A man who looked too old to have been in their class made a beeline for Joan.
“Did ya' miss me?” The man pointed a finger like a gun. When he smiled, a row of too-bright teeth glistened.
Joan smiled awkwardly.
“Oh, c'mon Joan. It's me!” He opened his arms as though giving her a better look at his forty-eight inch chest squeezed into a sweater two sizes too small would trigger her memory. All it did was send a wave of Hugo Boss cologne directly up her nose.
“I'm sorry,” she stammered, holding back a sneeze and hoping she'd be rescued by someone at the table. She looked at Candy, but the blond card shark was concentrating on her hand.
“A boo, boppa-boo, boppa-boo?”
“I beg your pardon?” His scat reference meant nothing to her.
He repeated “A boo, boppa-boo, boppa-boo, boppa boo,” this time slapping his legs to keep time. When her helpless expression didn't change, he finally introduced himself. “C'mon, Joan. It's Gerald. Gerald Gillespie.”
“Gerry?” This man couldn't be the quiet boy who sat behind her all through grades 7 and 8. They exchanged a few words then he went back to his seat, despondent that she hadn't recognized him. For a fleeting moment Joan envied Daphne. At least she had an excuse.
Three hours later Joan watched Candy draw another stack of chips toward herself. Every time she won, she pumped her fist up and down hissing “yes” with tremendous satisfaction. Although they were only playing for quarters, Joan figured Candy would soon be able to put that grandson of hers through college. It was time, the women decided, to call it a night. Daphne had already tried to escape twice, pointing out that she'd left Peg all alone up at her house, but Ed Fowler had been eager for them to stay. Everyone else had cleared out half-an-hour earlier.
“I derive immense pleasure from having you girls here.” He took Daphne's hand on one side of him then reached for Joan's on the other. “It's hard to keep tabs on you all from a distance. Though with the internet it's much easier than it once was.” He looked at them soulfully. “I know it hasn't always been easy for you girls.”
Daphne looked as awkward as Joan felt. She pulled her hand from his. “I should really get back to Peg's. What kind of house guest am I if I come tromping in at midnight? Especially when she's not feeling so hot.”
Mr. Fowler jumped right in. “Let me give you a lift.”
Daphne smiled awkwardly. Joan tried to rescue her by offering to be her chauffeur, but Mr. Fowler was adamant.
“But I go right by there,” he insisted.
Joan watched as a weary Daphne followed Ed Fowler to his car.
Raindrops the size of jelly beans splattered Joan's windshield and slid down the side windows in dense rivulets, distorting the outside world. When she parked her car at the Twin Pines a young police constable was strolling the grounds, huddled into his dark slicker. So, she wasn't the only one worried about a killer lurking behind the trees. Glancing in the direction of the swollen river, she noticed that the lights were still on inside Roger's cabin. She didn't envy whoever was left to guard that place on such a bone-chilling night. After securing the door lock, the deadbolt, and the chain, she quickly changed into her nightgown, wrapped herself in her pashmina shawl, and slipped under the covers. She regretted not packing her regular camping pajamas, a pair of adult-sized sleepers with feet and a trap door. The exhaustion she had felt while driving deserted her. She lay stiff as an ice cube waiting for the sheets to warm, conscious of the humming refrigerator, distant traffic, and the rushing river. She listened for the comforting crunch of boots on gravel as the young policeman patrolled and was almost asleep when she realized that his steps hadn't returned to her end of the complex for some time. Had it been seconds? Minutes? An hour? While she lay with her ears tuned to every sound, she heard footsteps again, but this time quieter, as though someone didn't want to be heard. And heavier. This wasn't some lightweight boy in uniform. Joan tried to will the footsteps away, but instead they moved closer and closer. A soft, slow rapping at the door had her choked with fear. She pulled the covers to her ears, afraid that the slightest creaking of the bed would expose her presence. Why
her
door again? Last night it had been Roger and that hadn't ended well, at least for him. A whisper broke the silence.
“Joan.” A single syllable, drowned out by rain and the rushing river. It wasn't until the second “Joan” that she bounded out of bed, unfastened the three locks, and threw the door open to Gabe. He glanced carefully back into the yard before slipping into the room. He pulled the door closed behind him.
