The graduating class had swarmed to the Stanfields. As Joan had expected, it turned out to be more a wake than a reunion. People who hadn't attended the afternoon gathering were hearing about Peg's death for the first time as they came through the door. Despite Marlena's plan to show off to the graduates from out of town, locals invited themselves when they heard that the Stanfields were opening their doors. The day had turned warm and the heat lingered into the evening. People spilled out of the house onto the expansive back deck and throughout the house.
For the moment, Joan and Hazel had the kitchen to themselves. Requisite pies, squares, crustless sandwiches, and other funeral fare were stacked on the table and counters. The scent of lemon meringue and matrimonial bars swept Joan back to her childhood.
“Peg always kept her distance from me,” said Hazel, leaning her large body against the island. She popped the last bite of Nanaimo bar in her mouth and licked the chocolate from her fingers. “I used to think it was because I'm a lesbian, that it made her uncomfortable.”
“And that changed?” asked Joan.
“Yes it did. I was in town checking up on Roger a few years back. He was staying at his parents. Peg stopped me at the grocery store and was really friendly. She said there were things that had happened when we were in high school that shouldn't have and she was sorry she hadn't been more supportive. I figured she was talking about the modified basketball photo.”
“Did she mention Steve?”
“No. She said that Roger should have taken responsibility. I told her not to worry about it, that I'd let go of it years back. Heck, I may not have become politically active if they hadn't tried to give me a penis in tenth grade.” Hazel turned her attention to a plate of cookies. “I told Lila I'd bring her something sweet. I'd better get back to the hotel or she'll give me the silent treatment all night.”
“Are you two doing okay?”
Hazel shrugged in response. “Her snits don't usually last this long.” She held up a paper plate heaped with chocolate pecan cookies and two large lemon squares. “We'll see if this helps.”
“I'm really sorry that you got stuck on the road on Friday,” said Joan. “It would have been great if the three of us could have caught up together before this became an investigation instead of a reunion.”
“Sounds like you and Gabe made out fine without me. Besides, a night at the Elgar Motel is something that Lila and I can cherish in our old age. It was like sleeping in a 1950s time capsule.” Hazel grinned and swept out of the room.
Joan had assumed that Hazel and Lila had been stuck somewhere near the Kamloops Airport the night that Roger had been murdered. She wondered why they hadn't travelled the last few miles to the room waiting for them at the Twin Pines. Were they afraid that their fight would become public? Although she hadn't yet schmoozed her way through the twenty or so people in the next room and had only briefly nodded at Marlena and Ray when she arrived, she was ready to duck out the back door. It had been a long day. Her brain was full of details that she needed to process. As she was about to make her escape, Daphne and Marlena, chatting like a couple of chickadees, came into the kitchen bearing empty trays.
“Joannie, are you in here chowing down all on your own?” chided Marlena.
The veiled insult doubled Joan's resolve to leave as soon as possible.
“I bet Joan can eat whatever she wants without a worry. She looks so great!” As Daphne spoke she filled trays with professional speed, laying out attractive arrangements that would make Martha Stewart proud. She popped a plump, fragrant strawberry in her mouth.
“Daph,” said Marlena, “haven't you turned into the perfect little diplomat? Didn't get that from your hoot-an'-holler folks, did you?”
Daphne stiffened and faltered. “May they rest in peace.”
“Rest in peace? Why, your dad may have mellowed but that's no reason to count him as dead,” said Marlena.
Daphne spun around. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he was perky as a chipmunk when I was over at the lodge the other day.” Marlena started stacking trays by the sink. “Do you think we'll need more sandwiches? People seem to be going after the squares and sausage rolls more.” She started rinsing the trays one at a time.
Joan noticed that Daphne had gone as white as the whipped cream on Marlena's shortcake. “Daph, are you all right?”
Daphne stood silently, staring straight ahead.
“Oh, for God's sake,” Marlena gasped impatiently as she grabbed a paper napkin from the kitchen island and held it under Daphne's chin. “Spit.”
Daphne remained paralyzed.
“Hurry, just spit it out,” said Marlena, hand on her hip.
