“It’s possible she was never told her mother’s history.”
“Is Harriet leaving a child back east the secret you would only tell Martha?”
Elvina smiled. “Yes.”
“So maybe she doesn’t know.”
“What are you going to do now that you know?”
“I guess I’d like to meet her,” Brian said, slowly. “After all, she is my aunt. She might be able to tell me about my father.”
“You could phone her from here. Do you have her number with you?”
Brian nodded.
“The phone is over there.”
Brian dialled the number. When Martha answered he said who he was again and quickly added that he was looking for his father, Allen, that his grandmother was Harriet Douglas, and that she’d had Allen when she was young before moving west. “I think you are my aunt,” he concluded.
“Leave us alone,” Martha said and hung up.
Brian slowly dropped the receiver into its holder. Either she didn’t believe he was who he claimed or she didn’t know anything about him. He couldn’t just leave it. He would give it one more try.
“May I use your phone book?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s in that cupboard.”
Brian found the Davidson’s name and copied down their address. He would go to their house and see them personally.
* * * *
In Medicine Hat, Elizabeth drove to the Saamis Tepee. She’d researched that the twenty-storey high tepee was originally constructed for the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary. After the Olympics, it was bought and moved to Medicine Hat where it overlooked the Seven Persons Creek Coulee.
Elizabeth walked inside the tepee. It was a steel pole frame on a concrete foundation with no covering. Round story boards with paintings depicting tales about the history of the first people, the European settlers, and the Metis hung from between the poles. Elizabeth took pictures of them then picked up a guide for the walking tour of the archaeological sites in the coulee. She knew that according to archaeologists, the area could have been occupied as far back as 1525 and as recently as 1740.
Medicine Hat was actually named after the hat that was lost by the Cree’s medicine man during a battle with the Blackfoot. This was considered a bad sign and when the Cree were all killed the site was given the name ‘Saamis’, which means Medicine Man’s hat.
She and Chevy had a nice stroll before leaving the site and following the signs to the Clay Products Interpretive Centre in the Hycroft China building. The route was quite convoluted but she made it. When she entered the building, she stopped to watch crafters working on pottery through large windows. Tours were started as soon as a group was assembled or within fifteen minutes of a person arriving. While she waited, she looked at the variety of pottery available in the gift shop. Four other people walked in and the tour was begun. The five of them were taken past the long line of shelves of pottery known as the Great Wall of China.
The tour guide was good, telling them that in the early 1900s there were three potteries operating in Medicine Hat. The clay was obtained from the banks of the South Saskatchewan River and because of the gas fields discovered beneath the city in the early 1880s, there was an abundance of gas to fire the kilns.
“Medalta Potteries,” the guide said. “Was established in 1912 and produced a variety of earthenware, from lamp bases and decorative art ware, to wine jugs for the liquor control boards of the three prairie provinces. It was one of the major industries in Canada, supplying the Canadian National Railway, the Canadian Pacific Railway and many large hotels with all their dinnerware. During World War II it supplied the Canadian troops with dishes.
“The Potteries was the first western company to ship manufactured goods to eastern Canada and the first to employ a woman foreman. Because of mismanagement, though, the business slowly declined and ceased operation in 1954. Today, Medalta pottery is sought by collectors around the world.”
After her tour Elizabeth headed west on the Crowsnest Highway to the hamlet of Seven Persons where she turned left on SH 887 to see the Red Rock Natural Area. The road was paved and when it curved left she continued ahead on the gravel road and parked beside a little blue car. She let Chevy out then read the signs, learning that the concretions she was about to see were huge red or reddish brown rocks shaped like gigantic balls with flat tops. The reddish colour was from hydrous iron oxide or rust. They were formed over 74 million years ago in a shallow sea, which covered the area.
Elizabeth and Chevy went through the gate and looked out over the field below. Chevy ran past a picnic table and down the hill.
“Wait for me,” she called as she followed him. He scouted the area while she walked over to a large, intact concretion and took some pictures and then took some more of one that had split.
She saw a family of four taking pictures. First the mother held the camera while the father and two children posed beside one of the concretions and then they changed places.
“Do you want me to take one of the four of you?” she asked.
“Thanks,” the father said, handing her the camera. Out of habit she snapped three from different angles to make sure at least one turned out right.
“Is this your first time here?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“Then be careful where you walk and don’t put your hands into any holes. This is rattlesnake country.”
Being a tomboy all her life, snakes didn’t bother her, but she immediately made a note in her recorder for her readers.
* * * *
Warren Davidson pulled into his driveway. After the phone call from the man claiming to be Brian Sinclair, they’d driven to the mall to buy a new suitcase and to pick up their tickets and flight schedules for their trip to Australia. He and Martha climbed out of the car. While Martha went to unlock the front door, Warren opened the back passenger’s door and took out some plastic bags and the suitcase. When he straightened up he noticed two people sitting in a car parked across the street. Damnation, more police or reporters. Why didn’t they leave them alone? At least for another three days. That was when they were flying to Australia for a month-long holiday.
