A Nose for Death (30 page)
“Okay, so you fool a few housewives with cheese,” said Smartt.
Gabe was shuffling his feet. He wasn't coming to her defence. It was clear that she was losing both of them. “Listen. Once I had to create a flavour for a cake mix. Subjects were asked to discern between artificial and natural flavours. Believe me, not one of them, not one, could tell the difference between the scent of a real orange and the one we created in a lab. Patti's done the same thing, fooled us all. She's not the real thing.”
Smartt looked at her as though she was crazy. Gabe appeared increasingly uncomfortable. She suddenly realized that she wasn't the only imposter in Madden, celebrating a high school graduation she'd never experienced. They were all faking something: Marlena posing as a happy wife, Hazel as an unflappable pillar of stability, and Gabe as a satisfied cop and husband. So much had changed since those yearbook photos were shot. Smartt was probably hiding something too, beneath the slick veneer. Feeling panicked, Joan knew that she couldn't risk playing her final card. If she explained that she had smelled Patti at the crime scene, it would be confessing that she had gone into Roger's room.
Smartt turned to Gabe. “I'll see you at the detachment.” The cop from Kamloops didn't budge until Gabe was in his truck and driving away. Then he looked at Joan, shook his head, and walked off without a word, leaving her shivering in the cold spring air.
As she walked back to the motel, a twinge of panic needled her gut. If Patti was guilty of both murders, was Marlena also in danger? She'd dumped Patti's belongings in the garbage. Joan had overheard her blabbing to Patti about her lust for Roger. Who knew what else she had done or said to her house guest. Daphne had seemed patient with Marlena, but maybe she was just biding her time. Maybe sleeping with Ray hadn't been revenge enough. When Joan reached the Twin Pines, she used the reliable landline to call Marlena. It rang several times then went to voicemail. Joan threw on an extra sweater and raced to her car.
Driving through town at breakneck speed, she drew stares along Main Street. Only testosterone-pumped teenagers and emergency vehicles drove this fast in Madden. Swerving into a parking spot at the Stanfields' curb, she dialed Gabe as she unclasped her seatbelt. He didn't answer. Her message was simple. “I'm at Marlena's. Call me.”
The garage was closed and there was no sign of either Daphne's rental or Marlena's SUV on the street. Joan dashed up the wide stone steps and pounded on the heavy wooden door. Minutes passed with no response. She tried the door. It opened easily. She stepped into the front hallway and called tentatively, “Marlena? Marlena, are you here?”
Another step into the ornate hallway and she saw a flash of movement as someone fled from the kitchen and down the hallway. Joan gasped, and took a step backwards, She heard shuffling from the kitchen and Marlena appeared, tying her robe to cover her naked body.
“Is that what people do in the city, just walk into someone's house? God, you're nervy.”
A toilet flushed down the hall.
“I'm sorry, Marlena,” she said. “I was worried that something might have happened to you.”
Ray came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. It didn't take a genius to realize what they'd been cooking up in the kitchen. Joan wouldn't have been more shocked if it had been Marlena with any other man in town. Every time she'd seen them together her old high school nemesis had treated her husband as though he was dirt under her toenails.
“What d'ya' mean?” asked Marlena.
Joan didn't want to get laughed at again or give Marlena fuel for her poisonous tongue, so she kept quiet. There was no proof that Patti had done anything besides posing as her own mother.
“If you're here because of that thieving little bitch Daphne,” Marlena said, “you're right. First she tries to steal Ray, and then she stole my cash stash. And I know how to hide cash in the house. I have two daughters, after all.”
Ray awkwardly looked at his feet.
Joan realized that she had a better understanding of life on Mars than of anything that went on in this household. No, farther than Mars. Neptune, at least Neptune. “Sorry to intrude,” she apologized as she backed out of the house.
Ray called after her. “See you at the memorial tonight?”
She gave a wave and an apologetic, lopsided smile as she headed to her car.
T
HE ONLY OTHER PERSON LIKELY
to know the whereabouts of Patti Pyle was Ed Fowler. Joan suspected that his fall was no accident. Had the person fleeing through the gym door last night been Patti? Was she worried that she had said too much to Fowler? Would she make another attempt to silence him?
