Patti waved the double-pronged knife in her face. “You're coming too. Nothing's going to stop me from getting out of this town.”
As much as Joan wanted to leave Madden, this wasn't how she had imagined her exit.
“It doesn't matter what I do now,” threatened Patti.
A loud knocking erupted at the door. “Joan? Joan, are you there?” called a man's voice.
Patti swung toward Joan. “Who's that?”
“It's Mort,” said Joan.
“Your husband? What's he doing here?”
“I'll make him go away.”
Patti grabbed her around the neck. “Shut up.” She pressed the cold blade against her neck. “Don't say a word or I'll kill you. Lord forgive me, but I will.”
Mort continued to bang on the front door. “Joan? Are you there? Is everything okay?”
Joan felt the taut, muscular arm pulling tighter around her neck as Patti pushed her toward the patio door. She stared through the glass into the dark woods by the river. In the reflection she could make out the glinting knife digging into her neck. Above, Patti's eyes glistened like steel. She had never before smelled this level of animal fear on a human being. The religion that Daphne had tried to escape had caught up with her daughter. Normally she would use words to calm someone who was in distress but she was too afraid to speak. If Patti got her outside, away from the motel, into the woods, her chance to escape unharmed would be lost.
“Slide it open,” hissed Patti as she pushed Joan against the patio door.
Joan spoke with every bit of calm she could muster, intently watching the reflection of her captor's eyes in the glass. “My wallet. You need the money to get away.”
In the split second that Patti's eyes shifted to the dresser, Joan grabbed the blade at her throat and kicked back with her boot, hitting Patti hard on the shin. The pain of the sharp serrated blade slicing into her palm sent a shock through her nervous system and she let go of the knife. Patti swiped it toward her face; Joan ducked. Patti had the speed and strength of youth on her side, so Joan relied upon the element of surprise. She butted her head into the younger woman's stomach and, before Patti could regain balance, heaved herself on top of her, toppling her to the floor. The twenty extra pounds she usually resented was now working in her favour. The banging at the door sounded like a battering ram trying to break through.
“Help! Help!” she screamed.
The doorframe gave way. First into the room was Gabe, followed by Des Cardinal and another burly young officer. Des pulled Joan out of harm's way, while Gabe and the other officer took control of Patti. Wide-eyed, Mort entered the cabin. The last Joan saw of Patti was Gabe and Des half carrying her kicking form toward the RCMP squad car. It looked strange for two strong guys to be holding onto a petite woman so forcefully. Joan was disappointed in Gabe, that he'd doubted her evidence against Patti. He'd betrayed her in front of Smartt. Once Gabe had put Patti in the back of the police car, he glanced back at her and looked puzzled. That's when Joan noticed the familiar weight of Mort's arm across her shoulders.
J
OAN VACATED HER MOTEL CABIN
. It wasn't only that the cops wanted access to the scene of a crime. The place now gave her the creeps. Hazel made her comfortable in her top floor hotel room, magically producing the ingredients for hot rum toddies, along with ceramic mugs, from her bottomless bag of travel supplies. Nothing could have impressed Mort more. Hazel took to him as though he were a warm summer breeze wafting through the door and, surprisingly, Lila was nice to him, too. He obviously didn't pose any form of threat, at least not to Lila and Hazel.
“How did you end up here?” Joan asked.
He grinned at her. “Nothing as exciting as a premonition.” He took her hand and squeezed. “I convinced you to come on your own, then all this crap happens. You were so aloof on the phone. I had to come and make it up to you.”
Hazel, bless her heart, changed the subject, repeating that she was disappointed to have missed the drama of the arrest.
Joan described every detail and Mort picked up where she left off. He'd gone to her cabin and heard Patti yelling. As he had pulled out his phone to call 911, Gabe had swerved into the parking lot in his truck.
“He came without you calling him?” asked Joan.
“Just like Dirty Harry.” Mort smiled.
“That's our Gabe,” added Hazel.
