Before she could finish, Gabe stood abruptly and went to the dresser. He lifted a sheet of paper and examined it closely.
“What is it?” Joan asked.
“A photocopy of a grad photograph.” Gabe held it up. There was a jagged line where the original had been torn and taped back together. “Where'd this come from, Hazel?”
“Roger had the original pinned to his wall,” said Hazel. “I asked for a copy.”
“Do you know why he ripped it?” asked Gabe.
“He didn't. Said it was like that when he got it.”
“From who?”
Hazel shrugged. “I asked but he wouldn't say. My guess is that some girl was pretty mad at him. I doubt it was his wife.”
Gabe and Joan again spoke in unison. “Why?”
“Will you two quit doing that? It's cute, but it's beginning to bug me.”
Joan and Gabe stole a glance at each other.
“Crystal couldn't have gotten her hands on a grad photo. As far as I know she never came up to Canada.”
“Did you ever meet her?” asked Joan.
“Yeah, they were together for a heartbeat, but it's been over a long time. Was really over before it began. Crystal was a junkie for years, scrawny little thing. Her arms and legs looked like a map for Via Rail. She did straighten out. She was in San Francisco a couple of months ago and looking better than I'd ever seen her. Even if she'd had the photo, she never struck me as the jealous type. When I saw her she didn't even want Roger to know she was alive, let alone in town.”
“When did you get this copy?” Gabe waved it at Hazel.
“Roger gave it to me in San Francisco. He said he'd carried it around for years. That photo was the only thing he'd kept from Madden.
“Mind if I hold onto this?”
“Sure. I don't know if he still had the original,” said Hazel.
“He did.” Gabe placed the copy between the pages of his notebook.
When Joan rode down the elevator with Gabe, he put his arm across her shoulder. She looked up at him and he gave her a squeeze. ”Just following orders, keeping an eye on you,” he reported.
As they stepped from the elevator into the main lobby, it was to the unexpected bustle of activity. Joan had forgotten that the reunion weekend was scheduled to conclude with an afternoon wine-and-cheese farewell. Even with a double tragedy over the past couple of days, the activities continued although with a more subdued tone. Here in Madden their generation still practised the tradition of filling people with liquor before sending them onto the highway.
“I have to get word out about Peggy,” said Gabe. “Ask very nicely for folks to stick around for a while longer.”
Joan spotted the familiar blonde shag-styled head bobbing through the crowd. “There's Candy,” she said. “Could you ask her about the invitation list? Peg was her best friend. She won't be in the mood to hang around here for long.”
As Gabe crossed the room he was swarmed. Everyone wanted to know about the investigation.
Joan decided to duck over to her cabin to freshen up and make a phone call.
“Mom, it's me,” she said when she got Vi on the line.
She told her mother that she'd seen Ed Fowler. Vi played her cards close to her chest, obviously not wanting to betray Fowler's trust about his crush on her, even after all these years.
It was only when Joan said that he'd told her everything that her mother let out a sigh and exclaimed, “Oh dear. It was so sad. I wouldn't have said anything to him but he asked me directly and I couldn't lie.”
Joan thought her mother was confused. “Asked you what, Mom?”
“Suzy Fowler and Dan Prychenko.”
“What?”
“Oh, now I've done it, haven't I? You know how I hate gossip.”
“Mrs. Fowler and Marlena's dad had an affair?”
“I shouldn't have said anything.”
“That was thirty years ago, Mom. They're both dead. It hardly matters anymore.”
“There's no expiration date on gossip,” said Vi. “I'm sure it's as painful to Ed now as it was the day he found out. A person couldn't work at Twin Pines and ignore the dirty laundry in Madden. You have to understand, Joannie, I tried to turn a blind eye. They weren't bad people, not Suzy, not Dan, not the others. Maybe they did bad things, but they always had their reasons.” As Vi spoke, the pieces started falling into place.
“Was that when Mr. Fowler asked you to marry him?” asked Joan.
There was silence on the other end of the line, then a long, purposeful sigh. “He was reacting to Suzy and Dan. You know that two wrongs . . . ”
Joan interrupted. “Don't make a right. Yes, Mom, I know.”
