A Nose for Death Page 7

  Joan chose her words carefully. “He wasn’t afraid to follow his dreams, whether it was music or girls. He loved them both.” Joan paused. “His parents must be devastated.”

  “They’re still alive?” asked Daphne.

  Joan nodded. “Hazel said they’re still in the same house.”

  Daphne stared into the distance. “I never even talked to him, to Roger.” Tears welled. She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue, missing a tear that created a rivulet through her caked makeup. “I wish I’d at least talked to him.”

  The two women sat in awkward silence. It struck Joan as odd that, until now, they’d been able to carry on as though it was just another day. But they’d landed in the middle of a murder investigation. As Daphne put the tissue back in her purse, Joan noticed the ripped lining and broken zipper. Everything about Daphne had given Joan the impression that she was well off, but maybe that wasn’t the case. This trip to Madden may have been difficult for Daphne for other reasons. Not everyone can take time off and rent a car to drive to another province. Was that why Peg had insisted that Daphne stay with her? “My treat,” Joan hurriedly said, placing two twenties on the table.

  They said their goodbyes on Main Street. Daphne was headed up the hill to check on Peg and to see if there was any message from the police about whether or not she could leave. “I was scared to come,” Daphne said, “but I thought, somehow, it might help me remember. Instead it all seems brand-spanking new.” She took Joan’s hand and looked her in the eye. “But in a good way. Now I hardly want to leave.”

  Joan felt guilty as she passed by the cultural centre, or the Couch, as it was now known. She knew that Mr. Fowler was inside preparing for his big games night. She would have stopped to help, but her head was spinning from lack of sleep. She convinced herself that he’d have corralled enough people to give him a hand and vowed that she’d catch up with him later in the evening. She needed to close her eyes before meeting with Gabe and Hazel.

  As she approached the Twin Pines, she had a sudden memory of her mother coming home in her chambermaid uniform, lighting a cigarette and rubbing her tired feet through the reinforced toes of her nylons. Vi didn’t like to bad-mouth anyone. She avoided the neighbour ladies who counted their currency in gossip. On one particular evening, Joan recalled her mother laughing about “the shenanigans of Maddigan.”

  “People think they’re invisible once they’re on motel property, even in the light of day. Management should install revolving doors in those cabins so those people having affairs wouldn’t need to stop to unlock doors.” Never once, though, did she divulge any names.

  Inside her cabin, Joan stripped to her bra and panties then curled up under the orange-and-brown bedspread for a short nap. Her last thought before drifting off was that the Twin Pines Resort, despite its facelift, was still steeped in scandal.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A SHARP KNOCK AT THE DOOR roused her. She glanced at the clock and groaned. She only had twenty minutes before she was supposed to meet Gabe and Hazel. Damn! Why hadn’t she set the alarm? She slipped into her clothes and buttoned her blouse. Carefully, she cracked open the door and saw a tall, stern-looking policeman. Behind him stood Des Cardinal, who nodded a silent “hello.”

  “Mrs. Parker?” asked the officer.

  Joan was about to correct him with “Ms” but stopped herself. It wasn’t the time to appear argumentative or raise feminist alarms. She just nodded.

  “I’m Staff Sergeant Smartt from the Major Crime Unit in Kamloops. You know Corporal Cardinal. I need to ask you a few more questions about the Rimmer incident.”

  She stepped out of the way. It made her uncomfortable having the two strange men in her messy motel room. She wished that she had at least picked her panties up from the floor. She considered kicking them under the bed. Would this Smartt assume she was hiding some sort of evidence? She smiled involuntarily then realized that both men were watching her. Now, she thought, they either think I’m guilty as hell or a loon.

  Smartt immediately made it clear that he leaned toward the former. “We understand that you were not originally on the invitation list for the reunion.”

  She looked from Smartt to Cardinal.

  “Margaret Chalmers gave us the invitation list. Your name had been added to the bottom in pencil, yours and one other. All the other names were typed.”

  “But Peg — Margaret — is the one who phoned me. She invited me.”

