A Nose for Death (8 page)

When Joan emerged from the bathroom, Gabe took her arm and steered her away from the crowd. “I know it was hard for you to come back to Madden. It shouldn't have happened this way.” He spoke breathlessly, as though he had to rush the words out or they'd get stuck behind formality, dissolved by the light of day. “But I'm glad you're here. I woke up thinking about you.”

She was floored by his candor. Joan was accustomed to erecting steely walls of propriety when it came to professional situations. It flustered her that he was so open, especially at the centre of a murder investigation. She wanted to know if “thinking of you” meant he was plotting her arrest or imagining her dancing naked. As he asked her about Roger, she suppressed the questions that she had for him.

No, she hadn't had contact with Roger since leaving Madden thirty years before. No, she hadn't kept up with anyone. Several times Gabe had to repeat his questions because Joan's mind was wandering. What kind of relationship had developed between him and Roger? And there was one question she was most interested in having answered. Finally she blurted it out: “Do you believe what Marlena told you last night, Gabe, about Roger and me?”

He looked awkward. “I can't answer that. It's my job to listen.” He was embarrassed, which worried Joan. If Gabe doubted her, what chance did she have of convincing anyone else?

“You know it isn't true.” She watched his tortured expression and could tell it was hard for him. “Roger the Dodger?” she laughed nervously. “Me and Roger? Can you even begin to imagine it?”

This dragged a crooked smile out of him. He told her he had to meet with his officers to go over all the interview material.

“When can I go home, Gabe?”

“Soon. Soon.” He closed his notebook, briefly put his hand over hers where it rested on her knee. “Can we get together later?”

Before she could answer, Hazel joined them. “Hey, Hazel,” Joan instinctively asked, “do you want to get together with us for coffee later?”

“Hell, I'll need a beer by the end of today.”

Hazel had held onto her best qualities; her sense of humour, her lack of criticism and judgment, her thirst for a good time. The three of them agreed to meet at a place called Jacques Bistro. Gabe went to his next interview. Hazel said she had visiting to do in town. Her parents had died many years before and Joan wondered who it was that she still visited in Madden. She looked around for Peg, but she had disappeared. With several hours to kill, Joan decided to go back to the motel for a warm sweater, then she'd grab lunch and go for a long walk to let the spring air fill her nostrils.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

A
N EARLIER URBAN PLANNER AT
M
ADDEN
City Hall had the foresight to protect the riverbank as recreational property. The core of the plan was a web of trails connected by rustic bridges and stairs. To make room, the city had bought up Vern's Wreckers, two old farm sites, and had arranged a public path through the old Madden Mobile Home Park. The trail started behind the motel and ran through the forest of pines and poplars all the way to the railway tracks, where it joined the far end of Main Street.

Joan picked up a map of the parkway from the front desk of the Twin Pines and decided to walk into town. She passed a sign warning cyclists that the path was steep and rocky. Soon after that the trail dipped abruptly down the riverbank. Luckily the pathway had been spared the pine beetle infestation that had devastated so many forests in the West. The thick trees met overhead and Joan was soon walking through a tunnel of green. On one side the river rushed by, and on the other large rocks and dark clay created a natural, crumbling wall. Except for the distant highway sounds, she might be a million miles from anywhere.

She'd been walking for several minutes when she realized that she wasn't alone on the path. Quick footsteps pattered ahead. As she rounded a curve she saw a figure: a woman, rather tall, hoodie drawn up over her head, was slipping and sliding in flimsy footwear. Joan couldn't make out the face. The woman sped up and Joan lost sight of her. But when she rounded the next corner she could see the woman trying to climb down the path toward the river. With a sudden cry, she slid down the lower bank and landed with a thud. As Joan raced toward her, she recalled last night when she'd tried to assist someone in peril. Marlena had turned on her. With care, she approached the spot where the woman had disappeared and saw arms and legs tangled among branches and deadwood. The woman looked up. It was Daphne. Her sunglasses were askew on her nose and her backcombed hair stood up from her head like a rooster's plume. She smiled meekly. “Hi there, Cupcake.”

As Joan pulled Daphne up the bank, it became clear that the other woman had no idea who she was.

“I'm Joan.” The reminder elicited a blank stare from Daphne. “Parker. Joan Parker.”

“Of course. Joan, Joannie. How the heck are you?” She suspected from this over-enthusiastic but hollow response that Daphne still didn't recognize her. It was a blow. Was she so unforgettable that even someone who had been a friend, one of a very few, couldn't remember her? Not only had they had several classes together, but they'd also shared the lemon gin fiasco.

As she helped Daphne to her feet and brushed the dead leaves from her jacket, she had a closer look at her former classmate. The heavy makeup had made her look older under the harsh light of the gymnasium, but in the soft light of day and with her sunglasses perched comically, Daphne looked far younger than her years. “What kind of life,” she wondered, “had left so few lines and scars?”

They walked together along the path. Joan did most of the talking. Although Daphne was vague about many things, she did remember that Joan had left in November before they graduated. Daphne too had left early, in May. This was news to Joan and she felt a sudden bond. It was the first time either had been back to Madden. She asked Daphne what changes were most surprising to her.

“The school seems bigger, especially the gym. But it's been so many years.” She spoke haltingly.

Joan was puzzled. “But that school wasn't built until a dozen years after we left.” She looked at Daphne with concern. She had heard of people with early onset dementia. Was that what was happening to Daphne? Was it safe for her to be out on the paths by herself? “Daph, are you okay?”

The other woman shot her a nervous glance. But there was something else in her eyes. Anger? “It hasn't been a walk in the garden, Joan. After I left Madden, I got sick. Encephalitis,” Daphne offered curtly.

