A Nose for Death (20 page)

Gabe shared what Ray had told him, that Roger and Daphne had dated, then he grasped
her
hands. “Joan, you're twice as sharp as the officers on my team. Don't get me wrong, they're good men, all of them but I need your help with this. I thought I could do it without you, but nobody on my squad has the history to solve a murder that was motivated by events that happened thirty years ago.”

“I wasn't there either,” she reminded him.

“But you know the players. Besides, you've always had an uncanny ability to get inside someone else's head. Call it empathy.”

“Or dangerous curiosity.” She smiled, but couldn't admit that she'd started her own sleuthing twenty-four hours earlier.

He remained serious. “I have to resolve this before anyone else gets killed.”

“Okay, I'll help, but there's one condition.”

“Tell me.”

“You have to share everything about the case, even the details that don't seem important. That's what it would take,” she said. He was nodding in agreement, without hesitation, and it made her uncomfortable. “Except that's not ethical, Gabe. I'm a suspect.”

“Nobody has to know. Not Des, definitely not Smartt. Just you and me, Joan.” He was holding her gaze.

Why should she be taken aback by his disregard of the rules? In truth, he hadn't changed much. When he placed his hand on her knee and gently squeezed, she looked at him. His eyes were glistening. The business part of the meeting was over. He leaned over and kissed her. He moved his lips to her ears and neck, letting his kisses slide farther down.

“Not here,” she said.

“Then where? When?” He brushed the hair from her face and, again, she tingled, tiny electric currents beneath her skin reminding her that she was alive, so alive. “What if you leave and I never see you again?” he asked.

He could be right. She knew herself too well. Once she left Madden, when would she make the trip again? Could these be the last moments of their own private reunion? She shyly entwined her fingers in his, kissed the back of his hand. He led her to the sofa then pulled her down on top of him. The taste of his lips was becoming so familiar. She felt his fingers fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. Working downward, she unbuttoned his shirt, then reached for his heavy belt buckle. Suddenly she thought of Betty. She could now conjure the image of Gabe's wife from the photograph in the living room. But despite a distant voice urging her to stop, she couldn't.

The Stanfield family van slowly rounded the corner into the crescent, idled briefly beside Joan's Honda then sped away.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

T
HE SUN HAD SHIFTED SO THAT
late morning light cut across the den. Joan inhaled Gabe's scent. She could chart his day from the bath soap and toothpaste mixed with oranges, to the coffee and gasoline. His quiet snores rumbled. Barely moving, she stretched her fingers toward her bra on the floor, praying that she wouldn't wake him. The first time that they had slept together it had been gracefully dark in her motel room. No man, besides Mort, had seen her naked in a very long time. Even her gynecologist allowed her the Victorian dignity of a blue paper jacket. She was in relatively good shape, not great, but good for her age. It was, however, all relative. At forty-eight, some of the blush had definitely come off the peach. As a matter of fact, she reflected, the fruit had fallen from the tree, bounced a few times, and started to compost.

Gabe stirred and she froze. When his breathing settled again she fastened her bra and was just slipping into her panties when he opened his eyes.

“You're beautiful.” He smiled at her.

She was so glad that she'd spent the extra cash on good underwear.

The day had turned chilly so Laura Rimmer threw a cardigan over her shoulders before answering the door. A pretty, dark-haired girl stood on the steps. Something about her seemed instantly familiar, but Laura couldn't put her finger on it. The girl appeared nervous, or maybe she was just cold.

“Hello. My name is Daphne Pyle. I went to school with your son.”

Laura let her in then busied herself in the kitchen making tea and setting out sandwiches for an early lunch. Their freezer and fridge were jammed with the generous offerings of the funeral brigade. She'd done her own years in service, providing freezer cakes to households in mourning. Cherry walnut squares were her specialty. Tom had locked himself in his basement office after breakfast to review patient files. The stream of people coming to pay respects had slowed, and this morning had been quiet until now. There was some confusion about when they'd be able to hold Roger's funeral since the police hadn't yet identified the person who had taken his life. When she returned to the living room the young woman had one of the family photo albums on her lap. It was opened to the pages of Roger as a baby. He had been such a beautiful child.