Joan took a left-hand turn off Main Street and wove her way through the quiet streets to the Couch, then pulled into the waiting zone behind an idling minivan. The front door of the old school was locked, but rehearsal had just ended and a stream of babbling young thespians trickled out the back. Joan caught the door as the teens made their way down the steps and into the mom-mobile waiting at the curb.
The dark hallway was illuminated by red exit lights at each end. She knew from the dank stench that the colourful murals on the walls hid a sadly rotting foundation. Local support of culture was superficial. Give the artists an old building too expensive to repair and let them stay until it disintegrates beneath them. She trod quietly, stopping to glance inside the gymnasium where Ray had debuted as Rank's vocalist. It was empty. Farther down the hall, the door to the darkened lounge was open. There was no sign of Mr. Fowler. She took the three stairs into the sunken room.
Something rustled behind her. She turned abruptly. Patti Pyle was frantically searching through an open storage cupboard, emptying jars and cans. The young woman spun around and looked directly into Joan's eyes, then blocked her path to the door. Tall, dark, and with the ferocity of a wild animal caught in close quarters, she looked ready to run - or pounce.
“Where is Mr. Fowler?” asked Joan, feeling the strain in her voice.
“I don't know. I was wondering the same thing.” Patti gave a stiff, forced smile, then followed Joan's glance to the cans and jars on the floor. “I need to borrow a few dollars.” A strangled laugh came from her mouth but there was no real joy. “I have to get back to Calgary. I'm almost out of gas.” Her words were infected with desperation. There was no warmth in her expression. “Can you help me?”
How carefully this thirty-year-old woman had laboured to perfect her masquerade to convince them all that she was their contemporary. The hair dyed a solid black and tightly coiffed, thick foundation, heavy eye makeup and penciled lips. As a trained esthetician, if indeed that part was true, Patti would have learned the standard tricks to try to hide age. She would also know that the same techniques, used on a younger woman, would make her appear harder, older. Joan couldn't let Patti get away from Madden. Who knew who would be her next victim? She played along. “I'd like to help, Daphne, but I left my wallet at the motel.” She edged toward the door. “I'll get it and come right back.”
“I'll come with you.”
Joan felt her plan unraveling. She tried to hide the tension in her voice. “Then let's take your car.” If Gabe spotted Patti's rental car he'd stop them. He may have already issued an alert on the vehicle.
Patti followed her closely, their brisk footsteps echoing down the dark hallway, as the painted caricatures in the murals mocked them with ill-proportioned grins. Joan considered bolting but knew she would be no match for Patti in a race. When they stepped outside, Patti broke the silence.
“Let's take your car instead,” she said stonily.
Although Joan was shaking inside, she played it as though there was nothing wrong, no urgency. “But the motel is on the highway. You could leave from there.”
“Mine's on empty. I've been driving on fumes all day.”
“Sure. Hey, have you had dinner? We could stop at Jacques and . . . ”
“There's no time. I have to go, now!” Patti's voice was rising and her eyes were darting along the street, as though she expected to be entrapped at any moment.
Joan fought to keep her voice calm, gentle. “Sure, okay.”
Patti clambered into the passenger seat before Joan could make it to the other side of the car. The rental car form lay on the floor. She winced. Why hadn't she given it to Gabe? As they drove, she glanced involuntarily at the pink form, but Patti didn't seem to notice. When they arrived at the motel, Joan knew that she'd have to move quickly -- straight into her room to call Gabe. He'd be able to catch up with them when she drove Patti back to her rental car. She parked. Her hands were shaking as she opened the driver's door.
“I'll be right back,” she said with a smile.
Again, she fumbled with her key in the worn lock. Just as she got it in and turned the handle, that scent wafted from behind her.
Patti reached over her shoulder and pushed the door open. The first thing they saw was the pile of Patti's belongings strewn on Joan's bed.
“My wallet is in the drawer,” said Joan, although logic told her that the charade was over.
