The Travelling Detective: Boxed Set

by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  Cynthia smiled. "I’ll only tell you more if you take the case."

  "But, I’m not a private investigator." Elizabeth tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "I haven’t had any training and I don’t have a licence. I can’t take your money and I can’t legally “take any cases", as you put it."

  "I’ll give you cash and that way no one will know."

  Elizabeth shook her head and stood. As much as she hated to turn down this mystery she said. "If I took money I would have to make it a priority and my writing comes first right now."

  Cynthia sat back in her chair. "Okay," she said. She seemed to be contemplating what to say next. "If I tell you the story, will you think it over?"

  Elizabeth knew she would because she was already curious as to why the woman wanted the information. She sat back down.

  “Just over two years ago there was a knock on my door. When I opened it a young woman was standing on the step. She was nervous and apologized for bothering me but said she needed to ask me some questions. What kind of questions, I asked. She hesitated then turned and looked at the house across the road. ‘About that house,’ she answered. I asked her what about the house and she said she needed to know everything about who owned it and who looked after renting it out.”

  Cynthia reached for her glass and drank half of it. Elizabeth wondered if she was actually thirsty or thinking of how much more to tell her.

  “I told her that I didn’t know who the owners were but as far as I knew they lived in Vancouver,” Cynthia continued. “And I didn’t know who looked after the renting of it.”

  “What did she do when you told her that?” Elizabeth asked. She looked under her chair. Chevy was still fast asleep.

  “She started to cry.”

  “Cry?” Elizabeth hadn’t expected that answer.

  “Yes,” Cynthia nodded. “I didn’t know what to do so I invited her in. She said her name was Penny but it took me a while to get the story out of her. Apparently she’d lived in that house for a week the year before. She’d been pregnant and had come here to have her baby and give it up for adoption.”

  “What?” Elizabeth had a hard time following Cynthia.

  “Let me try to clarify it for you. From what she told me, Penny was seventeen when she got pregnant. She’d gone to a clinic in Vancouver and one of the nurses there had told her that she could make some money by putting the child up for adoption. Since her parents didn’t want her to have the child and had told her they wouldn’t help her raise it, she agreed. When she was close to her due date she came to Whistler with the nurse and stayed in the house across the street. She went into the hospital to have the baby and a woman showed up right after the birth to pick up the child.”

  “So why did she come back here?”

  “She told me she had inherited some money and she wanted to find the son she had given up. She’d been to the clinic to see the nurse who had been her first contact but the woman no longer worked there. So, she came here to see if she could find out anything from us neighbours.”

  “And you think her story was true?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Well, she was driving a new car and her clothes were pretty fancy.”

  “So what happened to her? Did she find her son?”

  “That I don’t know. She came back to see me the next day and we talked a bit about her life. We made a date to meet the next morning for breakfast but she never showed up.”

  “And that’s why you think the body may be hers?” This was getting very vague, verging on the make believe.

  “Yes,” Cynthia nodded.

  Elizabeth didn’t want to come right out and say that she thought Cynthia’s reasoning was a bit off. “Just because she forgot about a breakfast date doesn’t mean that she was murdered.”

  “I don’t think she forgot. She was the one who asked me to meet her.”

  “Okay, so where was she staying?” Elizabeth asked. “What happened to her car? If she hadn’t checked out of wherever she was staying and her car had been left in the parking lot then someone would have gotten suspicious.”

  "I don’t know. There was nothing on the news or in the paper about someone not returning to their room and no car was ever found abandoned, at least not that I heard about."

  "So who do you think killed Penny?" Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she should encourage Cynthia’s thinking.

  "I don’t know but someone did."

  "The only problem with that is that we don’t know if the dead girl is Penny."

  "I have a feeling it is," Cynthia said sombrely.

  "Did you tell the police?"

  "I did but because I don’t have anything solid to give them as evidence, I don’t think they believed me."

  "Do you know if there were other girls who came to stay in that house?"

  "There could have been. Like some of the houses around here that place was rented out to many different people especially during the skiing season."

  "So, no one lived there on a permanent basis for any length of time?"

  Cynthia shook her head.

  "Why wouldn’t you tell me this in front of Alison?"

  "I don’t trust her."

  "You don’t? Why?"

  "Because she and her husband look an awful lot like a couple who lived on Fitzsimmons Road North for a few years."

  "I don’t understand," Elizabeth said.

  "A few years ago a couple who look like Alison and Rick lived in a house on Fitzsimmons Road North. About two years ago they sold their house and then three months ago they rented the place next door."

  "And you figure they moved away and then came back?"

  "Yes."

  "What if they just lived somewhere else in Whistler?"

  "They could have, except Alison told me they had moved from Kamloops."

  "How do they act?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, are they hiding the fact that they lived here before or has it just never come up?"

  "It’s never really come up. I haven’t had the guts to say anything and they haven’t volunteered any information about themselves except that they didn’t really care for Kamloops and they have three children."

  "And you think their moving back here has something to do with the young woman?"