The memory came rushing back to Joan. They'd all been at Marlena's birthday party, her ninth or tenth. She couldn't remember exactly. The cake was angel food topped with a cloud of whipped cream and stuffed with luscious red strawberries. Although Mrs. Prychenko had scraped the strawberries from Daphne's serving, a trickle of juice had seeped into the cake. Daphne had bitten into it, and almost instantly, her lips had started to swell. Daphne had been more embarrassed than scared, until her throat started closing and she couldn't breath. Ambulance sirens had ended the party. Now Joan recalled that Daphne had had to steer clear of several foods because of severe allergies. More than once she had been rushed to hospital when there was a recurrence of the birthday party scene. Peanuts were one of the worst. Strawberries were another. Joan had always attributed Daphne's parents' strict surveillance of their daughter to their religious fervour. How much of their concern might have been fear? Fear that their youngest child would die before them?
Close to tears, Daphne stared at Marlena.
“Spit? Why?”
Joan stepped in. She could detect the strawberries on Daphne's breath. “Your allergies, honey.”
Daphne looked mystified. “I'm not allergic to strawberries. I'm not allergic to anything.”
“Yes you are,” said Marlena sternly, in a know-it-all tone.
Joan took the napkin from Marlena's hand. “She looks fine now.”
There had been strawberries in their salad at Jacques the day before. Daphne had shown no reaction then. But even if she had outgrown childhood allergies, something so severe should be in her records. When Daphne was in recovery from encephalitis someone should have warned her about something as serious as deadly allergies. What kind of man had her ex-husband been to leave her in such a precarious position? How thoughtless they had been. But Daphne hadn't choked or gasped for air. If it wasn't the strawberry that had made her turn pale, then what? It hit Joan like a brick. Daphne was responding to Marlena's comment about Mr. Pyle living in the Lodge. She was certain of it. Daphne hadn't known that her father was alive and here in Madden.
After Marlena left the kitchen, Joan asked gently, “When did you last see him, your dad?”
Daphne was curt. “I don't know. A long time ago. I don't want to talk about it.” Beautiful, vivacious Daphne pasted a wide, stiff smile on her face as she went from the kitchen to the crowded living room. Joan followed.
Ray, Steve, and Rudy were standing around the piano trying to harmonize. At the sight of Daphne, Ray jumped on the sofa and drunkenly mimed a rapid drum solo with two satay skewers, oblivious to the chunks of chicken and pork flying across the room. Then he raised his hands.
“Attention everyone.” The intro was unnecessary since it was hard to ignore a grown man jumping on the furniture. “Rank rises again. One night only, before Rudy leaves town.” He grinned at his fellow band member, who smiled awkwardly.
Rudy's not as pissed as Ray, Joan thought.
Ray continued, his excitement rising. “Tomorrow night at the Madden Couch, featuring a new lead singer.” He smiled at his audience. “Me.” At that he bowed and fell off the sofa.
Joan could feel someone standing close to her. Gabe.
“It's where all the cool kids hang out,” he said.
As Ray pulled himself to a sitting position on the carpet, Marlena looked as though she wanted to kick him. Joan couldn't help but think it was in bad taste to revive Rank so soon after Roger's death.
Gabe interrupted her thought. “Fowler is always happy to have anyone drop in.” He looked around. “I'm surprised he didn't show up here tonight.”
Ed Fowler typed “Vi Parker, Vancouver” into the search engine, hit “enter” then held his breath as he waited for the results. He spent hours every week Googling former students and faculty of Madden High. It gave him satisfaction to see their successes. He was an Internet lurker, though. Except for posting on Facebook and Craigslist about the reunion, he rarely actually contacted anyone. That, however, was about to change. He slowly exhaled.
Gabe and Joan leaned side by side against her car outside the Stanfield house. The warmth of his hip, where it touched hers, sent an electrical surge through her body. They knew that they couldn't touch further, not under the glow of the plate-glass window. Party sounds emerged from the house. “So Marlena no longer has her sights set on me?” she said.
“She's had time to digest what happened. She knows it's an outrageous idea, you killing anyone.”
“I have a hard time believing it's that simple.”