  Smartt ignored her. “We compared the list to school records. It appears you weren’t in the graduating class of nineteen seventy-nine.”

  She could feel herself getting red in the face. “Is this about Marlena Stanfield?”

  Des Cardinal spoke up. “Sorry, Ms. Parker, but we have to follow up on anything we’ve got. Which isn’t much.” He was silenced by a glare from Smartt.

  “I think she’s said enough.” Gabe stepped into the room and put a hand firmly on Joan’s shoulder. “You all right?”

  She nodded, forcing back tears of relief.

  “I’m leading this case now, Thiessen,” Smartt said. “It’s clearly a homicide. My division. You’re out of bounds.”

  “Out of bounds?”

  “You heard me,” retorted Smartt.

  “Okay, then, as of now I’m removing myself from the case entirely. So I’m here as Ms. Parker’s friend. It’s up to her, not you, whether I stay.” He paused. “Unless you’re charging her.

  It sounded as though Gabe was asking for trouble, then Joan realized that he was calling Smartt’s bluff. She wondered about their relationship. There wasn’t a spark of warmth, no professional courtesy between these two men.

  Gabe went on to suggest that the investigators question Peg again and ask her why Joan’s name was added in pencil.

  The officers were barely out the door when Gabe firmly closed it behind them. Joan and he stood face to face, neither saying a word.

  He gripped her arms. “You’re shaking.”

  She nodded. It was all so weird. “I’m the suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “And I’m here to help. Marlena mentioned the bit about the guest list.”

  “Marlena?”

  “I thought I’d better get over here. I know you didn’t do anything wrong. I know you too well.”

  Where was this leading? Too much was happening too quickly. She was in a fog. “We don’t know each other, Gabe. It’s been nearly thirty years since we’ve even spoken.”

  “Last night, for the first time, I realized that I’ve been friendless a long while. Friends in the way people ought to be, laying the bones bare, telling the truth, sharing secrets. Maybe it’s because we were kids together. Kids talk about things that adults don’t dare. Maybe it’s because we shared those wild years. But last night, last night thirty years washed away.” He brushed the hair from her face.

  The sensible, analytical part of Joan’s brain calculated the risk, then the hormones kicked in. Their lips came together and their mouths began exploring, tentatively. As she breathed in the scent that was all Gabe, she heard the police car drive away, crunching on the gravel outside her cabin. This was too fast, too risky, too insane. It was so like the old Gabe to tread this close to the edge. She pulled away.

  “We can’t. This is going to get us both into trouble.”

  He ignored her protest, folded his arms around her, and drew her into him. When he leaned in to kiss her again, she welcomed the force of his body. Then the phone rang, shattering the moment like an air raid siren, and she had to steady herself.

  She lifted the receiver and heard Mort on the other end. “Hey, babe. How’s the holiday?” His cheery voice hit her like a chilly wind. Instinctively, she turned her back to Gabe, then stammered that she’d call back.

  By the time she hung up, Gabe was at the door. The interruption had killed the moment. Embarrassment hung between them. She wasn’t practiced at having an afternoon rendezvous in a motel room. Nor, it appeared, was Gabe. They haltingly agreed to
meet at Jacque’s Bistro. Gabe promised to apologize to Hazel for the delay.

  Through the crack in the curtains, Joan watched him cross the gravel parking lot. His loping gait was still familiar after all these years. It continued to puzzle her, though, how Gabe and Roger had ended up as friends. What could they possibly have had in common? She resolved to ask him.

  Before leaving for her drink with Hazel and Gabe, she had a call to return.

  “Hey, you, where have you been hiding?” Mort’s tone was light, but beneath the question was concern.

  She felt a numbing guilt. Despite the wall that had grown between them, they were friends and she appreciated Mort’s gentle bruin warmth. He was always there to protect her. They’d never completely severed their tie even after the separation.