  "It seems funny to me that they leave and then return a couple of years later."

  "Maybe after they left they realized how much they like it here and decided to come back," Elizabeth pointed out. "Other people have moved back to places they have left.”

  "Or," Cynthia said. "maybe they killed Penny and left. Then they heard the house was being demolished and they came back to see what happens."

  "You’d think they would get as far away from here as possible."

  "Well, like they say on the crime shows, the killer sometimes likes to come back to the scene of the crime."

  "Were they known as Alison and Rick when they lived here before?"

  "I’ve been trying to remember if their names are the same but I can’t.”

  “Did you ever meet them?”

  “No. I just saw them around the neighbourhood and town."

  “Then you don’t know if they changed their.”

  “No, but if they are murderers, they probably did.”

  "Did you see them at the house across the road?"

  Cynthia shook her head. "I don’t remember that either. But if I did it probably wouldn’t have stood out in my mind."

  "Do they know that you recognize them?"

  "I don’t think so. When they first introduced themselves to me I thought they looked familiar. But it was a few days before I realized who they were. Then when Penny’s body was found I pieced it together. Alison used to have mousy brown hair and dressed in regular clothes and Rick was about twenty pounds heavier. Now her hair is streaked reddish/blonde and she goes to the spa every week and you can tell their clothes are high end. She has a Mercedes and he drives a new BMW convertible. They dine out just about every
night."

  "Do you have anything else to go on, something they may have said that would point to them being involved in her death?" She would need more than Cynthia’s piecing it together.

  Cynthia shook her head. "That’s it, but I know I’m right that they lived here before." She scrutinized Elizabeth. "So are you going to take the case?"

  Elizabeth gave up trying to tell her she wasn’t a real private detective. It seemed that she had that fixed in her mind. "I’ll see what I can do," she said. "But don’t expect me to do anything faster than the police."

  "Oh, thank you," Cynthia said excitedly. "How much do I owe you?"

  "Nothing right now."

  Cynthia looked disappointed. "Don’t you have a flat daily rate plus expenses?"

  It dawned on Elizabeth that Cynthia liked the idea of the mystery and of hiring a private detective to solve it. "If I find out who killed this young woman, whether it’s Penny or not, you have to donate one thousand dollars to the local SPCA."

  "Our nearest SPCA is in Squamish."

  Elizabeth nodded. "That will do. And if the police beat me to it, you will donate five hundred dollars to the SPCA for the time I spent on it."

  That seemed to mollify Cynthia. "Do you have a contract for me to sign?" she asked.

  "No," Elizabeth said seriously, although she had the urge to laugh. "I use a handshake, as in what used to be called a gentleman’s agreement."

  "You do? Isn’t that a bit old fashioned?"

  "It is but I still believe in taking people’s word."

  "Okay." Cynthia held out her hand. "We now have an agreement."

  "We do." Elizabeth solemnly shook her hand.

  "So what are you going to do first?"

  "I’ll probably speak with Alison and Rick and then maybe go to the police and ask what they’ve learned." She didn’t think they would tell her anything but it seemed to be what Cynthia wanted to hear.

  "Good." She rubbed her hands together. "And you will report back to me every day?"

  Elizabeth stifled a groan. This was getting out of hand. "I will report when I have something to tell you." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I don’t think it would be a good idea for Alison and Rick to see us together too much. It might tip them off."

  "You’re right," Cynthia nodded. "I hadn’t thought of that."

  Elizabeth stood. "Let’s go, Chevy," she said, looking under the chair.

  Chevy woke at the sound of his name. He stood and stretched.

  "I’ll talk to you when I know something," she said to Cynthia.

  Elizabeth grinned as she crossed the road to the bed and breakfast. Wait until Sally heard about this.

  * * *

  I thought I was finished, that I had written the end. I had even taken the last chapters on a disk over to Kat Mac, making sure no one saw me as she requested. She said there is a rule about instructors and students visiting each other. But tonight Gwin gives me one last account.

  * * *

  Over the four years until Mikk’s return, Gwin watched the boy, who had been named Trog. His parents and fellow inhabitants, after their initial shock, adjusted to the birth and accepted him. Although he was growing normally, playing games with the other children, and learning the language and ways of his people, there was something different. He seemed more aggressive and more brutal than the other children. But that may only have been because she knew about his birth.

  Other babies were born. None of them cried. Gwin decided that Mikk and his fellow scientists must be waiting to see if the discarding was a success before trying again with these people.

  She was tempted to say something to the boy's parents, to warn them that he might not grow into an adult. But how could she explain it in a way they’d understand? How could she say that their lives were now controlled by the Leaders and scientists on a faraway planet? They wouldn't even know what she was talking about.

  She wondered, too, that if she hadn't been part of these people, if she still lived on her former planet, would she have given them any thought at all? Would she see it Mikk's way, that it was more important to sentence a prisoner than to protect a primitive people?

