A Nose for Death (24 page)

As she unlocked her car door, a sedan across the street caught her attention. Staff Sergeant Smartt was slouched in the seat, eyes intent on her. She knew that Gabe was irked that the cop from Kamloops was on their heels, waiting for a misstep. Refusing to be cowed, she waved and smiled. He didn't respond.

The cabin felt chilly. Joan locked the door behind her, then fiddled with the unit that was a combination heater and air conditioner. Still it made no sound, as though it were simply an empty façade. By now she was shivering so she added a sweater to her sweats and pulled on a pair of thick socks. Rummaging through the mini-fridge, she came up with an apple and a handful of Edam cubes she'd smuggled from the wine-and-cheese function the previous afternoon. If I stay much longer, she thought, I'll have to go grocery shopping. It made her think of Mort. If he were there, he'd ensure that she ate properly and the fridge would be stocked. She glanced at the phone. If she called, she'd be sending mixed messages. Now she wasn't so sure of herself. Yes, she wanted to hold onto his friendship. But what was enough and what was too much?

Propped up in bed, she pulled the covers to her chin and flipped through the pages of the
Madden Gazette
that had been left in her room. Roger's death made the front page, but there was no mention of Peg. She checked the date. Sunday's paper, yesterday, the day that Peg had died.

She turned to the classified ads in the back, imagining that she was looking for a job and home in Madden. A luxurious two-bedroom condo overlooking the river, only five years old, cost a fraction of what the same place did in Vancouver. She noticed the name Stanfield Developments splashed over ads for high-end homes in a new subdivision. Smiling young couples with perfect teeth and one perfect child frolicked on the lawns of enormous houses — “mansions” by the standards of Joan's childhood. So many of the happy young couples from her previous life in Madden had become bitter and desperate or just plain sad. So many marriages, including her own, had fallen apart. Of those who remained together, many seemed disenchanted. Why did people demand so much out of their most intimate relationships? If they expected half as much from themselves, the world would be a much better place. Guiltily, she thought again of Mort but quickly shoved him to the compartment of her brain labelled “do not disturb”.

She flipped to the employment section of the
Gazette
. Lakeview College, which the province had situated in Madden in return for local votes, was advertising for various positions, including a chemistry instructor. Joan had all the qualifications, and the salary was handsome for a job that wouldn't be nearly as draining as working for Constellation Inc. Or maybe she'd re-invent herself completely, find work in a greenhouse or transfer her skills to aromatherapy. But, in reality, was life in Madden what she wanted? How long before the novelty of Jacques Bistro wore thin? Once winter socked in, could she bear the deep-freeze temperatures? Would the romance of snowshoeing on starlit evenings be enough to fill the long, dark hours until spring? Surely she'd go bonkers. Already she was starting to miss her comfortable, modest condo in the city.

Joan was shocked out of her daydream by a sharp rapping. She stared at the door a moment before throwing back the blankets, exposing herself to the icy air, then crept silently forward as though sudden movement might send out an alarm. She looked through the peephole, but all she could see was a dark blur. The knock came again. Frantic, she grabbed her reading glasses, to see if they would help her detect the identity of her visitor. No luck. Whoever it was must be tall and standing right at the door, or else the peephole was filthy and clouding the image. She could either pretend she wasn't there or reveal that she was. In a voice just above a whisper, she asked, “Who's there?”

“Joan, Joan is that you. Are you okay?”

She slowly opened the door a crack to ensure that, indeed, it was Gabe.

He looked over his shoulder before sliding into her room. “You left without saying a word.”

She was self-conscious about her bizarre appearance: baggy sweats, bright pink fuzzy socks, and hair standing on end.

Gabe didn't seem to notice. “You're shivering.” He wrapped her in his arms and she relaxed into the warmth of his embrace. “It's like a fridge in here.”

“The bloody heating system is a joke,” she sighed from between chattering teeth.

“Come here.” He led her to the bed and drew her down.

“No, Gabe.”

“Shh. I'm just warming you up. I promise.”