They had just taken off their coats and Martha was sorting through the bags when the doorbell rang. They looked at each other.
“I saw two people in a car across the street,” Warren said. “It might be the police.”
“Probably reporters,” Martha commented.
“If it is, I’ll send them away.” Warren opened the door and saw a balding, overweight man. He didn’t look like a police officer. “We’re not answering any questions from reporters,” he said, and closed the door.
The bell rang again.
Warren swung the door open angrily. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I’m Brian Sinclair.”
Warren felt his jaw drop. He couldn’t close his mouth. “I don’t know any Brian Sinclair,” he finally said.
“My father’s name is Allen Sinclair and my grandmother’s maiden name was Harriet Douglas. Her married name was Harriet Barber. Harriet Barber was Martha’s mother.”
“Who is it?” Martha came up beside Warren.
“Hello, Aunt Martha. I’m Brian Sinclair,” Brian said, quickly.
Martha’s legs gave out and Warren had to grab her to keep her from falling. He led her over to the couch. He turned to see that the man had stepped into the house.
“Why have you come?” Warren asked.
“I’m looking for my father.”
“I don’t know your father and neither does Martha.”
“You must. Please! All I want you to tell me is whether or not he came here and contacted his mother, Harriet Barber.”
Warren looked down at Martha. She was pale as she stared at Brian. He didn’t know what he was going to say, perhaps that Brian’s father had come years ago when they still lived on the farm but had left shortly after. Though it might be best to deny that he’d ever come.
“You mu
st be mistaken,” Martha said, in a quiet voice.
“I talked with Elvina Thomas. She said her best friend Harriet Barber had told her a secret. She admitted to me today that the secret was that Harriet had had a baby before moving here with her family. His name is Allen Sinclair and he is my father. He came here looking for his mother when his wife died and he left me with his half-sister.”
Martha just shook her head.
“I only want to know if he ever found his mother, your mother. And if so, where did he go afterwards?”
“You’d better leave,” Warren said, taking his cue from Martha. “We know nothing about your father.”
Brian looked at both of them desperately. “I’m your nephew. I’ve come from Victoria to find my family.”
“Well, you have to keep looking then, don’t you?”
* * * *
Back on the Crowsnest Highway Elizabeth arrived in Bow Island. She stopped in at the visitor information center, which was beside Pinto McBean. Bow Island billed itself as the “Bean Capital of the West” and McBean was a tall replica of a pinto bean wearing a huge cowboy hat and a holster with a gun. The centre was closed.
She spoke into her laptop. “Just down from the centre is what the town claims is the world’s largest putter. It is advertising the Bow Island Golf Club.”
Elizabeth took her pictures then drove to a gas station and convenience store to gas up and find out the location of a campground to spend the night. She looked for something to eat and finally settled on some cooked chicken legs and sliced potatoes. Beside the cash register was a newspaper with the headline: MAN ARRESTED IN FORT MACLEOD MURDER.
She wanted to read the article but there were a number of customers waiting behind her. She paid for her gas, supper and the paper and left the store. In her vehicle there was just enough evening light left for her to read the news. Raymond Clarke had been arrested for the murder of Harry Wilson. The police weren’t releasing all that they had for evidence but did say that a novel with Raymond Clarke’s name in it had been found near the body, that Mr. Clarke had threatened Mr. Wilson twice, and that he had no alibi for the night of the murder. They were still looking for the murder weapon, which they said was a blunt instrument. Then the article went on to rerun the whole story from the finding of the bones to the arrest.
Elizabeth thought over what she had just read. While Raymond had been one of the people she had suspected, it was a shock to have it confirmed. But the facts were inescapable: he hadn’t come back to the B&B the night Harry died, and he had said he wanted to kill Harry nine years ago and again last Saturday night. He’d even dropped a book at the scene. She went back over about her conversations with him. He had loved his wife. Could his anger and jealousy lasted this long? She shook her head. You just never know.
Another article gave the history of ownership of the acreage, beginning with Mr. and Mrs. Fred Barber, Mrs. Davidson’s parents, mentioning the changing of hands to the Davidsons and then the sale of the acreage to Mr. and Mrs. Harry Wilson.
Something occurred to Elizabeth as she drove to the campsite. According to Elvina, Harriet Barber had been afraid of Warren Davidson and Elvina had further said that she thought Warren had married Martha to get the farm. If Warren had bullied Harriet and Martha, it seemed plausible that he would have insisted on being the sole owner so he could dispose of the farm as he wanted. However, Harriet had signed the farm over to Martha as well as Warren. Something didn’t quite fit. Maybe Elizabeth’s first impressions of him had been correct. Maybe the affection he exhibited for Martha was real.
For a while during the day Elizabeth had been too wrapped up in her work to think about Sherry, but as she pulled the curtains in the Tracker and got ready for bed all the fear resurfaced. Was the tumor benign or cancerous? How would the family take the news if it was cancerous? They still weren’t over her mother’s death. Once again, it was late before she finally got to sleep.
