A Nose for Death (26 page)
Despite the years of bullying, Joan couldn't help but feel sorry for her. The way she looked at Roger in the photo, her willingness to sneak into his room last Friday night â Joan realized that the singer had really meant something to her. “You really were the queen of the school,” she said, trying to console her. “You had everyone eating out of your hand.”
“Oh, shut up. I was a bitch. Now even Candy has dumped me. “ She pulled herself up. “But, I've got my girls. They're the best thing that ever happened to me. Not like you, Joannie. You'll grow old alone.”
Joan shook her head. All this and the mix of smells was becoming overwhelming. She was desperate to leave. She wanted to say, “You're still a bitch.” Instead, she asked one more question. “Marlena, what made you stop accusing me of killing Roger?”
“For one thing, you weren't interested in him. Gabe's your type.” She spoke with the air of authority that comes from reading stacks of
Cosmo
magazine. “Besides, you're not a good faker.” Her eyes were stone cold. “Not like some ass-kissers.”
Back in her car, Joan studied the photocopy. At seventeen we want people to be good or bad, nice or mean. There's no room in between. As she drove off, she decided that Marlena hadn't moved from that paradigm.
Marlena locked the door behind her and hurled her gym bag onto the floor. She'd been left looking like the bad guy again. But she wasn't the only one. How about Daphne? Cute little Daphne Pyle, the biggest faker of them all, pretending to be her friend. She could read Ray like a thermometer. The way he'd been drooling over Daphne. He'd had a piece of that juicy ass. He'd gone all mushy. Those hens hanging all over him last night. How could she admit to anyone that she was the one who'd been made a cuckold?
She found two large Holt Renfrew shopping bags in the broom closet and filled them with Daphne's things. She didn't want that whore back in her house.
S
PICY CHAI STEAM DRIFTED UP
J
OAN'S
nose as she stirred cream into her teacup. She nestled into the high-back leatherette seat. Jacques back booth gave her privacy to flip through the pages of the yearbook, trying to detect a killer. Marlena certainly had motive and she was plenty bitter. Ray? He'd had reasons as well. He'd been overshadowed in the band; his wife had lusted after Roger for decades. Did he know Marlena had slept with Roger when they were teenagers? The more she thought about Ray and Marlena, though, the more she thought that Ray had more reasons to kill his wife than to kill Roger. The other band members? The army of women that Roger had screwed and dumped? And were Peg's and Roger's deaths linked? Daphne, Candy, even Marlena could easily have given their classmate the drugs that killed her. Any of the men from their class? Who would have the assortment of drugs? And what about Lila, or even Hazel? Joan knew she was spinning in circles. It was frustrating. A shadow blocked her light.
“I've been looking for you.” Gabe slid in across from her and shook his head when the owner came over to take his order.
“So, Sergeant Theissen, we're free to go?” asked Joan.
“Yup.”
“Have you figured out who did it?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Wasn't there any DNA left behind?” she asked.
“Here we go again,” Gabe said. “I wish CSI would go to hell.”
“Sorry. I should know better. I've spend my life in a well-funded lab. Even with a budget, science doesn't happen overnight.”
“We're no closer to an answer, but we can't ask people to hang around.”
“Even me? I know Smartt has his suspicions.”
“But not enough to lay charges. You should go before he changes his mind.” He placed his hand over hers on her teacup. “Don't get me wrong. I want you to stay.”
“To help with the investigation,” finished Joan.
“The thought of you leaving again,” said Gabe. “It's the worst kind of déjà vu.”
“C'mon, Gabe. We both knew that all we had was a weekend.” Making light of it, she was trying to convince herself as well as Gabe that they could simply say goodbye and walk away. He had her hand in both of his now and wasn't letting go.
“We'll get this wrapped up. Then I'll come to Vancouver.” He responded to her look of astonishment. “We'll move in together.”
“You can't do that,” she gasped.
“You don't want me too?”
“It's crazy,” she said. “You have a life, a home, a job.” But she knew that he meant it. The old Gabe â the idealistic, intelligent, passionate youth â had completely meshed with the strong, honourable public servant. She felt a deep and overwhelming sorrow. No matter how much they both wanted it to be, he wasn't hers. Not now, maybe not ever.
At that moment, as though another dimension had opened, a young man walked through the door of the cafe. Joan recognized him immediately, not just from the family photos but also from his striking resemblance to the man across from her. He was Gabe, right down to the irritated acne. She withdrew her hand and whispered. “Gabe, your son.”