  The final dagger in their marriage had come six months earlier. Joan had phoned home from Tokyo, at dinnertime in Vancouver, and heard a woman’s voice in the background. Mort casually volunteered that he was entertaining some friends, barbequing in the rain. He happily rattled off the names of his guests and she realized she knew none of them. Worse, she didn’t care. Their lives had grown completely separate. Yes, they occasionally exercised their libidos together, but it was a friends-with-benefits deal; a stress relief, warm and perfunctory, like a good pedicure.

  She told Mort about Roger’s death and the police questioning her.

  “Damn, I should never have let you go on your own, Joannie.”

  He updated her on the store fire. Arson wasn’t suspected. Carelessness appeared to be the culprit. He’d been asked to attend the employee interviews to provide support.

  As he spoke, she imagined what it would have been like if Mort had come with her to Madden. He would have charmed everyone in a way that Joan never could. Roger probably wouldn’t have hit on her, and Marlena wouldn’t have had reason to be jealous. She wouldn’t have connected with Gabe. They wouldn’t have spent the evening together reliving their youth. She wouldn’t be breathless from being alone with him in her motel room just now. In that moment, she vowed that she’d never sleep with Mort again. It wasn’t a thread keeping them tied together. It was a chain that kept both of them from moving on.

  “Don’t worry about me, Mort.”

  “Of course I’ll worry about you. Now, call when you get on the road. I’ll go stock the fridge at the condo, cook you some grub . . . ”

  “You don’t need to do that,” she interrupted abruptly.

  “I don’t mind at all. It’s not a problem,” he replied.

  “It’s starting to be. It’s my fridge.” She told him she’d call when she got back to Vancouver.

  After hanging up, she looked out at the familiar dark pines, She cracked open the window and breathed deeply until she could taste the forest air, and wondered, for the first time, where home was.

  Staff Sergeant Smartt’s jaw muscle was working overtime. While the homicide cop from Kamloops seemed to be offering an olive branch, his unconscious clenching told the truth. Smartt had no option but to ask Gabe to rejoin the Rimmer case. The Elgar RCMP detachment that served Madden was understaffed. Gabe ran a tight ship and the only way they’d make any headway in a timely manner was if he rallied his officers.

  Gabe knew that his relationships with his old classmates weighed in his favour. While his connection to the reunion could be construed as a conflict, it was also a bridge. He hadn’t been Mr. Popularity in high school, but now he was trusted. He hated playing games, but he wasn’t shy about using a trick or two if it helped move an investigation forward.

  The central area of the Elgar station was hushed. Everyone was waiting for him to respond to Smartt’s offer. He waited. The air crackled with tension. Des’s spoon clanked against his mug as he slowly stirred his coffee. Janine, the high-strung receptionist, didn’t pretend to look away. Gabe’s silent gambit wasn’t for the entertainment of those watching but for the autonomy that he needed so he could make decisions quickly and command the respect necessary to run this investigation. Second ticked away. The LED display on the clock announced another minute.

  The Kamloops homicide officer sputtered out a blast of contained breath. “Whatever resources you need . . . ”

  Gabe smiled and held out his hand to seal the deal.

  Every time the door to Jacque’s Bistro opened, Joan looked up. She wished she had brought a book to hide behind. Normally it didn’t bother her to sit alone in a restaurant. She’d spent hours in airport hotel dining rooms with her laptop, the blend of foreign languages and music creating a comforting hum, in pleasant contrast to a Spartan, silent hotel room late at night. Being alone in that context, one in an army of jet-lagged people, defined her as part of that cultural milieu, an essential piece in the mosaic. The rules were different in Madden. Here “alone” was just “alone”. Out of place. Unwanted. Thirty years were suddenly sucked away in a vacuum. Once again Joan was the girl who didn’t quite fit. She picked up the menu one more time. If Gabe and Hazel took much longer, she’d have the house specials memorized.

  As she went down the now familiar list, she caught herself comparing it to the old menu of Jack’s Café. Instead of chicken chow mien, there was chicken with braised pea pods and lemon grass. She could imagine its delicately scented perfume. Roast lamb with curried cranberry compote had replaced Jack’s artery-clogging cheeseburger, and vanilla ice cream had given way to fresh raspberry gelato. She was taking solace in the fact that the menu had changed as much as she had, when Gabe walked though the door.