“I hope you don't mind me saying so, dear, but you don't look old enough to have graduated with Roger.”

“Roger had it rough, Laura. You know that.” Her husband stood in the doorway. He kindly took the tray and held it out to Daphne. “Our son had aged beyond his years.”

Laura smoothed her skirt as she sat and smiled. “I'm not daft, Tom. I know that the drugs were hard on him.”

They'd always skated around the topic of Roger's addiction. Tom looked at her aghast now that the elephant in the room was doing back flips on the carpet. She turned her attention back to Daphne.

“No, you definitely look younger than the other girls. What's your secret?”

Tom interrupted to say that he knew Harold Pyle, who lived at the lodge and asked if she was related.

The younger woman muttered, “My dad,” then made abrupt excuses to leave, abandoning a half-eaten egg salad sandwich on her plate. The etiquette of mourning is acquired, Laura thought, but nobody had taught this girl.

Gabe placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Joan, who was perched on a stool at the kitchen island. Although the front of the house was stereotypical suburbia, the view from the back more than made up for it. The expansive lawn sloped down to a ridge of trees and wild grasses on the edge of a fast-moving creek. Strains of Bach played from an IPod dock. Gabe had given her his robe. His clean-soapy smell, she knew, would transfer to her body and she welcomed the thought of wearing his scent. The adolescent idea that she wouldn't bathe for days caused her to smile. Gabe had slightly eased her discomfort of being in Betty's house when he showed her that the sofa was a hide-a-bed and the closet in his den contained his clothes. He'd been sleeping there since before Christmas. As she sipped her coffee she wondered how many marriages devolved in that direction, couples maintaining the illusion of togetherness long past the expiry date. Then there were those, like Mort and her, who appeared to have made a clean break but continued the conjugal visits.

She pondered the copy of the grad photo in front of her, picking out all the characters from their lives: Steve with his huge hair; Candy as hard as steel in a slinky dress; Peg with her straight black hair falling over her faux ermine collar. Only Daphne didn't appear to be dressed for the prom. She wore what looked like a man's shirt and Joan couldn't help but wonder if it had been Roger's. She guessed that the Pyles hadn't allowed her to attend the prom, concerned that Satan was the event coordinator.

Laura Rimmer tidied the living room after the Pyle girl left. When she went to put away the photo album, she smiled down at her three-year-old son, his sweet face surrounded by golden curls of angel hair. Those were the days when he brought them nothing but joy. Had they been too indulgent? Is that what brought him down? They send you home from hospital with those precious bundles and no instructions. Even a coffee maker comes with instructions nowadays. She had always blamed herself for what had happened to her son. Flipping back to earlier photos, she was met by a blank square in the middle of the baby pictures. The picture must have fallen out in the past few days, with everyone admiring her baby. She got on her knees and began to search for it under the furniture.

Joan and Gabe finished their coffee as they shared information on the case. Gabe let her know that there was no clear indication, yet, of exactly how the deadly medication had been administered to Peg or when it had been ingested. He intended to talk to Daphne and Candy again, since they had both been at Peg's house and may have noticed something unusual. He mentioned that Daphne and Ray had been at the Elgar motel on Sunday morning when Peg had had her attack.

“Popular spot,” said Joan.

“You been there?”

“No. I mean because that's where Hazel and Lila stayed last Friday night.”

“What?”

It turned out that this was new information to Gabe, which confirmed the value of them sharing the fine details. When Hazel had sketched out her Friday evening to him, he, like Joan, had concluded that Hazel and Lila had stopped for the night because they were too tired to drive any farther. With the deluxe suite at the Twin Pines waiting for them only fifteen minutes away, the rundown motel was an unexpected choice. They decided to put this in the “coincidence” column, but not at the top of their list for follow up.

