The Travelling Detective: Boxed Set

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  Elizabeth stayed seated. This had nothing to do with her.

  “Looks like school report cards and pictures,” Susie said, taking some out. “These are yours and Willy’s school photographs.” She looked at them with a smile. “You boys sure don’t look alike.”

  Jared pulled out a few report cards. “These are Willy’s.” He read some. “Wow, look, he was an honour student.” He shuffled through a few more of Willy’s report cards and a frown came over his face. “This is like night and day, one year an honour student, the next he’s failing. He even had to repeat a grade. And then his marks pick up again for his final two years of high school.” He looked from Susie to Elizabeth, his face stricken. “The bad years were the ones when Mom and I lived here.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Susie said, while, as much as she wanted to, Elizabeth could think of no appropriate response.

  They dug all the way down to the bottom of the box without finding anything about Anna in it. “I guess Dad was telling the truth when he said he was throwing all Mom’s stuff out,” Jared said, sounding disheartened.

  They packaged everything back up and then Elizabeth and Jared said goodbye to Susie. “Do come again if you have some more questions,” she said. “And don’t be afraid of your dad. I’ll help you get through to him.”

  “We didn’t get much accomplished,” Jared said, as they drove away.

  “Well, you know more about Susie than you did before.”

  “Yes, and it’s about time. I feel kind of stupid now that I didn’t have the guts to ask her before. I guess it goes back to being discouraged from asking questions when I was a child.”

  “And I think she’s on your side,” Elizabeth added.

  “Well, she’s always been the one to invite me to come out for holidays. She remembers my birthday, and she phones me occasionally. Actually she’s the closest thing I have to a mother.”

  “I think we should call it a night,” Elizabeth said. “It’s been a long day and tomorrow will even be longer.”

  Chapter 13

  Elizabeth went to Jared’s room to help him into bed. Once he was comfortable, she said. “I’ve decided to take tomorrow off from my research so we can visit one or two other people on the list.” She sat in the chair.

  “Sounds good to me, as long as you feel you can do that.”

  “Well, when you look at it I should only be on the road two more days. The rest of the week I had set aside to work on my article.”

  “And will you still be able to do it? I don’t want to be the cause of you not making your deadline.”

  Elizabeth was touched that Jared was so worried. “Yes. If my writing takes up a couple of my camping days, it won’t be too bad.”

  “So you think we can resolve this that fast?” Jared sounded hopeful.

  She hated to dash his hopes but she thought she should be realistic. “I think if we haven’t learned anything concrete in a week then you should consider letting it go.”

  “Only a week?” He sounded disappointed.

  Elizabeth knew she would go over that if they were learning something but she didn’t say it. A week was all she was going to give it if they weren’t.

  “I’m thinking we’ll start with Sarah Munter and Nick Thompson tomorrow then Meredith Warren, and if we have enough time Wayne Dearden.”

  “Okay, that works for me.”

  “You said that Meredith’s poetry was about her and Ben’s life,” Elizabeth said to get onto another topic. “Could I look at one of her books just to get an idea before I meet her?”

  “Go ahead. They’re on my suitcase. And could you hand me my new one. I want to see what happened next. It’s almost like she’s writing a combination memoir/mystery novel through her poetry.”

  She handed him the book then helped him add the other pillow behind his head to prop him up.

  Elizabeth wasn’t much on poetry. She’d always had a hard time grasping the obscure meaning in most of what she’d had to read in her literature classes at school so she hoped she could understand these. She randomly opened the first book and stared at the page. This wasn’t the usual type of poetry she’d taken in high school. She looked up and saw Jared grinning at her.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Meredith calls it script poetry,” Jared answered. “At the book reading and signing I went to she told us that she’d taken a script writing course many years ago but didn’t do much with it. When she got into poetry she found that she could set up the scene and the tone for the poem, and give some background for the narrative by using a script layout. She said it makes the whole poem more visual and that way she could get right to the meat of what she wanted to say.”

  Elizabeth read with interest.

  Fade In

  Act One

  Interior-Farm House-Night.

  The lights are on in the living room. There is a couch against one wall, two overstuffed chairs with a table between them along another, and a long row of windows make up the third. A woman is sitting in one of the chairs watching the television set which is recessed in a cabinet between two doorways along the fourth wall. She is knitting a sweater. Periodically she glances at the clock above the television.

  You are a good son.

  You go into town to help your

  father run his hotel and bar.

  I sometimes go and watch you

  laughing with the women,

  discussing farming with the men.

  Everyone enjoys their evening

  with you around.

  Sometimes you stay late to

  help clean up and spend time

  with your father.

  Or so you tell me.