Furious, Joan slapped his chest. “You scared the b'Jesus out of me.”
Besides a glint of light through the crack in the curtains, the room was dark and warm. She could make out the curve of Gabe's nose and the broad outline of his shoulders, but she couldn't read his expression.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked.
She was silent. Every neuron of logic screamed “Get out.” In a town that had eyes and ears everywhere, just yards from the spot where Roger was murdered, was the last place they should meet. His presence, though, made her skin tingle.
He gazed down the length of her body, then looked back into her eyes, reached out and pulled her toward him.
She heard his moan as he folded his arms around her, pressing his body into hers. His coat smelled of wet wool tinged with old coffee. He was soaking wet and she was shivering. When she pulled away, he tugged the damp nightgown over her head. At that moment she was thankful that she hadn't been wearing the sleepers with feet that made her look like a gigantic beige rabbit.
Although network television and
Cosmo
would have the world believe that woman over forty are all prowling for younger men, most of those women know that with the older lover comes sensitivity, technique, and a sense of humour. Besides, they share cultural references. They know that Paul McCartney was with a band before Wings.
Gabe held her beneath the covers and she felt the chill leave her toes. He warmed his hands before cupping her breasts, and as her eyes adjusted to the silvery light, he kissed each nipple. He moved down her body with his kisses, looking up every so often to check her reaction. She could only think, “I could eat him alive, every morsel of him, and not leave a trace.” It had been a long time since she had been with anyone besides Mort. How different Gabe's body felt. She didn't want to let go of his buttocks. The way the muscles tightened with his movement. As she explored his body further, she burst out with a playful laugh.
“What?” asked Gabe.
“I expected you to lean to the left. Ah.”
His gentle hands had found her sweetest spot. He rolled on top of her and their bodies moved in slow unison. Arousal ran through her like an electric current. Her hips moved involuntarily, cuing him to quicken his pace. She forced him onto his back and rolled on top of him, forgetting the modesty of her half-century-old body as she arched her back to invite him in further. If sex had ever been this good with Mort, it had been long, long ago in another galaxy.
An hour or so later a snore woke her abruptly and she realized she'd made the loud snort. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw Gabe on his elbow, smiling down at her.
“We've waited approximately thirty years, eight months, and nineteen days for this,” he said.
“We have?”
“C'mon, you remember. Our deal?”
“I need a few more clues, Gabe. What deal?” Then it came rushing back. As teenagers, they'd joked about helping each other lose their virginity if they hadn't had sex by the time they got to grade twelve As far as she was concerned, it had been a perfunctory matter, something to check off the list as a step toward adulthood.
Gabe now nodded down at her. “You do remember, don't you? We were going to do it that weekend. I knew you weren't serious, so I wasn't totally surprised when you chickened out and went into hiding.” He traced her lips with his finger and she lay there thinking about the awful end to that evening. She had to tell Gabe about Roger's attempt to rape her, but now was not the time. Gabe said, “It was serious to me, Joan.”
J
OAN WOKE WITH A SMILE ON
her lips on Sunday morning until she realized that Gabe, very sensibly, had slipped out before the sun was up. She reached over, touched the bed where he'd lain, and breathed deeply to hold the memory of him. A single dark hair lay on the stiff cotton of the hotel pillowcase. She carefully pinched it between her fingers, then ran it across her lips as the reality of the day bombarded her. She debated with herself about visiting the Rimmers. It was more complicated now that she had to weigh the Gabe factor. If anyone found out they'd spent the night together, the investigation would be headed toward disaster. If it was only Marlena accusing her of murdering Roger, she wouldn't worry about it, but Staff Sergeant Smartt seemed to think she had potential as a killer. In the end she decided that she would only reinforce suspicions if she didn't show up. Although Roger hadn't been a friend of hers, Dr. Rimmer had been the Parker family physician all through Joan's childhood. It would be natural for her to pay a call of respect. If she went early she might miss the inevitable crowd.