Gabe turned and smiled as Teddy approached, then stood and hugged his son warmly.
Teddy grinned at her. “You must be Joan. Dad's been talking about you ever since we got back from Kamloops.”
“Nice to meet you, Teddy.” Confused, she stole a glance at Gabe but got nothing.
“It's cool that the three of you can hang out,” he said. He responded to her shocked stare. “You know, you, Dad, and Hazel.”
“Oh, yeah, cool,” replied Joan. “Very cool.”
The boy turned to his father. “I saw your truck out front. Can I get forty bucks? I didn't pay for my yearbook yet and they won't let me pick it up until I do.”
As Gabe dug out his wallet, she examined them in profile. It truly was Gabe all over again, although Teddy had his mother's redder brunette hair and green eyes.
Before leaving, Teddy asked, “Will you be coming to the house for dinner? Mom told Dad to ask you.”
Joan looked at Gabe then back to Teddy. “No. I'm not sure. I'll be leaving soon, right away probably.”
Teddy nodded as though adults and their schedules were out of his realm. After he bounded out of Jacques, she looked at Gabe questioningly.
“I told Betty this morning.”
“Told her what?”
“That I'd fallen in love with you, that maybe I always have been,” said Gabe.
“Oh, no!” But he was serious and she knew it. Gabe always said what he meant. He didn't beat around the bush. She glanced toward the door.
“No, Teddy doesn't know,” he said. “It can't end here. Not again. I'm coming with you.”
She tried to reason with him. “You can't leave your job, your son.”
“I might get fired before the day is out. Teddy will be in university in the fall.”
For all of her blaming Madden for not wanting her, Joan suddenly realized that it wasn't the fault of this town or the people or her family's past. It was her fault and hers alone. She had left it all behind and made a clean break years ago. This was too fast, too complicated. That familiar feeling of being trapped was creeping up on her. If Gabe lost his job, it would be because of her. She became curt, officious, as though she truly was a member of the investigation team.
“Gabe, I can't think of anything else until we know what happened to Roger and Peg. Don't you think you should be focusing on that? It's your job, not mine.”
It was her escape route, again, and they both knew it. Shaken, she gathered up her things, paid for her tea at the cashier, and left. As she stepped out onto Main Street, the wind started to whip up, sending leaves and debris into swirling gusts. She pulled up her hood and held her collar closed as she made her way to her Accord.
On the outskirts of Madden, the Greyhound Bus sign attached to the pole outside the Redi-Gas station swayed in the wind. Ed Fowler pulled his ear buds from the side pocket of his suitcase, stuffed them into the pocket of the jacket he was wearing, then handed the bag to the bus driver to put in the cargo compartment. It was a large suitcase. He didn't expect to be back in Madden anytime soon.
Laura Rimmer braced herself for the chilly air as she opened her front door. The flow of visitors had slowed since the weekend. With a little help from their well-stocked medicine chest, she had finally slept through the night. Thank goodness the pharmacy still honoured Tom's prescriptions. That beautiful girl stood on the step again, this time looking lost. As Laura ushered her into the front hallway, she tried hard to remember her name. She knew that she'd been there before. She was having such trouble with names lately. Daffodil. Davina. Daphne. Yes, Daphne.
Once inside, the girl looked over her shoulder, then to Laura's surprise turned the deadbolt on the door behind her. “For privacy,” she said, before heading directly to the living room. “The RCMP told us that we can leave anytime, all of us from the reunion.” She was shivering but the room wasn't cold.
Laura smiled. “I'm sure you'll be glad to get home. Where did you say you live now?”
“You need to know something before I head out.”
Tom entered the room. He stood in the doorway, blocking the exit.
“I had Roger's baby,” the girl blurted out. “Your grandchild.”
Laura simply nodded, but she stole a glance at Tom. His face had flushed red.
“What right have you . . . barging in here, making up stories,” Tom sputtered. Laura went over and put a hand on his arm, but he continued, “Get out. Get out of our house.” He grabbed the girl's arm. Her reaction was to shake him off. In doing so, she caught his cheek with her forearm. His hand flew to his face.
“Don't touch me,” she hissed.
A bright red welt grew where her bracelet had scratched him. “I'm calling the police,” he shouted.