She could feel him unbuttoning his rough duffle coat, a cocoon of wool alive with his scent. He opened it and drew her to him. Conflicting thoughts rushed through her brain: Staff Sergeant Smartt keeping surveillance, Marlena's threat to expose Gabe, her own desire to be held, the fact that time was running out, how the large piece of cheese that she'd just eaten might affect her breath.

His strong hands turned her toward him. “Joan.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I'm staying the night.”

She buried her face in his chest, shaking her head “no”, and trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

He tilted her head back. “Why not?”

“You have . . . a wife,” was all she said. She'd given voice to the burden that was a rock in her gut.

“How do I make you believe that we're not living as a married couple anymore. Listen, I wouldn't have kissed you in public at Jacques. I wouldn't do that to you.” He was still looking her squarely in the eye. “Or to her.” His voice softened. “I wouldn't be here now.”

She couldn't count the times she'd heard this story from her women friends, women facing menopause on their own, frantic that their only chance at love was passing. How many had insisted that their latest beau was only living with his wife out of convenience, that the wives were, themselves, done with the marriage? Like a skipping record, it always seemed to unfold that the wives were stunned to discover that their husbands were cheating on them. Although she hoped that Gabe was different, Marlena had made her doubt him. How could Gabe,
her
Gabe, whom she had known all of her life, how could he betray any woman?

When he brushed his lips against hers, she kissed him hard, then pushed him away so that she could read his reaction to her next question.

“Gabe?”

“Hmm?” he moaned the response softly.

“I need to know something. Why are you so sure that I didn't kill Roger? And Peg, for that matter?” He gently brushed the hair from her brow as she continued. “I was the last person to see Roger alive. I had plenty of time to go up to Peggy's on Sunday morning. How do you know it isn't like Smartt thinks, that I invited myself to this party so that I could kill Roger? What if I wanted Peg silenced? How do you know it wasn't me?”

“Because I know you. I always have.”

And at that moment, Joan knew they were fooling themselves. One of the things that she remembered about Gabe was his ability to separate passion and logic, which was why his protests were so convincing. If she were the lead investigator in this murderous puzzle, she'd be on her own suspect list. Before she could question him further, before she could ask if he had a prime suspect that he wasn't telling her about, there was another knock at the door. This time, a not-so-subtle voice accompanied it.

“Hey Joannie, let me in!”

Gabe groaned. Joan shrugged and went to the door.

Hazel barged in with a hotel blanket, a pillow, and a large brown paper bag. “I knew you wouldn't have extra blankets. They keep this place so damned cold.” She acknowledged Gabe as though it was perfectly normal that he should be in Joan's room late at night. She turned to Joan. “You mind if I spend the night?”

Joan and Gabe forced smiles.

Hazel complained that Lila had kicked her out of her own hotel room, angry that she hadn't paid her more attention at the dance.

Gabe made his excuses, kissed Hazel on the cheek, then kissed Joan on the mouth and whispered, “I'm not done with you,” and left.

Joan could smell the hot ginger beef and broccoli with garlic through the brown bag and tinfoil containers. She realized just how hungry she was and tied into the Chinese takeout with gusto. The two stayed up far too late, finishing a bottle of wine before they pulled out the hide-a-bed. Hazel was still talking as Joan drifted into her own pre-dream thoughts. She was glad that Hazel had saved her from temptation. Something nagged at her. She had been so relieved to see Gabe when she arrived in Madden, so swept up in her feelings for him, that she hadn't questioned deeply who he had become. She had projected onto him the person she wanted him to be. Was Gabe keeping information from her? Did he know who had killed Roger? Was there another reason he was so sure that she didn't do it?

The streets of Elgar were dead quiet when Gabe turned off the highway. He knew that there would still be officers working at the detachment office, scratching their heads over clues that didn't seem to be leading them anywhere. It had only been seventy-two hours since Roger's death. The Elgar RCMP were accustomed to identifying homicide perps quickly. Barroom brawls and domestic disputes left grizzly evidence and a clear trail of blood and witnesses to the killers. A lot was riding on Gabe's association with the graduating class, but now he was beginning to worry that his pre-existing knowledge might, somehow, be blinding him.