On the way to the Rimmers', Joan stopped at a dead-end road high on the hill facing the river. She had a stunning view of the Welcome sign, and it seemed to be one of the few places in the county with full cell-phone coverage. She turned the phone over in her hand, watching the illuminated green bars denoting perfect reception. The logical thing to do would be to leave town right after she visited the Rimmers. She should call the Elgar RCMP detachment to see if they wanted her to stay in Madden any longer. It wouldn't be wise to ask for Gabe. If word got out about them it would fuel the rumour mill and set tongues wagging up and down the aisles of the Co-op Store. That, however, wasn't what was needling her. The stakes, in this situation, were much higher than town gossip. Could Gabe get fired because of her? The RCMP brass could sure put the screws to him for sleeping with a suspect. Although he was equally to blame for their indiscretion, she felt responsible. She hadn't discouraged him. What was even more disturbing was the cold fact that she might be thrown in jail. Was that possible? It wouldn't be the first time that an innocent person was accused of doing something they didn't do. Would it look even worse that she had been angrily rejecting Roger on Friday, and not embracing him passionately, as Marlena had described? And if it was discovered that Roger had tried to rape her thirty years before, would that go against her? She should have told Gabe right after the murder. Coupled with the confusion over whether or not she'd been on the invitation list, it made her look plain bad, as though she'd been withholding information. Thankfully, Peggy could clear up that misunderstanding.
As Joan stared at the phone, silently daring Gabe to call her first, she allowed herself to remember the details of her night with him, the tender touching, the fevered intimacy, the aftermath of lying in the arms of someone who knows you so well. Slowly, she admitted the truth to herself. She didn't really want permission to leave. She wanted to stay in Madden for a while longer, but not under suspicion of murder. She couldn't just wait for someone else to make her life right. Research was her specialty. Nothing could keep her from digging around for information on her own, doing her own private investigation. She'd do what she could to get both Gabe and herself out of this mess.
It wasn't much different than what she did in her lab. There she used the process of induction, combining information in the form of scents and tastes to make best-selling products. Now she would turn to deduction, deconstructing the murder, isolating the ingredients that made someone want Roger Rimmer dead.
P
EG CLIMBED BACK INTO BED AFTER
opening the blinds to let in more of the gorgeous sunlight. The quiet of an early Sunday morning reminded her of floating on a cloud. Although she still felt a bit dizzy, today was the closest she'd come to feeling herself since Thursday. Yesterday her legs gave out and her whole left side was black and blue from the fall. Now she knew that she should have had the flu shot. All the other homecare nurses were so against it. She figured they knew best. Too late now.
Yesterday was mostly a blur. She had tried her best to answer all of the questions that the police had asked, but she wished Gabe had been the one to question her. That Sergeant Smartt person made her nervous. He was so abrupt and darned unfriendly. She wasn't sure that she'd been clear about a few things. When she talked to Des Cardinal later today she'd make sure they had it right.
By yesterday afternoon she had been feeling nauseous and lightheaded again. At first she worried it was her heart, but it hadn't felt the same as before. Two Christmases ago she'd known that the heartburn wasn't simply from over-indulging in eggnog. As a nurse she knew the symptoms. She hadn't told a soul when her doctor diagnosed her with heart disease. That was an old person's sickness. She wanted one more fling, one more romance, before she told the truth to anyone. No, this had to be a flu bug. She couldn't eat yesterday when Marlena had dropped by with sandwiches and those herbal supplements she was always pushing. It was kind of her, except that any conversation with Marlena was all about Marlena and it made her head spin. Besides, that Extract of Oregano just made her want to barf. It was so much easier being with Daphne. Thank goodness she'd stayed in the afternoon to help out. Peg could tell that she was used to being around sick people. She knew how to sit quietly. She plumped her pillow, told her all about the reunion “meet and greet”, what everyone was wearing. It sounded as though it was going just as she'd planned, except for Roger getting himself killed. Hearing Daphne tell it was almost like being there. Daphne was sweet, and she had a natural beauty with all that black hair and old-fashioned curves, but she didn't need to wear so much makeup. Peg was glad she'd told her that if she wasn't careful, she'd have that same artificial look as Marlena.