Vi had brought her kids up on clichéd platitudes. The Lord helps those who help themselves. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Count the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves. People who live in glass houses . . . Joan's moral code had been shaped by proverbs and nursery rhymes. All her life she'd defined her mother by her failings. This visit to Madden, to a past that they shared, was shifting her perspective in so many ways.
“Don't say anything, dear.”
“Of course not. Mom, something else has happened.”
“And what's that?”
“Do you remember Roger Rimmer?”
“Dr. Rimmer's little boy. Yes. Sweet little guy, all that blond hair, full of beans.”
“He's dead. Somebody killed him.”
“On purpose?” asked Vi.
“Yes. He was murdered.”
“Oh dear. Oh no. Nobody deserves that, do they honey?”
Joan knew that, in Roger's case, more than one person may have thought otherwise. She decided not to mention Peggy's death. Despite the animosity between Joan and Peggy thirty years ago, Mrs. Wong had kept their family in casseroles for a month after Leo had passed away. She didn't want to deliver more bad news over the phone.
Candy Dirkson nibbled on a cracker when what she really wanted was to inhale the entire tray of imported cheeses. She was normally able to turn the worst situation into a laugh, but the reality of finding Peg was sinking in hard. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to her: worse than the end of her marriage, worse than the gut ache she had every time she thought about the downhill slide that her life had taken. Peg had been the light in her life.
Despite what she had told Gabe about her lack of interest in Roger, she had hoped that his return to Madden would turn things around. Roger had kept telling her that large women were hot and he openly flirted with her. She'd trusted him. When he'd asked to borrow a few dollars, she hadn't hesitated. Then it was another hundred, then a thousand. Everyone wondered why he kept coming back. She had a pretty good idea why, and it was reflected in her bank balance. She should have expected what would happen next. Once their former classmates started rolling into town, he hadn't given her another glance. She hated her life of dead-end jobs and one-night stands. She had thought Roger was a ragged second coming. He turned out to be recycled trash.
Peg, too, had started to ignore her. She got so busy with this reunion. With Daphne in town, Peg hadn't bothered dropping into the Co-op for coffee, hadn't even picked up the phone to say, “hi there.”
Candy glanced around the room. Coming to the wine-and-cheese reception was supposed to cheer her up. Maryanne had gone to a softball tournament and she hadn't wanted to be alone, but now she regretted that she'd come.
When she saw Gabe approaching, she forced a smile. “Hey, cowboy.” There was little enthusiasm in her voice.
“Hi Candy. Are you doing okay?”
“Sure, Gabe. Sure I am.”
“There's a loose end that's turning into a snag. I think maybe you can help. Peg invited two people whose names weren't on the invitation list. I know it's probably nothing.”
“Joan and Daphne? Oh no, Gabe. It was a problem.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow. “In what way?” he asked.
“The committee agreed that only people who had actually graduated with the class of '79 should be invited. Otherwise, where do you draw the line? There were another dozen people who would have been on the list: drop-outs, people who failed and had to return for another year. Peg was firm about it, absolutely hardline.”
“So what happened?”
Candy shook her head slowly. “Dunno. When we got together to stuff envelopes, there were invitations for Joan and Daphne. Peg wouldn't budge. She'd handwritten the envelopes. I had the feeling that someone had pressured her to add those two.” Then she added, “The invitation committee was very upset.”
Gabe asked, “Who was on the invite committee?”
“Besides Peg?” she asked.
Gabe nodded.
“Me, Ray and Marlena, though Ray hardly ever showed up.”
Joan drove downtown to buy sinus medication. It was rare for her to get a headache. It would be easy to attribute it to the gin and late nights, but as it moved from behind her eyes to her sinuses, she recognized the familiar light-headedness. She'd been working her nose overtime, and was reacting to some unknown source in the environment. Usually she avoided smells that might shut her down, like bleach, burnt rubber, and sewers, but sometimes she wasn't careful enough. And, normally, she wasn't in such stressful life-and-death circumstances.