Joan knew of this condition, the devastating swelling of the brain. The effects were frightening. A lot of patients died. One woman she knew, a lab technician at Constellation, had been a victim of West Nile virus that resulted in encephalitis. It had taken months for her to regain her speech, and now she was confined to a wheelchair.

Daphne continued. “They never found out why or how I got it, just one of those things. It destroyed my long-term memory. Besides that, I'm fine. Better than anyone expected.”

“I'm so sorry, Daphne.”

Daphne brushed it off. “I'm one of the lucky ones.” Then she chuckled, almost to herself. “I prefer not to live in the past - because I can't. It makes for some awkward social situations. I almost didn't come to the reunion.”

So the prettiest girl in high school had also had reservations about returning to Madden. Joan didn't usually take the initiative to make physical contact, but she felt drawn to thread her arm through Daphne's arm. Silently, she reprimanded herself for her own whining about making the trip. What a self-pitying loser. Her life had only improved since she left town. Her hurdles led to accomplishments. Daphne was far braver than she. She would forgive her for looking so great.

“You're staying with Peg. How did you guys reconnect after all these years?”

“She called me out of the blue,” said Daphne. “I have to say, I was surprised to be invited since I wasn't on the graduating list.”

“Same here,” added Joan. She marvelled at the similarities in their journeys to Madden.

“She even invited me to stay with her. By the time I got here, though, she was puking all over the place. Poor Peg. Knocked the stuffing out of her going out this morning. I had to put her back to bed before I came out.”

The two women decided to have lunch together. As they walked through the woods, then into the modest downtown core, Daphne shared her story. She had married less than a year after leaving Madden. Then she got sick. After her recovery, she had a little girl. She hardly mentioned her husband, an insurance salesman, but spoke dreamily of her child and their fairytale relationship. Patti had excelled in school and gone onto college. Patti could have done anything, but had settled on hair and esthetics. She now owned her own beauty salon. Daphne worked with her, scheduling appointments and ordering supplies, keeping the place spick-and-span.

In their youth Main Street had been the only commercial street in Madden. The gravel road had been muddy in spring and choked with dust in the summer. On either side of the street there had been modest shops: a hardware, sewing-machine shop, drug store, all practical, nothing more glamorous than an occasional new awning. All that had changed. Main Street was now one of several streets alive with business. Flower baskets hung from stylish lampposts. Garbage cans were hidden in wood-picket containers that matched benches on the corners. A computer shop sat next to a trendy café, the old Royal Bank building housed an upscale clothing store, and at the far end of the street, Jack's Chinese and Western Restaurant had been transformed into Jacques Bistro. Joan was in awe of the change. Enough of the structures remained to keep it familiar, but now it had a manufactured small-town prettiness that it hadn't in the past.

By this time they were both relaxed and laughing. Neither had mentioned the murder. They decided to try Jacques Bistro for lunch, even though Joan knew she'd be there later with Gabe and Hazel. No scent of the deep fryer. No thirty-five cent coffee. Caffeine now came in Americanos at two-fifty a pop. Both women ordered the spinach salad with strawberries, and the greens and berries were plump and fresh. This was a far cry from the iceberg-and-radish salad drowned in French dressing of thirty years ago.

Joan couldn't be sure, but the Jacques who served them now, with diamond-studded eyebrow ring, could very well be the annoying toddler who used to hide under the tables and tie their shoelaces together when she and her friends were sipping cokes.

For a while Jack's had been their battlefield. Gabe, Hazel, and Joan would hang out, stack coffee creamers and plan their getaway from Madden. Marlena and her gang, including Candy and Peg, would come in with the jocks. Sometimes Daphne would be with them. Inevitably Marlena would throw insults at Joan's table. Usually Joan and her friends would clear out, determined not to admit that the nastiness bothered them. On one occasion, though, Jack Sr. had become so infuriated that he'd marched right up to Marlena's table and, in his heavily accented English, had given her the boot. He'd then poured Joan and her friends a free refill. Daphne hadn't left with Marlena and the others, but had come to Joan's table to apologize, then had sat down with them. She'd been one of those people who was decent to everyone.

“What are you smiling about,” asked Daphne.

Joan shook her head. “Just remembering.”

“Lucky you,” joked Daphne.

“You were a nice kid, Daphne. You may not remember, but you were.”

Daphne smiled and the pink blush rose in her cheeks.

“We hung out together at a bush party once at the beginning of grade twelve. I had a run-in with Roger Rimmer that night.” It was the first time either had mentioned Roger.

Daphne lowered her head. “He wasn't very nice, was he?”

“You remember that?” asked Joan.

Daphne shook her head. “No, but people don't want to talk about him, not the way you'd think they would after someone . . . ” she paused, “ . . . passes away.”

They were both silent for a moment, then Daphne looked up with a bold smile. “The lemon gin!” she exclaimed.

“You remember?” Joan asked.

Daphne nodded and added, “It's one of the few things I do remember.”

Joan wasn't surprised. She was still overcoming her re-acquaintance with the scent of that odious liquor. Despite working with scent for years, Joan still marvelled at the noble, underrated nose. Its true beauty was as a channel to the powerful olfactory channel. It leads us to our mates, warns us of our enemies, and is the memory sense. One whiff hurls us back decades to mints from grandma's pocket, smoke from a deadly fire, or fumes from a pungent bottle of lemon gin.

Daphne popped the last strawberry into her mouth and pushed her salad plate away. “I'm embarrassed to say I don't remember anything at all about Roger. What was he like?”

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.