  As he slid into the booth across from her, she had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. It was like living in two worlds at once.

  “Smartt saw the light. I’m back on the case.” It was obvious that he was enthusiastic about the change.

  Joan, though, was disappointed. They’d spend less time together. The line would be drawn between them - he the law enforcement man, she the murder suspect. She gave herself an inner slap for selfishness. Of course Gabe should be running the show. That would achieve the best outcome. It made sense. She straightened her back against the booth and forced her biggest smile. “That’s great, Gabe.”

  He saw through her lame imitation of happiness. Reaching over, he squeezed her fingertips, an ambiguous physical gesture that could mean just about anything.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  Words were slow to come. They shouldn’t be alone together. The optics were bad for both of them, but for the first time in her life, she couldn’t control herself. As a teenager, her hormones had run high, had ruled her life, but she couldn’t remember ever wanting him in this way. Neither of them had resembled a teen idol. Physical desire hadn’t been part of the equation — at least not for her. Now Gabe was married, a father. She sensed danger in the air and put up a shield.

  “How did you and Roger end up as friends?”

  He leaned back with a weary sigh. He explained that Roger boomeranged between California and Madden, returning frequently to visit his parents. “It became difficult to avoid him. The pool hall, the bar.” He grinned. “My work takes me to all the best places.”

  “Go on.”

  “One time, when Hazel was in town, she asked me to watch out for him.”

  “Hazel? But she loathed Roger.”

  The incident that had brought them to a boil over Roger and had tied the three outcasts even closer as friends had been an offence directed at Hazel. She had been the star center on the girls’ high school basketball team. After the Madden Rockets had won the Regional Division tournament, their team picture had been posted outside the school office. Steve Howard, who had just joined Rank as bass player, had drawn a penis protruding from Hazel’s shorts. Sweet Hazel, who’d never hurt anyone, spent a weekend in tears.

  Joan had called Gabe and together the three of them had plotted. On Monday, Hazel led the charge. In her firm, controlled manner, she marched into the school office and demanded that the principal deal with the incident. It was as much a political statement about
tolerance toward gays and lesbians as anything else. The school administration balked at her demand so the three of them had banded together in protest, refusing to leave the front office until justice was served.

  Eventually Mr. Fowler and one of the bachelor trustees came forward in support of Hazel. The principal had no choice but to confront Steve. The teenager caved, revealing that Roger had forced him to do it, had threatened to find another bass player if he didn’t. Steve wasn’t a bad kid and had been wracked by guilt. Roger never denied any of it. He made a mocking apology that just reinforced that he had minions to do his bidding. That was all the administration expected, and it was never spoken of again.

  “Roger became a project for Hazel. In the past few months he had been coming to town more often and seemed to be straightening out. He was excited about playing with Rank again. Couldn’t get enough rehearsing in. They’d jam up at Ray and Marlena’s.”

  “Were you close?” asked Joan.

  “I’d stop to chat when I saw him on the street. We played a few games of pool. Truthfully, that’s as close as I wanted it. Then it got complicated. Earlier this month I was called over to Mountain View. You remember the seniors’ home?”

  She nodded.

  “Roger was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. At the front desk there’s a box to pay for raffle tickets. It’s an honour system. You put five bucks in the box and write your name on a ticket stub. There’s a monthly prize, dinner for two at the local pizza joint, handmade quilt, that kind of thing. I guess Roger couldn’t resist all those fivers staring up at him.”

  “He was caught red-handed?”

  “He tried to bullshit his way out of it, said he was putting money ‘in’ the jar.” Gabe sighed. “Maybe I should have brought him in. None of this would’ve happened.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “There was a lot of pressure to let it slide. Roger may not have had a lot of friends, but his father is still a pillar here. There was a time when Madden wouldn’t have had a doctor if Tom Rimmer hadn’t stuck around. He and Laura could’ve been soaking up the winter sun in Mexico rather than shovelling snow. There’s a sense around here that he’s owed.”