“Sit down,” Laura said. “Right now. Both of you.” Neither sat. She looked at the girl. “It's Daphne, am I right?” The girl nodded “A boy or a girl?”
“A girl.”
“And where is she, this girl, my granddaughter?” she asked.
“She's grown up now,” came the response and then, in a whisper, “Patti.”
Laura tested the name on her lips, “Patti. Patti. Short for Patricia?” The girl nodded. “Patricia is my middle name.” She glanced at her husband. His mouth was agape. It was the last thing that either had imagined. “And where is she, Daphne?”
“I can't tell you.”
Laura made her voice firmer. “You do know where she is?”
Another nod, then, “But I can't tell you. I just wanted you to know.”
“This is about money, isn't it?” Tom had gone pale. Faltering, he made his way to a dining chair that had been placed in the living room to accommodate the trail of visitors over the past few days.
“I don't want anybody's money. And if you tell anyone . . . ”
“Then why did you come to tell us, dear?” asked Laura.
“I wanted someone to know that she has been loved more than anything, more than life, even, and because you're her family.” Then she looked up through those long, dark lashes. “And in case something happens.” She corrected herself. “Something is going to happen.” Then she was gone.
T
HE THOUGHT OF ENTERING THE CABIN
where Roger had been murdered terrified Joan. It wasn't just the violent, hideous crime that had taken place within those walls, but the threat of being arrested if she was caught. It would look as though she were there to make sure her tracks were covered or for whatever other psychopathic reasons a criminal returned to the scene of a crime. For the past hour, she had been sitting in her room, adding up the facts. She was the number one suspect in Staff Sergeant Smartt's mind and that wasn't going to change unless new evidence emerged. Also, so far she'd focused on her own generation, gathering clues from former classmates about the two deaths. Yet one of the most startling revelations that she'd had since arriving was about her own mother. Vi had been much more on the ball than she had ever imagined and was still. Had she missed a valuable information source, hiding behind bifocals and grey hair? Or perhaps she'd overlooked the killer? A father whose daughter had been dumped by Roger, holding a grudge for forty years? If Dan were alive, he'd be on that list.
As the layers of the investigation began to emerge, so did an impediment. Gabe's proposal that they move in together should have made her leap with joy. Instead it worried her. His reputation and job were on the line. His refusal to hide his feelings for her was getting in the way. She couldn't ask his permission to enter the crime scene or even let him know her intention. That would implicate him even more. But maybe something had been missed, something that she could detect. It was worth the risk.
There were fewer cops at the scene today than yesterday. Joan waited until they had left for lunch before she sauntered toward the cabin, crossed the fluttering yellow ribbon. The door opened easily. As she stepped over the threshold, she was assaulted by the stench of harsh cleaners. She could tell by the ultra-clean scrub trails around the bed, that it had been a blood bath. A new mattress, delivered prematurely and still wrapped in plastic, leaned against the wall, waiting for the next unsuspecting guest, who wouldn't know the grisly history of this room. She pulled her leather gloves onto her hands and glanced around the cabin. What would remain after such a thorough scouring? First, she knelt on her hands and knees, using her keychain flashlight to look under the bed. Then she went through the closet, the dressers, and every inch of the dinette area. In the bathroom the aroma of cheap jasmine motel soap lingered slightly despite the strong scent of glass cleaner and bleach. The assault on her olfactory system would soon diminish her ability to smell anything. Within a minute, maybe two, her nose would shut down. She removed her shoes, and climbed into the bathtub, then looked out to see the murder room from that perspective. Suddenly she felt foolish. Why did she think that she, a civilian, could do a better job than the cops? She heard voices and slipped back into her shoes. The officers must have finished their break. The voices were coming toward the door. Damn. Now she'd risked it all for nothing. In a panic, she decided to exit through the glass patio door. As she pulled the drapes aside a wave of scent took her breath away. Lifting her palate slightly to help expand her nostrils, she breathed in rapid, shallow sniffs. She knew the smell that had been trapped between the patio door and the drapes or, more accurately, that combination of smells, but couldn't immediately pinpoint where she'd come across it. She sniffed again. Yes, it was among the myriad of scents she'd experienced since arriving in Madden. Holding her breath, desperate to memorize this clue, she slid the door open and slipped out. Now hidden by the drapes, she slowly, silently eased the door closed behind her as the police officers entered the cabin.