  End Act One

  Fade Out

  Fade In

  Act Two

  Interior-Farm House-Night

  The woman hears a vehicle drive into the yard. She smiles and sets down her knitting. She goes through the kitchen to the back door and opens it, waiting for her husband to enter. He comes into the light and looks surprised to see her.

  “What are you doing up?” you demand.

  I am startled, stunned.

  The smile on my lips and the

  happy greeting for you both die.

  What have I done wrong?

  You walk past me into the house and

  to the cupboard with the bottles of liquor.

  You pour yourself a rum and coke.

  “You have been drinking a lot lately,”

  I say to you as you down it.

  “Quit nagging,” you answer, as

  you stare at the empty glass in your hand.

  End Act Two

  Fade Out

  Fade In

  Act Three

  Interior-Farmhouse-Night

  The man is sitting at the kitchen table with the bottle of rum in front of him. He finishes the drink in his hand and pours himself another. The woman hovers nervously. The clock in the living room chimes three times.

  “Is something bothering you?” I ask,

  wondering what has happened tonight.

  You look at me, anger in your eyes.

  “Who does Christine think she is?” you burst out.

  “Not considering anyone’s feelings.”

  “That is between Wayne and her,” I say.

  “Does love not count?” you ask.

  “She does not love Wayne anymore.”

  “She is not leaving just Wayne,

  she is leaving everyone who ever loved her.”

  “She has a right to her own life,” I say.

  “But he loves her,” you cry.

  End Act Three

  Fade Out

  Elizabeth was amazed. “I like this type of poetry,” she told Jared. “The words mean what they are supposed to. There is no ambiguity in the sentences.”

  “She has won many awards with these books,” Jared said. “Read what the critics wrote on the back of that book’s jacket cover.”

  Elizabeth t
urned it over. “Meredith Warren’s poems have an innovative, revolutionary style that is shaking the foundations of the conventionally staid poetry community.” She looked at the next comment. “These poems from newcomer Meredith Warren are insightful and powerful. Her Script Poetry will remain popular for a very long time.”

  “Those are great quotes,” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes,” Jared agreed. “I wonder how long it will be before others copy her style.”

  “Imitation is the best form of flattery, or something like that,” Elizabeth laughed. She read another poem.

  Fade In

  Act One

  Interior-Community Hall-Evening

  A wedding has taken place. The reception is over and the dance is winding down. A band onstage is playing a waltz. Two couples are dancing but most are sitting at the tables around the dance floor. One couple is standing near the bar.

  You are drunk when you say to me

  “I saw you and Wayne talking.

  You two seemed pretty cozy.”

  “We were just talking about their problem.”

  You lean towards me, alcohol heavy on your breath.

  “Well, do not get too close. A man in that situation

  might turn to another woman for comfort.”

  I feel giddy. After all these years you are jealous

  Oh, how I love you then,

  my heart overflowing with happiness.

  In my innocence, my trusting

  I believe my man, my husband, loves me still.

  Fade Out

  End Act One

  Act Two

  Fade In

  Interior-Community Hall-Evening

  The band has quit playing. On the stage they are putting away their instruments. A woman is cleaning up the dirty paper plates off the tables. A man begins to take down the decorations. The couple is now sitting at one of the tables.

  “Where is Wayne and Christine?” you ask.

  “They left a while ago,” I answer.

  “She did not want to dance with me tonight.”

  Your voice sounds so very depressed.

  I did not understand why.

  “I do not blame her,” I say.

  “No one wants to dance with a drunk.”

  “I was not drunk.” Your head slumps onto the table.

  You are now, I think.

  “What has gotten into him?” someone asks.

  “I guess he is celebrating that his haying is done.”

  That is the only reason I can think of.

  Fade Out

  End Act Two

  Fade In

  Act Three

  Exterior-Farm Yard-Night

  A truck pulls into the farm yard. It is a warm autumn evening. The woman driver climbs out then goes around to help her husband out of the passenger’s side. He almost falls when he gets out. She supports him as they walk to the house.

  You are drunk, far drunker than

  I have ever seen you.

  I wonder if it is because you are happy

  that our farm is doing so well, that

  our lives are so good.

  Or is it because you are sad

  for our friends whose marriage is dying?

  “Why does she have to end it?”

  you ask. “Why does she want to leave?”

  I do not know if you want an answer.

  I help you into the house and to bed.

  You turn your back to me. You are crying.

  Fade Out

  End Act Three

  “What do you think of them?” Jared asked.

  “They’re kind of melancholy, “Elizabeth answered. “It sounds like she loved him and really thought he loved her.”

  “That’s why I wanted to buy this one. Although I know the outcome, I want to know how she found out about Ben and Christine.”

  “You’re right. It’s like she’s writing a memoir in poetry, and yet giving us clues to something else.”

  “She writing in script poetry,” Jared corrected.

