Broken Bones. Gina McMurchy-Barber

“Night, Aunt Norma.”

      Out of the dark came another tired voice from the next room. “Night, Pegs. See you in the morning.”

      Chapter Three

      The first thing I noticed when I awakened the next morning was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. As I sat up, I also saw that the coffee table was clear except for a basket of fresh fruit in the middle, the dining room table was set for breakfast, and Aunt Norma was standing at the sink washing dishes.

      “Hi, Aunt Norma,” I called out groggily.

      She turned toward me and raised her soapy hands. “There’s my girl. How did you sleep?”

      I got up to give her a hug but stumbled over some hiking shoes.

      “Sorry,” she said. “I meant to put those away.”

      I threw my arms around my aunt. “That’s okay. Messiness makes me feel relaxed, like I’m on holiday.”

      “Say no more. I’ve lived with your Aunt Margaret, too, you know.”

      We both laughed and then I gave Aunt Norma an extra-long squeeze. “Mmmm.” I yawned and stretched my arms to the ceiling. “What smells so good?”

      “I made you my favourite — cornbread. I even got some real maple syrup to slather on top.” She turned to the oven and opened it wide. Inside was a pan big enough to feed ten people. “Hope you’re good and hungry!”

      I ate three large pieces of cornbread soaked in syrup, which might explain why my stomach soon felt as if it were stuffed with a football. I groaned happily. “Thanks. That was delicious.”

      “Good. I wanted something special to celebrate your visit. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived last night. When I finally pulled in, it was around 2:00 a.m. and I didn’t want to wake you. Good thing you’re like me — able to sleep anywhere.”

      “Do you always work so late, Aunt Norma?”

      “Only if I’m on to a scoop — that’s newspaper jargon for a big story.” Her voice became serious. “Over the last month there have been a number of vandalisms like the one at the Pioneer Cemetery that brought you here.”

      Maybe it was the fact that I was originally from a big city, but I almost snickered at the thought of vandalism being a big scoop.

      As if Aunt Norma could read my mind, she added, “It’s not that vandalism is so strange, though we hardly ever get any around here. It’s the fact that they’re all directed at historical sites and cemeteries, particularly the burials of important Golden pioneers.”

      “But I thought you already knew who was responsible.”

      She shrugged and frowned. “The police have been questioning a teenage boy in connection with the disturbed burial at the Pioneer Cemetery.”

      Figures it was a teenager, same as before. “If he’s responsible for the Pioneer Cemetery vandalism,” I said, “it has to be him who damaged the other sites, too, right?”

      “It’s possible, but I find it all somewhat suspicious. I mean, most teenagers don’t know a thing about Golden’s history and don’t give two hoots, either.”

      “Aunt Norma, you sound more like a detective than a newspaper reporter. Why don’t you let the police solve this?”

      “Well, you could say we’re working on the case together. I tell Skip — that’s Constable Hopkins to you — what I know, and he slips me a tip or two back.”

      “Skip Hopkins, eh?”

      “Yeah, over at the newspaper office we call him Skip Hop-and-a-Jump. Of course, nobody’d ever say that to his face — he’s much too serious to take a little ribbing. You’ll meet him sometime, I’m sure. But keep in mind, unless you’ve got time to hear the entire history of the RCMP and its predecessor, the North-West Mounted Police, don’t ask him anything about his job.” Aunt Norma started clearing the table. “So what time is your archaeology friend coming around?”

      I got up to rinse the dishes and glanced at the clock — it was only 9:15. “Eddy said something about getting a letter of permission to excavate. So it’s going to be later this morning.”

      Aunt Norma looked at her watch. “I hate to do it to you, kid, but I’ve got to get to work.”

      “But it’s early and I just got here,” I protested. “Can’t you go in late?”

      “Sorry, the news comes first. Why don’t you wander around town and see what’s up? We’ve got a great little museum you should check out. Henry’s been the curator for the last twenty years and knows all there is to know about Golden’s history. His ancestors were among the first pioneers to come here. While you and your friend are digging up the ground, Henry could be digging into some dusty old pages looking for useful information that might help you.”

      “Eddy told me when there’s written documents available that help an archaeologist interpret the past they call it historical archaeology. Otherwise an archaeologist has to depend on just the material remains, like artifacts, human bones, or dwellings, to piece together the lives of people who lived long ago.”

      “That sounds like when a detective looks for clues at a crime scene,” Aunt Norma added.

      “Yup, an archaeologist looks for clues that can tell what people ate, how they made tools, what their homes were like, and even stuff that helps us to understand what they believed happened after death.”

      “I’m pretty certain you and Henry will make good friends. He loves history as much as you love archaeology. You know, some of the best information you’ll ever find comes from old newspapers. He’s got some at the museum. Ask him about them. They’re full of information that will give you a good sense of people’s attitudes in the past. There’s one old guy I always get a kick out of — John Houston, editor of The Truth. He was a good example of how racist and intolerant people used to be.”

      Aunt Norma laughed. It was one of those snorting laughs, and I suddenly realized she looked and sounded just like Mom.

      “The only good thing you could say,” she continued, “was at least he looked down his nose at everyone equally — the Irish were the navvies, the Chinese were Chinamen, and the First Nations people, well, more often than not, they were the redskins.” Aunt Norma squeezed my hand and got up from the table. “Sorry, kiddo, but I have to get ready for work.”

      I was about to do my best impression of a pouting kid but was interrupted by a knock at the door. When I opened it, there was Eddy grinning her curly white head off.

      “I know I said it would be late morning before I got here, so I hope you don’t mind that I’m early.”

      “Mind? It’s perfect. My aunt’s getting dressed right now and is about to ditch me for work. Do you want to come in and have some leftover cornbread? It’s awesome.” I patted my stomach.

      “Thanks, but I’ve had my breakfast. Do you think you could get ready in a hurry?”

      I smiled and saluted. “I’ll get ready double quick, Captain. I’ll meet you in the truck in five minutes.”

      It was quite amazing how fast I could dress when I had a good reason. After dragging a brush through my hair, scrubbing my teeth for ten seconds, and giving Aunt Norma a kiss on the cheek, I dashed out the door. It was only when I came to a screeching halt in front of the truck that I realized we had a visitor riding shotgun. He had long stringy black hair, a ring through his bottom lip, and black eyeliner, and when he waved, I could see he even had black nail polish. Ugh.

      “Sorry, Peggy, you’ll have to sit in the back of the cab today.” Eddy directed me to the narrow bench behind the driver’s seat — hardly big enough for a doll to sit on. “Peggy Henderson, meet Sam McLeod.”

      “Hi, Sam,” I said shyly.

      The