“Joan, let it go. I was wrong to get you to dig into this with me. It could be dangerous.”
“I'm not stopping now. Smartt still mistrusts me. After you file that report about the attempted rape, he'll trust me even less.” She stared into the night, her active brain twisting the clues around like a puzzle. She felt Gabe studying her profile.
He slid his hand down and discreetly slipped it over hers. “I can't let you do it, Joan.”
“Yes, you can. You can and you must.” She looked up into his concerned eyes and a hot tsunami of lust drowned her reason. She wondered if they'd be able to steal any time alone tonight. An invitation to a night of sensual pleasures was on her lips when the Stanfields' door opened. Ray, keys in hand, stumbled out with Rudy and his wife, Monica. Gabe became a cop, stepped in and offered the Weiss's a ride.
Rudy smiled at Joan. “Aren't you at the Twin Pines as well?”
She glanced at Gabe, who shrugged helplessly.
“Hop in,” offered Joan. “Parker Taxi at your service.” She mimicked Gabe's shrug, then quickly ducked into the driver's seat to hide her disappointment.
The cold linoleum balanced the heat of exertion as Joan finished her evening exercise routine. She lay back on the floor and looked up through the skylight. Straining to make out the features of the man in the moon, she realized she had been so busy trying to prove her innocence that she had missed something staring straight at her. If it hadn't been Peg's idea to add Daphne and her to the invitation list then someone had gone out of their way to break protocol. What if they had been lured here by someone with a score to settle with them both? What if they were in danger? She needed to warn Daphne. When she leapt up and reached for the phone, she saw that it was almost midnight. Was her imagination getting the better of her? It was too late to call the Stanfield house to warn Daphne on some half-baked intuition. It was also too late to call her mom to ask her about something that had been grinding at her all day. How, exactly, did Vi find out that Marlena's dad and Mr. Fowler's wife were having an affair?
T
HE NURSE POINTED OUT
H
AROLD
P
YLE
sitting in the dining room, then left her standing in the entrance. She hadn't told the nurse her name, hadn't mentioned that the elderly man seated alone at a table, bent over his Monday breakfast, was one of her last remaining blood relatives. He looked nothing like she remembered. He still had a thick head of hair, but it was now white, nothing like the rich black hair in the photograph that sat beside her bed in Calgary. She watched from the doorway, wanting desperately to go to him, but afraid. She couldn't take his rejection again.
Suddenly the nurse was at her side, urging her to go sit with him. “His only visitor lately was that musician, the one who died last week,” she said.
“Roger Rimmer?”
The nurse nodded then went to break up a traffic jam of walkers at the door.
“May I sit here?”
Harold Pyle's head tilted up and there was no recognition in his eyes. He nodded once then went back to his porridge. She took the seat next to him, where she could study him from the side. From this position she could see his craggy features without it being obvious that she was memorizing every curve, line, and whisker. His leathery skin had seen too much sun in his youth. The blue eyes sat deep in their sockets, red-rimmed, the whites now a jaundiced yellow. He was so much smaller now. She remembered him as a towering, formidable figure.
After a moment he looked up at her again. “I had a daughter looked a lot like you.” He sniffed. “She broke her mother's heart.”
He fed himself another bite of oatmeal. She watched him in silence then he looked up again, examining her with rheumy eyes. “My Daphne.” His face sagged in sorrow as he spoke. “It took me getting old to realize we should've been nicer to her.” His head bobbed in a palsied nod of contemplation. “Our own daughter. Charity begins at home.” He paused then asked, “What'd you say your name was?”
Unable to deal with the emotion rising in her throat, she stumbled out of her chair. As she fled from the room she almost toppled an elderly man who was navigating between the tables with two canes.
“Mind if I sit with you, Harry?” asked the man.
When she was at the door, she looked back one last time. Although he'd gone back to eating his cereal, his eyes were on her.
Gabe hung up the phone after leaving a message for Joan then slowly stirred milk into his tea. He hadn't slept well. Although he was enjoying not having to deal with Betty's icy sarcasm at everything he said, the house felt empty. The thought of Teddy leaving made him lonely. Already he missed his son.