  “Right. Script poetry.”

  Elizabeth looked at the poem in front of her. “I’m surprised she used the people’s real names.”

  “I’ve done some reading on how to write a memoir and it says that the memoir is your life as you saw it. You have a right to include everyone’s name. If they don’t like it they can write their own version.”

  “Are you thinking of writing one?”

  “Yes.” Jared smiled sheepishly. “I thought I’d write about my life in a wheelchair. It would be for those who are already there and it will give those who aren’t a look at what it’s really like.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I think that’s a great idea. There are so many people who still think that someone is different just because they are in a wheelchair.”

  “Right. I want them to know that I am still the same person I was before my accident; I just can’t do all the things I did before. And I want them to understand that my chair is an extension of me, that when they touch it they are touching me. And like other people, I don’t like to be touched by strangers. I have a friend who has cerebral palsy and she never grew very big. She is in her twenties but still looks like a child. She says that people come up to her and hug and kiss her as if she was a child and she hates it.”

  “Isn’t a memoir the same as an autobiography?”

  “Not really. A memoir isn’t about the person’s whole life chronologically like an autobiography. It’s about a specific time, or experience, or relationship.”

  “Like Meredith’s life with her husband or your life in a wheelchair.”

  “Right. The protagonist in a memoir must lead the reader on a journey. But, like fiction the writer must make the story interesting by setting up the obstacles he had to overcome in his life. He must build tension and suspense, must make the reader want to read on.”

  “Well, Meredith is certainly making me want to read on. Have you started your memoir?”

  “I’m just organizing all the information and how I want to present it.

  “Well, I don’t have any experience with memoirs but if there’s anything I can do to help you with it, let me know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Elizabeth went back to her reading but her mind was on something else. Since Jared wanted to be a writer and so did Sally, maybe the three of them could form a little writers’ group.

  Chapter 14

  Anna’s Story

  It was another hot day. Even with both doors and all the windows open, Anna found the heat in the house oppressive as she stood over the stove stirring cheese into cooked macaroni. The heat had always bothered her and now being pregnant it sapped her energy. She waved at the flies as she served Paul his lunch of macaroni, brown beans, and carrot salad then went and sat in a chair. She was too hot to eat. She fanned herself with a paper.

  “What’s the matter with this food?” Paul asked.

  “What?”

  “Did you put poison in it? Is that why you are not eating it?” Paul laughed at his own joke, as he shovelled a forkful of macaroni in his mouth.

  Anna leaned her head against the back of the arm chair. Sometimes she wished she had the guts to poison him.

  “I’d like roast chicken for supper tonight.”

  Anna lifted her head and looked at him. “I don’t feel very good,” she said. “I’ve already cooked potatoes for a salad and was going to serve left over beef from last night.”

  Paul thought about that for a minute. “No, I still want chicken,” he said. “It’s time we tried the new ones.”

  Why, in this sweltering heat, did he want hot food? Roasting a chicken in the oven would just add to the discomfort in the house. Of course, after supper he would go out in the field until dark when it will have cooled off somewhat. Only she and the boys would be putting up with the heat.

  She fought back the tears. It was times like this when she succumbed to her loneliness. She had only one friend in the area, Meredith. She was olde
r and didn’t have children but at least she took the time to stop in occasionally and visit. Anna sometimes made a quick trip to see Meredith on her way shopping. She would only be there a few minutes but it felt good to have that little bit of freedom. During the winter, when there was less outside work to do, they talked on the phone. But again they had to be short conversations while Paul was out doing chores.

  Other than that she had no one who cared if she lived or died. Her parents were in Edmonton and long distance calls to them were out of the question. Not that it mattered. When she’d found out she was pregnant again she did make a phone call to her parents. The response was not what she’d hoped for. She’d actually been optimistic that giving her parents a second grandchild would change their attitude. But her father hadn’t sounded very enthusiastic about the idea. And that made it harder for her to ask if she could move in with them.

  “If I could just stay until I can get a job or some training,” she pleaded. “I could take some courses before the baby is born and the rest after.”

  “And then what?” her father asked.

  “Then I could get a place of my own.”

  “How are you going to look after two children?” His voice was so scornful.

  “I’ll find a babysitter.” She tried to sound confident. “I could do it if you would just let me stay there for a while.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She began to cry even before she hung up, only remembering afterwards that her father had never asked when the baby was due or how Jared was.

  Sometimes it was just hard to keep going. The only one who showed any appreciation of her was Jared and that was because she was his mother and the only one who seemed to care about him.

  When Paul had finished eating, he washed and put on a clean shirt. “I’m going to the auction market,” he said, coming into the kitchen.

  “Can you buy some cereal while you’re in town?” Anna asked. “I didn’t have enough money last week to buy it.”