“He's not what I expected from your description, Joan. I thought he'd be some scrawny guy with thick glasses.” Joan and Hazel shared a glance. Mort went on to describe how Des Cardinal had arrived at the motel moments after Gabe. He'd been a few blocks away checking out Patti's abandoned rental car.
Hazel turned to Joan. “You'll come to the Rimmers' with me. I don't want some cop breaking the news, not even Gabe.”
It wasn't a question, but Joan nodded anyway. How strange it was who ended up in a person's human orbit, and how lucky they all were to have Hazel. Joan took her rum toddy to the bath that Lila had drawn for her. As she laid back, the scent of cinnamon, butter and alcohol filled her nostrils. Her mind drifted to an early September afternoon almost thirty-one years ago: cinnamon buns, dry leaves, warm sun through blue jeans, crows cawing . . . Soon she was asleep.
As the two women approached the Rimmer's tidy split-level, Joan could see the doctor, pained and frail, peeking through the curtains. By the time they reached the top step, he'd opened the door. The sacks of flesh hanging beneath his red-rimmed eyes made him look like an aging hound. Mrs. Rimmer smelled of eucalyptus heat rub and wore an ivory silk dress with nylons, a cardigan, and gold broach, as though she was expecting company or preparing to leave for church. She sat quietly, understanding that they had brought news. When Hazel gently explained that they had captured Roger's killer, her hand flew to her mouth.
Dr. Rimmer collapsed onto the sofa beside her. “Who? When did they . . . ?”
“An hour ago,” said Hazel.
Joan began, “We came from there â”
“Who? Who did this?!” It came as a cry from Dr. Rimmer.
Laura Rimmer didn't move.
Joan wondered if this elderly couple could take any more. “It was the girl with the dark hair who claimed to be Daphne Pyle.”
“She came here.” The old doctor was agitated. “She told us she'd given birth to Roger's child but she wouldn't tell us where she is. We have to call our lawyer, Laura.”
His wife put a hand on his arm and stared at him firmly. He went silent. Calmly, strongly, she spoke to him. “That girl is not the mother. She's our granddaughter.” She grasped her husband's hand. “We'll hear what she has to say, Tom.” He looked stunned, but she reminded him, “She's our family. She'll need us.”
Joan gently touched her bandaged hand where the knife had ripped her skin and wondered if she'd ever be able to make such a leap. Laura Rimmer was a saint to embrace her son's killer. Of course Patti hadn't tried to stab any of them. She made a mental note to get a tetanus shot.
Hazel had squeezed in between Roger's parents on the sofa, offering to do everything that she could to make it easier. The three of them began planning how they could help Patti.
When Joan got back to the Twin Pines, she had been assigned a different cabin, one of the newer ones. The upgrades were great. As she stripped down to her underwear and slipped the thick white robe over her shoulders, she thought how nice it would have been to have had these comforts earlier in the week. She was wondering where they'd put Mort, when the phone rang.
“It hasn't been hard to get information out of Patti,” Gabe said. “We told her to wait until there was a lawyer present, but she wouldn't shut up. There's someone there now giving her advice, a friend of Marlena and Ray's.”
“Did she confess to Peg's murder?” asked Joan.
“It's like you said. She claims that she just wanted to shut her up temporarily, so she gave her some of Daphne's medications.
She didn't even know what the drugs were. She just knew that her mom fell asleep after she took them.”
“The bag of Daphne's stuff that she carried around?” said Joan.
“Right,” said Gabe. “The drugs were just one of the things, along with the Facebook page, that she couldn't let go.”
“Two things I can't figure out is how she found out about the reunion,” said Joan, “and why did she want me here?”
“She was her mother's caregiver most of her life, especially at the end. She set up a Facebook page for Daphne, before she died, to distract her from the pain. Poor kid was probably drowning under the responsibility. She was trying to give her mom happy memories. There weren't a lot. She'd completely disconnected from her past. After Daphne died, Patti didn't close down the Facebook account. It was like keeping her mother alive in cyberspace You know, Joan, I can understand it in a way.” Joan heard his empathy. It was his best trait. He continued. “Ed Fowler posted the reunion announcement on Facebook in February. That's when Patti got the idea. Daphne died considering her life a failure. All the kid wanted to do was give her mom's life a makeover, wipe away her shame. And meet the friends who were so important to her. That's where you came in. She did want to meet you, but she also thought she'd stand out if she was the only one who showed up who hadn't actually graduated. You were camouflage.”