  The children were playing in the remaining snow, making balls and throwing them at each other. Gwin was sitting outside enjoying a warm spring morning and watching them when she saw the space ship. She immediately looked around for a place to hide. She wanted to leave, to head into the trees and not return until it left. She couldn't bear to watch the boy die. But she knew she would be needed by the family. All the inhabitants were needed when one of them died.

  It was just before their midday meal when Mikk walked along the path. She went up to him. They didn’t embraced. Gwin's love had died. She surmised that Mikk's had, also.

  "You don't have to do this," Gwin said, without even saying his name first.

  "Yes, I do."

  "But what about us and our feelings for the child?" Gwin asked, tears in her eyes. "We've watched him grow for the past four years. We've taught him, played with him. Don't we matter?"

  "I'm sorry," Mikk said. "But this is our experiment and we must carry it through."

  Gwin watched helplessly as Mikk went to the cave where he was again welcomed. The children quit their playing and headed inside for their meal. Gwin slowly followed them in. The meal of boiled meat and vegetables and flat bread was almost over when Trog began choking on a piece of meat. His hands clawed at his throat. He turned to his father who quickly put his finger down Trog’s throat and dislodged the food.

  Gwin watched Mikk expression as he stared at the boy. She felt excited, relieved. The plan had failed. She saw Trog look over at Mikk. He seemed to sneer as if he knew what had happened.

  Mikk stomped out of the cave, Gwin following.

  "It didn’t work." She couldn’t help gloating. "Are you going to leave them alone now?"

  Mikk shook his head. "We thought that might happen," he said.

  "That he wouldn’t die?"

  "No, that he wouldn’t want to die. That he would fight not to go back."

  "You think that’s what happened? The prisoner refused to go back home."

  "Yes, so we have a contingency plan."

  Gwin felt her stomach knot. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear this.

  "We’re going to send Enforcers." Mikk said, his attitude restored.

  "Enforcers? What are they?"

  "They will be the ones who are sent here to make sure that when a sentence is over the body dies so that the mind goes back."

  "Will they be put into babies, also?"

  "Yes, they will grow up like everyone else."

  Gwin hesitated before asking the question. "Why do you want the minds back? Why not let the person here just grow up and die naturally?"

  "We have been discussing that possibility but the prisoner’s families and the Society for the Rights of Prisoners don’t want them to die on another planet. They want everyone to come home to die."

  "So you will be sending more minds," Gwin said, defeated.

  "Yes."

  "How many?"

  "Before leaving last time, we scouted this planet. There are thousands of people living on it. Some are in groups the size of this, some in larger ones. We plan on sending all the murderers and tobacco dealers first, then we will be sentencing the lesser criminals here, too."

  He started down the path to the former colony and the waiting space ship. Then he turned and looked back at her. "I got married last month and the Leaders have decided to call this planet Earth."

  Over the next few years more babies cried at birth. Gwin watched them grow. She knew that they were being raised by good parents and taught the ways of the people but she wondered how much of their criminal past they would remember when they were older. She was glad she wouldn't be here to see it. She carefully watched the ones who didn't cry at birth. They were the natural ones, the ones who really belonged here. She hoped they thrived over the thousands of years that lay ahead and didn
’t let the invaders win.

  * * *

  It dawns on me. Am I an Enforcer? Was this story a way of telling me that I am to end the lives of those who don’t wish to return to Terrene once their sentences are over. Is that why there are killers, murderers? Are they just doing their job?

  I go on the Internet and look up murderers. There are so many different types, serial killers, mass murderers, sadistic, power driven, sex driven, youth. Are some given multiple assignments, like serial and mass murderers? And some just one assignment like those who only take one life? Am I to be a killer? Will I be told what type of killer I am to be? Will I be kind, doing the deed fast so that the victim doesn’t suffer? Will I be a sadistic murderer, wanting to see the pain and suffering, or maybe the type of murderer who likes the feeling of power, the control of seeing the fear in their eyes, wanting them to beg? Am I supposed to get some sort of satisfaction from the way I murder? Is it some sort of reward to me for something good I did on my home planet?

  Then I wonder if the way they are killed here has something to do with what their crimes were on their planet. The worse their death here the worse their crimes there? Is this the last part of their sentence, to suffer in their death here as a lesson so that they don’t repeat their crimes once they go back?

  Chapter 13

  "Oh, that’s really sad if it is Penny," Sally said, when Elizabeth had told her the story. "Getting pregnant, giving up your baby for adoption, and then being murdered."

  "Yes, but as the newscasters are pointing out, there are many, many other missing girls that she could be and more sad stories from families."

  Sally nodded. "Plus, it sounds like your client watches a lot of crime shows and reads a lot of mystery novels. She seems to like the idea of hiring an investigator. You have to be careful that a lot of this isn’t made up."

  "Yes, it does sound quite involved but she doesn’t have any real evidence."

  "If this scenario is true about who the dead girl is then the owners may have been involved. Did Cynthia know who they are?"

  "She said she didn’t and so far, I haven’t heard it mentioned on the news. I imagine the police know."