Bypassing Centre Street and the office, he zig-zagged through the residential roads and finally turned into his crescent. At the far end of the street a dim light glowed in the second-storey window of the master bedroom. Betty was probably sitting up in bed with a bodice-ripper, the familiar cup of hot water and lemon by her elbow, one ear alert to his footsteps on the stairs. He parked as silently as if he were staging a surprise drug bust and quietly let himself into the house. Avoiding the two stairs that creaked, he made it to the top landing without making a sound.

He crept to his son's door, slowly turned the knob and pushed it open a crack. Teddy, now a lanky six-footer, was curled up like a little boy, clinging to the covers that threatened to fall to the floor. His shallow breaths didn't alter and Gabe pulled the door closed without disturbing him. It had only been three days that they'd been apart and Gabe had missed him. What kind of hole would it leave when Teddy headed to university in the fall? Facing the door at the end of the hall, he debated going in to say goodnight to his wife. As he shifted his weight, the floorboard beneath his feet cried out. Instantly the ribbon of light at the bottom of her door went dark. So much of their communication had become non-verbal over the past couple of years. This one said, “I have nothing to say to you.” He turned and went down the stairs.

The den was chilly. He pulled out the hide-a-bed and stripped down to his shorts. Now wide awake, he draped a woollen blanket around his shoulders and sat at his computer. After checking his email, he began to Google people of interest, to see if he'd missed anything; Joan, Roger, and Ed Fowler were all on his list, each for different reasons. The ticking of his father's old wind-up mantle clock kept time from a scarred side table. Gabe knew it would be another sleepless night.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

J
OAN DREAMT OF BEES AND SWEET
wine-scented vineyards warmed by the sun. She was jarred awake when the soft buzzing was interrupted by a loud snort. She rolled over to see Hazel sprawled on the pullout, deeply asleep, gently smacking her lips over her last snore. Daylight streamed in the skylight and Joan lay still a moment to get her bearings. She reminded herself that it was Tuesday, and that May was slipping away. The message light was flashing on the phone. She actually hoped it was Tony or Ted calling, needing her at work, desperate for her to solve a puzzle. It had been five days since she had left the office. This was the longest break that she'd had in over a year.

She quietly dialed in for voicemail, watching Hazel to make sure the soft touch-tone beeping didn't wake her. Two messages had been left. The first was from Candy saying that since today would be everyone's last in Madden, she had organized a memorial ceremony. It would be at the school gym since there wasn't a church big enough to hold all the people likely to attend.

“It's in honour of Peg and Roger, a tribute, remembering the good things. It's what Peg would have wanted so . . . 6 pm. Be there or be square . . . ” She sighed then added, “as Peggy would have said.”

The reference to “everyone's last night” confused Joan until she played the second message, which was from Corporal Cardinal at the Elgar RCMP detachment. Soft-spoken and considerate, he said that many people had expressed a need to return to their homes and jobs. The attendees of the reunion were being requested to please leave their contact information at the office.

She rolled onto her back and stared out at the clear sky. If the weather held, it would be the perfect day for the service. In the few short days she'd been in Madden she'd witnessed the transition from spring to summer. The musky smell of leaves composting in the drizzling showers had given way to the scent of new lawns, and the river, swollen with continued snowmelt and the heavy rains of last week, kept the air moving, fresh and alive. It was only four weeks from the longest day of the year. At this latitude that meant they'd have light until well into the evening. When they were kids, they had tested the length of the days by how late they could read an
Archie
comic outside without the use of a flashlight. As she lay with her hands folded over her stomach, she solemnly admitted to herself that once she left Madden, there was a good chance that it would be years, even decades before she returned, if she ever came back. There were a few things she needed to tie up before tomorrow. She wasn't sure if there was a connection between the sordid photographs of her at the 1978 bush party and the reunion murders, but she was determined to resolve at least that mystery before leaving town. She dressed quietly, wrote Hazel a note about the memorial, and tiptoed out the door and into the daylight.