* * * *
Dick Pearson was becoming a regular at the liquor store. Since Harry had come back, he’d drunk a bottle a day, sometimes more. It was a good thing he didn’t have a business any more. He would have lost customers by now. Even Harry’s death, which meant that Peggy might still be his, hadn’t stopped him from drinking. He’d been drunk when the police questioned him. When he heard tonight that Raymond had been arrested for Harry’s murder, he’d opened another bottle.
There were three bottles sitting on his table. One was empty, one half full, and the other unopened but waiting. Dick poured another glass, sloshing some of the liquid over the rim. He gulped it down then searched his pockets for his truck keys. He knew he was too drunk to drive, actually too drunk to do anything, but he had to talk to Peggy. He had to be there for her now that Harry really was dead. He should have gone long before this but his drinking and his conscience had stopped him.
Dick felt the tears fall again. Everything was ruined. It had been from the moment he’d discovered the bones. And he’d known it then but he had kept hoping he was wrong. It had been Harry showing up at his place that had finally made him realize he wasn’t.
He wiped the tears. One more drink and then he would go see Peggy. Maybe he could convince her that everything was okay. More than anything he wanted them to get their plans for a cruise back on track; he wanted them to be married. He had her ring tucked away in his drawer, the ring he was going to give her when she agreed to marry him.
Dick stood and stumbled sideways. He grabbed the wall for support and leaned against it as he searched his pockets again. His keys had to be here somewhere. He saw them on the counter. Letting go of the wall he staggered over to them, picked them up and made his way outside. It was late and already growing dark. That was good. Less traffic to worry about.
He drove slowly through town, trying to keep to his side of the road. Although he made his turns wide and overcompensated when straightening out, he congratulated himself on being able to drive so well considering all the rye he’d consumed.
On the highway, he sped up but not too much. Even in his drunken state he realized his reflexes were slow. He didn’t want to have an accident and hurt someone. He breathed a sigh of relief when he turned off the highway onto the gravel road. It would be easier now.
He tried to park properly but for some reason his truck wouldn’t obey. He left it angled near the step, close to the house since his legs weren’t working right.
Dick was off balance from the first step and remained so all the way up. He lurched to the door and slumped against the wall. He tried knocking but his arm wasn’t strong enough so he pushed at the bell instead, getting it on the third try. He was glad to see that it was Peggy who answered, and that she was happy to see him. But when he spoke, her face changed.
“Dick, you’ve been drinking!”
“Yes, I have,” he slurred. “And I did it for you.” Oh, he hadn’t planned on saying that.
“Did what for me. Get drunk?”
She was funny. He wanted to laugh. Maybe he should tell her. She would understand, would know that he’d done it because he loved her. And it would feel so good to tell someone.
“No, don’t be silly.” He swayed a little. “I killed Harry for you.”
* * * *
Elizabeth rose early. The narrow bed was not the easiest place to sleep, especially with Chevy wanting to share it. She dressed in the cramped space and climbed through to the driver’s seat. Once she’d left Pinto McBean and Bow Island, she passed Grassy Lake and arrived at the junction with Secondary Highway 36 North in Taber. She’d learned a lot during her research. Because of the extended hours of sunshine received in the district each year, the area’s motto was the “Land of the Long Sun.” The brilliance and warmth from the sun along with the extensive irrigation systems allowed farmers to produce a number of different crops from beans to beets and potatoes to peas.
But Taber was best known for its corn, which was sold throughout Western Canada and parts of the United States. The town was call
ed the “Corn Capital of Canada.” In the middle of August, it held a celebration called, not surprisingly, the Cornfest. Elizabeth took pictures of the giant corn stalk in the museum yard before leaving.
At Coaldale she continued on the highway to a set of lights and SH 845. She turned right and soon went left. One block brought her to the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre. The large centre was dedicated to captive breeding and the rehabilitation and release of injured raptors such as eagles, hawks, owls, and falcons. Inside Elizabeth looked at the owl displays, bird books for sale and pictures on the wall.
Outside she followed a path around the site, watching where she walked because Canada geese also make it their home. She took close ups of some of the birds, and put on a leather gauntlet so that a falcon could perch on her arm. She was awestruck to be so close to the magnificent wild bird.
Although she didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of one, she was told that the centre was the site of one of the largest breeding populations of the endangered burrowing owl, the only owl in the world that lives underground. She gathered up a handful of brochures as usual, and left.
Elizabeth climbed into her Tracker and breathed a sigh of relief. She had taken her last photograph, recorded her last bit of information, seen her last attraction. She was done! Now all she had to do when she got home was download her pictures, transcribe the parts of the tapes that she wanted for the article, and then do her editing. It was the editing that scared her. She had way too much really good information for the two thousand words she’d been allocated.
Before driving away from the centre she put her laptop and camera into their cases in the back. She wouldn’t need them anymore.
As she drove to Lethbridge, Elizabeth turned on the radio. It was time to relax and listen to some music. Her mind wouldn’t let her relax, though. It flitted from Raymond murdering Harry, to Septic Stan, to whether Brian had phoned Elvina and then on to Sherry.
The Travelling Detective: Boxed Set Page 26