Patti pushed the door and it slammed closed. She pushed the lock in the handle, slid the security chain into place then turned. They stared at each other.
“What are you doing with my stuff?”
“I had to be sure.”
“What, before you went to the cops?”
Joan answered with a slight nod and a whisper. “Yes.” She hadn't imagined being trapped alone with Patricia Pyle. She had always managed her life with careful advance planning and research. She couldn't stop staring. Patti was such a clear blend of Daphne and Roger. Her mother's voluptuous build, with her father's long, lean legs. A black ringlet had escaped from her ponytail. Was her natural hair raven blue like her mother's or angel-blond like her dad's trademark mop?
“I had to know where I came from.” Patti sounded sad and frightened.
“I get it,” Joan whispered.
“You do?”
“Sure.” She measured her next words carefully. “How did she die, your mom?”
“She was always sick, as long as I could remember. Emphysema, ulcers, but it was the cancer that killed her. She suffered such pain. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't fun watching.”
“I'm sorry.”
“She was so ashamed. She said God was punishing her. She came back here, just once, to ask forgiveness.” Patti's mouth twisted bitterly. “My grandmother called her a whore, her dad slapped her while she stood there on their doorstep holding my hand.”
Gabe stood in the Stanfields' doorway, keeping his heavy black shoes planted on the hand-painted doormat. Marlena repeated the conversation that she'd had with Joan. He asked her to contact him if Daphne came back or if they heard from her. As he walked to his truck, his cell phone rang. It was Hazel.
“Thanks for getting back to me,” Gabe said.
“Sure, kiddo, what's up?”
Gabe revealed that Patti was allegedly the orphaned daughter of Daphne.
“Allegedly?”
“Joan thinks so.”
“And you doubt her? Ms. Pragmatic?” Hazel gave a low whistle. “The daughter is the mother. Boy, that's what you call searching for yourself.”
“I'm not a jury or a judge.” He paused. “But the evidence Joan dug up is convincing. Have you seen her? Have you seen Patti?”
“We just drove by the Couch on the way back from dinner. Her car is parked in the back lot there, but it looks pretty quiet.”
Gabe instructed her to call him if she saw Patti. “But don't approach her. She's dangerous. A report came in a few minutes ago. She's on probation. She punched another woman in a road rage incident. Knocked out a couple of teeth. This girl is ready to explode.”
Joan took another step toward the door. “And our names on the invitation list, you did that?”
Patti nodded. “She'd do anything I asked. I told her to make sure Roger had his own room, him being the
star
of the show. I had to talk to him alone. I didn't want to embarrass him. He wouldn't want anyone to know I was his daughter. No, that would never do.”
Joan responded softly. “But why did you bring a knife?”
“You knew him! Would you go in a room alone with him without some way to protect yourself?” The colour rose in Patti's face. “I watched him that night.”
“What d'you mean?”
Her lip was trembling. “I saw him try to pick up every woman he met. Sex meant nothing to him. I saw what he tried to do to you in the hallway. Once I got in his room I figured it was a stupid idea. I was going to sneak back out again. I waited until he was in bed. I thought he was asleep, but he wasn't. He had his hands all over me in a second.”
Joan recalled the horrible smell of Roger's breath in the hotel hallway. “Did you tell him that you were his daughter?”
Tears welled in Patti's eyes. “I screamed it at him. He was drunk. He wouldn't stop. He wouldn't listen.”
“And then you stabbed him?”
“The knife hit his arm first. He got so mad and tried to grab me. I stabbed his chest. I closed my eyes and just kept stabbing. I wanted him to stop.” She looked up at Joan. “Quit blaming me! He deserved it! I was so sure my mom had exaggerated. She was mad about so many things. But she was right about Roger Rimmer. My father was the devil.”
Joan held up her hands. “Shh. I know. I know. If you just tell the police what happened.”
“There's not going to be any police.” She snatched up the cheese knife that Hazel had left on the dresser and slashed at Joan's arm.
“Ahhh!” Joan felt a searing pain. She took a deep breath. “Then just go. There's money in my purse. Take it.”