On the way back to the motel she saw the moon rising over the Welcome sign. Watching parked cars up on the ridge, silhouetted against the navy blue sky, she shook her head. The world of women had changed a lot in thirty years. Back then it was rare for a female scientist to lead a team of researchers. Offices had dress codes forbidding women to wear pants. And there was worse, much worse. A young woman she'd known had left Madden rather than report a gang rape. She had been drinking and worried that she wouldn't be seen as a victim. In the lingo of those times and this town, she would have been “asking for it.”
Joan had never told a soul that Roger had attacked her at the bush party. In those days she might have been blamed. She shuddered as she recalled details that she hadn't thought about for a long time. Her jaw tightened at the visceral memory of Roger's strong musk smell. In minute quantities musk is a sex magnet for a lot of women. Not for her. With her powerful olfactory sense, it reminded her of a dirty litter box. Images rushed at her on the wave of the musk memory. The neurons of the olfactory sense and memory live beside one another in the brain. She was jolted by clear memories of people that night. Peg had worn a pair of pink vinyl hot pants stamped with a lizard design. A fuchsia snake, thought Joan. Steve had been there too. Later that evening he'd asked her if she was okay. Had it been because she was drunk or had he known something? Had he seen Roger attack her? If Roger had no witnesses, nobody would ever need to know about the attempted rape. If someone else had seen or he had bragged to someone and it came out now, it might appear as though Joan were concealing facts for the wrong reason. She didn't know anything about the intricacies of homicide law. Could she be charged with concealing information that was, somehow, vital to the investigation? Her head was still pounding. She chastised herself for her reluctance to share her own story a long time ago, especially with Gabe. She hoped she hadn't now put him in a compromising position. It was time to tell the truth about her first run-in with Roger Rimmer.
I
F THE REUNION WEEKEND HAD SERVED
up more than its share of death, it was also turning into an all-inclusive groaning board of food and drink. Marlena had issued an invitation for Sunday-evening cocktails. The reunion guests held captive in Madden by the investigation were to report to her house after the afternoon wine-and-cheese party. To Joan's surprise, Marlena had left a message at the hotel requesting her presence at the soirée. Surely Gabe couldn't have talked her out of the idea that Joan had killed Roger? More likely their hostess wanted to show off her home to everyone, murderers included.
At the afternoon wine-and-cheese, Daphne had confirmed it. “It's right out of
Home and Garden
. Seriously, Joan, she made all the decorating choices herself. Every room is really modern. It's got more chrome than the tail of a '59 T-bird. She spends hours and hours cleaning and won't let me lift a finger. Her girls can't do enough to make me feel welcome.” She sighed happily. “They're sweethearts, real sweethearts.”
“What about Ray?” asked Joan. She was beginning to wonder if he had a presence in his own house at all.
“Oh, he's doing his bit too. No worries there,” Daphne said with a demure smile. Then she glanced around and lowered her voice. “Marlena treated all of us like shit at one time or another, Joan. But don't you think the best revenge is showing up? You've done so well with your life and all under your own steam. If she's changed, that'll make her happy. If she hasn't,” her voice was now a low whisper, “that'll burn her to bits.” Daphne gave her arm a pat then went to follow the havarti tray.
Still Joan was reticent about going to the Stanfields. She'd never been good with wakes and funerals and was sure that's what this open house would be. She was worried that she'd blurt out something inappropriate and couldn't quite shake the fear that Marlena was setting up an ambush. What convinced her to go was the chance to get closer to the truth. Maybe Marlena knew who had killed Roger, and for some reason was protecting that person, blaming Joan to create a smokescreen. Maybe Marlena had killed him herself.
When Gabe called the Stanfield home early Sunday evening Ray wasn't there.
“I sent him out for a fresh bottle of rye two hours ago,” complained Marlena. “He's never around when I need him.”
Gabe knew this wasn't entirely true. When they played softball together he'd seen Ray race off more than once when Marlena called him home. The guys joked that the best way to get Ray to make a run would be to have Marlena calling him in from home plate.