At that moment Gabe's phone rang. He glanced at the call display and started walking down the hallway as he answered. Joan instantly knew that it was Betty calling. The warmth in his voice made her uneasy. She was taken aback when she heard him laugh.

As she drove back to Madden, she angrily demanded the tears to go away, but couldn't control them as they slid down the side of her nose. She had sunk so low that she wished ill feelings between Gabe and his wife. This transgression had gone farther than she ever could have imagined, after a lifetime spent mastering control over her emotions. How stupid, to let her feelings for him go this far.

When she arrived at her cabin, the phone was ringing. She heard her mom's voice and knew that she'd probably been calling every ten minutes trying to reach her. “Joan, you'll never guessed who called me,” gushed Vi.

“Mr. Fowler?”

“How did you know? You didn't put him up to it?” Her mother sounded disappointed.

“He didn't need any encouragement. He has the hots for you,” she teased.

“Oh, shame on you. We don't get that way at our age.” Joan could tell that she was smiling.

“Oh, I know. It's more ‘warm and fuzzy' isn't it?” There was still that piece of Vi's puzzle that was missing. “Mom, how did you find out about Marlena's dad and Suzy Fowler?”

The line went silent for several seconds then her mother sighed. “I don't like to think of unhappy times.”

Joan kept prodding. It turned out that Vi remembered the exact moment and could describe it as though it was yesterday. It happened on the same day that she'd received her first pay cheque from Twin Pines, the first pay cheque she'd ever received in her life.

“It was the middle of the afternoon and I was pushing my cleaning cart across the parking lot.” Joan couldn't imagine how her little mom had moved that cart a foot across the gravel, let alone drag it back and forth day after day. “That Prychenko girl was leaning against her dad's truck in the parking lot.”

“Marlena?” asked Joan.

“That's right. That's what got my attention. It was like she was waiting for him. I thought it seemed odd, her there in the middle of the school day but,” she sighed, “none of my beeswax. I was unlocking a room, a long-term rental, when the door to the next room opened. There was all this yelling. I was worried that someone was hurt. Well, there was that girl pounding her father and grabbing at Suzy Fowler. When they recognized me they were all embarrassed. They were used to cleaning people being faceless, nameless robots. I learned that soon enough on that job. They didn't expect to see their neighbour in a motel uniform. They were the most gawd-awful pale orange colour.” “I remember.” Joan conjured the memory of the cheap cotton dresses with attached white aprons, grey from a thousand washings.

“Well, that poor girl turned pale and ran toward the river. Suzy Fowler went and sat in Dan's car with her head down. Dan started after his daughter but must have known he'd never catch her. He never looked at me once, but Suzy saw me as they were driving off. She told Ed as soon as he got home after school, probably afraid he'd hear it from someone else first. You know what I wish?” asked Vi.

“That you hadn't come out of the room?” ventured Joan.

“That's what I used to wish, for years. But now,” she lowered her voice, as though sharing a conspiracy. “I wish I'd gone and married Ed Fowler when he'd asked, even if he was years younger than me.” She hooted. “Wouldn't have that have sent a shiver of scandal through that old town?”

“That it would have,” agreed Joan.

Then her mother went quiet and became serious again. “But there were his kids to think of, and Suzy. Ed should never have blamed her. I told him that. He wasn't good at hiding how he felt about me. It never went beyond him looking goo-goo eyes at me and I never encouraged him, but I knew it was hard on poor Suzy.” Another silence. “She wasn't in love with Dan. He was a just a convenient weapon to use against Ed. Any woman who wanted to have sex could have had it with Dan Prychenko. There's always one of those around.”

The comment opened Joan's eyes. Roger had fallen into that category in their youth. They had all thought their generation had invented illicit sex, possibly sex period. She listened as her mom continued.

“At first I thought Marlena had caught her dad by accident, seeing his truck, thinking he was at some meeting. But what kind of business do you have at a motel, besides monkey business? No, I think she knew her dad was in that room. Who was with him almost didn't matter. There were women before Suzy and there'd be more to come.”