“And she wanted to meet her father,” added Joan.
Gabe nodded. “Mr. Fowler posted that Rank would be performing.”
“Poor kid. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring her mom back to life.”
“About this evening, Joan. Can I come pick you up for the memorial?” He hesitated. “Or are you coming with Mort?”
She told him that she hadn't seen Mort since she had returned from the Rimmers. “But don't worry about coming to get me, Gabe.”
“It's not a worry. I want to. Let me.”
She winced at his pleading. He had asked her to stand by him professionally, but then had disregarded her expertise. No matter how hard she tried to rise above it, she felt dismissed as a scientist. Had he been humouring her all along to get into her pants? She'd already decided to leave for Vancouver in the morning. The memorial was her last chance to say goodbye to Madden.
“I'll meet you at the school, Gabe.” She glanced at the clock. It was already after six.
“Sure,” he said and she hung up before he could say more.
Immediately the phone rang again. It was Mort this time. He was disappointed when Joan said she had other plans for the evening. He tried to pry his way in. “I want to meet all these people you've gabbed about for the past month.”
“I don't gab!” She hated to use this trick with Mort, pretending to be hurt by a minor offence, using it to distract him. However, it worked with him every time. He was so concerned about offending her or anyone else for that matter, even his enemies. What could a girl do? Time was what she needed now. Time to think. Time to sort out her feelings. She suggested that he try Jacques for dinner and give her a full report in the morning.
The idea of a culinary quest cheered him. “I could come by later and tell you all about it,” he suggested.
She laughed. “Give it up, Mort. I'll see you in the morning.”
After she hung up, she decided to call her mom before she heard about all the action on the news and panicked. The phone rang several times and Joan began to worry â maybe she should call Anthony or David â but when Vi answered on the fifth ring, there was laughter in her voice.
“Joan!”
She spoke quickly to fill her mother in on the discovery of Patti Pyle, to explain that she had to get going to a memorial, such an unexpected closing event to the reunion.
Vi listened patiently, making dramatic exclamations. “It was good for you to go to Madden, Joan,” she said finally.
“Mom, do you ever regret the way things turned out?”
“Everybody has regrets, Joan, but I don't let mine last for more than a moment. There's too much good in life to dwell on the negative.” Another of Vi's generalizations, but through this one Joan understood something important: it took grace not to let yourself get bitter. “Now, you give âhellos' to everyone from me. And Joannie?”
“Yes?”
“Let them know that Ed Fowler won't be there tonight.”
“What do you mean? How do you know?”
“He's here with me. We have a lot of catching up to do. And Joannie?”
“Yes?”
“I love you and I'm very, very proud of you.”
When Joan heard this her eyes misted. “I'm proud of you too, Mom.” And she was, more than she had ever expected to be.
J
OAN ENTERED AT THE BACK OF
the gym and stood for a moment beneath humming fluorescents, watching her peers mingle between rows of folding chairs. The atmosphere of the memorial resembled a subdued pie social more than it did a funeral. Despite the tragedy of the past few days, everyone was relieved to know the story behind the killings and that the danger was past.
Looking over the crowd, she was struck by the vast array of shapes, sizes, and hair colours. How amazing that this group of women and men in their late forties had been sold on the illusion that a thirty-year-old woman, even one so cleverly disguised, was their contemporary. Patti had used a physical makeover and a few well-chosen stories to play into mass wishful thinking. If she had paid a fraction of that attention to scent, she might have got away with murder.
Hazel and Lila were holding hands, smiling at something Steve was saying. Marlena was holding onto Ray as though he'd blow away in the first puff of wind if she let go. Gabe was nowhere in sight. Probably held up at the detachment.