.”

  “She is with a client right now and I’m not sure how long she will be. Do you wish to wait?”

  Elizabeth really didn’t know if this had anything to do with the skeleton. She could be wasting her time but since she was here already she said, “I’ll wait.”

  Stella indicated the couches. “Have a seat.”

  Elizabeth sat and sorted through the magazines on the coffee table in the centre of the semi-circle. They were all on photography. She flipped through one, but nothing caught her attention. She stood and walked around the room looking at the framed photographs on the walls.

  Eventually, a couple with a small baby came out of the door to the left of the desk. They made an appointment with Stella to come back in two weeks to pick up their pictures.

  When they were gone Stella rose and went to the door. She knocked and walked in closing it behind her. Soon she returned with another woman. She was tall and slender, about thirty-five years old.

  She walked up to Elizabeth holding out her hand. “I’m Bernadette Gunther. Stella said you want to talk about my father.”

  “Elizabeth Oliver,” she replied shaking hands. “Yes. I’m interested in the aerial photographs he used to take.”

  “What about them?”

  She had the right place. But how did she explain her mission? “I understand that there were some farmers who never bought a copy of the photographs.”

  “Yes. That was the downside of that part of the business.”

  “I’d like to talk to him about one of them.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Elizabeth admitted. “It might have something to do with a murder a long time ago?”

  “Are you a police officer?” she asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. This was not going very well. “I’m a writer and I’m working on a true crime story. I’d like to find out if he remembers taking a photograph of a farm belonging to Warren and Martha Davidson or maybe Harriet Barber near Fort Macleod.”

  “That name is familiar.” She paused a moment. “That’s the name of one of the owners of the land with the septic tank where a skeleton was found.”

  “Yes.”

  “What has that do to with Dad and his photographs? He had nothing to do with a murder.”

  Elizabeth was worried she had offended her. “I’ve heard that Warren Davidson refused to buy a picture of the farm and I was just wondering why?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I did and he said they just didn’t want one, but I’ve heard Mr. Davidson ran your father off his place. I want to hear his version of it. Is there some way I may reach him?”

  She seemed to hesitate but finally said. “He’s retired now. I’ll phone him and see if he is at home.” Bernadette went around the desk and picked up the phone. She dialled a number and after a few moments said. “Dad, there’s a writer here who wants to ask you some questions about an aerial photograph you took of a certain farm.”

  She listened. “It’s either Davidson or Barber by Fort Macleod. She says it’s the place that’s been in the news lately. The one where the bones were found in the septic tank.”

  Elizabeth waited as her father responded on his end.

  “Okay, but I’m coming too.” She covered the receiver and looked at Stella. “How many more appointments do I have?”

  “The Armstrongs are coming in ten minutes and then you have nothing until four this afternoon.”

  “We’ll be over in about an hour,” Bernadette told her father. She put down the receiver and turned to Elizabeth. “You can wait for me here if you like, or come back in forty-five minutes.”

  “Thank you so much. I’ll just take my dog for a quick run and grab something to eat then come back.”

  She bought two sandwiches and drove to Indian Battle Park. After they had eaten she put Chevy on the leash and they walked through the coulee. Elizabeth didn’t take in any of the scenery. Her mind was back in Edmonton with her sister. It looked like the family was in for many months of heartache again. This time, she hoped the outcome was better.

  When she got back to the studio, Bernadette was just saying goodbye to her clients.

  “I’ll be right with you,” she said. She went back into her studio and soon emerged with a sweater and purse. She looked at Stella. “I’ll be back before four.”

  She led the way outside. “I’m parked around the corner. Where are you?”

  Elizabeth pointed to her Tracker across the street with Chevy staring out the window.

  “Good. I’ll drive by so you can follow me.”

  Chapter 21

  They stopped in front of a small, white house with black trim and shutters. The front yard was open but they walked through a gate into the back yard, which was surrounded by a high wooden fence. A man was watering plants in a small flower garden in one corner. In the other corner was a vegetable garden and the rest was lush green grass. He shut off the hose when he saw them.

  Bernadette went up to him and kissed his cheek. He was a short, slender man in his late seventies. His brown hair was only gray at the temples. They walked arm in arm to a cement patio by the back door. Elizabeth joined them.

  “Dad, this is Elizabeth Oliver. Elizabeth, Howard Gunther.”

  He gestured towards some white plastic chairs at a round table shaded by an open umbrella. “Please sit down and tell me what this is all about. I’ve been going over it in my mind since Bernadette called and I don’t remember a murder taking place whil
e I was doing the aerial photographs.”

  “No one knows if it took place then,” Elizabeth said. “I’m just trying to learn more about the people who owned the farm during the time you were taking the photographs. It could have been under the name Davidson or Barber. Do you recognize either of those names?”

  He shook his head. “I took a lot of pictures of farms back then.”

  “What about being run off a place by a man with a pitchfork?”

  Howard suddenly grinned. “Oh, yes, I do remember that. It’s the only time it ever happened to me. Quite the murderous type. Or is he the one who was murdered?”

  “No, he’s still alive. In fact, he lives here in Lethbridge. Do you know why he ran you off?”

  “He didn’t like something about the photograph.”

  “What was that?”

  Howard rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t remember. But I do have all my files in the basement. They’re in alphabetical order so it shouldn’t take too long to find either Barber or Davidson. There might be something in the file.”

  Howard led the way. The stairs to the basement were just inside the back door. He flipped on the light and they descended. The basement was unfinished but looked like it was used as an office. There was an old wooden teacher’s desk with a computer on it, and lining the cement walls were rows of filing cabinets and boxes. Bernadette propped herself on the edge of the desk and Elizabeth sat on the second bottom step. Howard immediately went to the cabinets and checked the front labels until he found the one he wanted. He pulled the drawer open.

  “How long were you a photographer?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I was in the business by myself for thirty-four years and then Bernadette joined me.” He looked through the files.

  “We were partners for fifteen years before I bought the business from him.”

  “But she has done much better than I did.” He looked at his daughter fondly. “You must have seen her office and studio.”