“I was almost one of them,” said Joan. Remembering the young woman who had answered the phone, she remarked on how fortunate Peg was to have her daughter helping her.
“That wasn't Tabitha.” Only Peg would have named her daughter after a 1960s television character. “It was Daphne. She's staying with me. We've been yakking away. Thirty years is a lot of catching up.”
“Don't overdo it.”
Peg gave a weak laugh. “I'm fit as a fiddle. It's just a little bit of flu.”
At the other end of town, a less friendly conversation was taking place. In the hills high above Madden, Marlena Stanfield was punishing her bow-flex for everything that had happened the night before. With each sit-up she seemed more agitated.
Gabe stared out through the wall of windows of her exercise room. A fog had rolled in and hidden the valley below. He could just make out the outline of the Welcome sign on the far bank of the invisible river. Ray stood waiting in his work clothes. His fleece, bearing the Stanfield Developments logo, was zipped to the neck to protect against the morning frost, rare at the end of May. His face reddened with frustration when Gabe spoke.
“If you don't mind, Ray, I need to speak to Marlena on her own.”
“You want to know what she was doing at Roger's cabin at two in the bloody morning? Well, so do I.”
Marlena let them stew another moment, probably deciding between a good offence or defence. Gabe knew that if this marriage fell apart neither could abide the loss in economic stature. Like so many couples, they'd grown dependent on the comforts of life and would rather suffer the daily unhappiness they knew than the unknown of a more modest existence.
Her reply came out like cold syrup, thick and sweet. “Darling, he was a guest in town. I was checking on everyone.” She continued pulling on the weights.
“The whole world knows you have a thing for Roger,” said Ray.
“Had,” she stated flatly.
“What?”
“Had, Ray. Roger is dead, remember?” She sat up and wiped her armpits with a towel.
“Oh you mean there is a place you draw the line? Hell, Marlena, the whole time he was here rehearsing you dressed like a teenager.” Gabe had never seen the usually soft-spoken man so angry. “Your boobs were pushed up so far, they looked like they'd pop right out of your shirt.”
Gabe had often wondered if it had been the thrill of the hunt that had attracted Marlena to Ray. When Ray was married to Sarah, he basked in her glow. His high school sweetheart had been beautiful and selfless. Sarah was loved by everyone, and beside her Ray shone like a knight. Marlena had relentlessly preyed upon him.
Their own two daughters, now twelve and fourteen, were miniature versions of their mom. The youngest, Mandy, was already on a diet. At a softball tournament a couple of weeks ago Gabe had heard Tanya cite Marlena, insisting that eating disorders were bullshit and the best lunch was a SlimFast bar. Both girls treated their dad as though he was a bank machine.
Ray finally grabbed his hardhat and briefcase, and stomped up the stairs.
Gabe waited until he was sure Ray was out of earshot. “Who else did you check in on, Marlena?” He hoped to get straight answers now that she was sober.
“I checked on everyone last night. Well, damn near. Mary and George Armitage, Gerald, the Galatis. Next I was going to see Joan Parker. But it looks as though she got to Roger first.”
Marlena swung her legs around to sit on the bench.
Her words came in a measured tone. “I never screwed, Roger. I would've.” She took another drink. “But I didn't. ”
“How's the apartment hunting?” Gabe held his kitchen phone with one hand and rubbed his neck with the other. He needed sleep. He'd only managed to catch twenty minutes of shut-eye since the murder.
Betty laughed in reply. “Teddy hates everything. He says he'll get distracted in residence and finds something wrong with all the basement suites. Apparently the last one smelt funny.” For someone who was known as a tough ass among social workers, Betty was all tapioca when it came to their only child. “He thinks we should wait until August, but I'd hate to get stuck in the last minute rush. We have a few more places to check out. I doubt we'll make it home before Monday night.”
Gabe had been the one maneuvering to keep them all close, trying to save the marriage, the unit. Now he was glad to hear that his wife and son wouldn't be home until the end of the long weekend. Betty was resentful when he had to work overtime, and Roger's death guaranteed that life wouldn't be simple for the next few days, perhaps longer. But as quickly as he thought of work, the image of Joan came to mind. He realized that he was jealously hoarding the little time they'd have together.
“How's the reunion going? Did you and Roger make up?” Betty was asking out of courtesy, not any real concern. In retrospect the incident with Roger had been so stupid. Two middle-aged men letting their tempers flare. Gabe decided not to alarm her. He'd tell her about Roger's death when she was back in Elgar. He should have patched things up with Roger, apologized for threatening to arrest him last week. Now he'd never have the chance.
“Just be careful on the highway,” he warned. “It's supposed to rain all weekend.” He hung up and headed for the shower. He'd left instructions that everyone who had been at the reunion, guests and staff, should be asked to congregate at the high school gym at ten. He'd be surprised if his officers were able to get everyone there. There was no record of where his former classmates were staying. There was the hotel and Riverside RV Park; they'd also have to match attendees to relatives in the phone book. They couldn't order witnesses to stay in town. Pretty soon people would start spreading like buckshot. When that happened, the chance of solving Roger's homicide would become exponentially more difficult. They had their work cut out for them.
There were patches of blue peeping through the clouds as Joan walked from the motel to the new high school. “New” was a relative qualifier since it had opened almost twenty years ago. The sprawling complex served the vast surrounding region of logging towns and the nearby nickel mine. Madden was also the regional seat of provincial government. The school served a cross-section of blue- and white-collar families. Her old school was diminutive in comparison. Those grounds had been turned into a pretty park, and the sign in front of the old red brick building identified it as the Madden Cultural Centre and Day Care. It was much smaller than Joan remembered.
A small group of smokers congregated outside the new school. Thirty years ago they would have been laughing and posing. Now they huddled in social banishment. She heard a shout from behind her.
“Joan!”
Even after decades, she recognized the warm contralto voice. She turned and grinned at Hazel, who was moving toward her with open arms. Except for forty extra pounds, her old friend hadn't changed much. Her dark hair, flecked with grey, was in the same Beatle bob that it had been thirty years before, and her heavy-rimmed glasses had been replaced with a frameless pair. She wore a straight silk shift that hung to her ankles and Joan was certain the pattern of bright tangerine and teal swirls was an original hand-painted design. They fell into each other's arms and Joan felt herself pushing back tears again. It was either pre-menstrual or pre-menopausal, this constant urge to cry, compounded by the stressful night. There was comfort in the incensed silk shoulder. She held Hazel at arm's length.
“It's quite a shock, isn't it?”
Hazel nodded. Her eyes were swollen red, as though she'd been crying for hours. She took the tissue that Joan offered and wiped the tears from under her glasses. “He'd been unhappy most of his life, Joannie. Maybe now he's found peace at last.”
This seemed a strange reaction to Roger's murder. Hazel was a minister, and even when they were kids she'd been the rational one, but it was a placid position in the face of such violence.
The crowd was filing into the school. Hazel took Joan's arm and they entered together.
The gymnasium stink rushed at Joan. A hundred windbreakers, rain jackets and sweatshirts, a hundred pairs of running shoes, rain boots and loafers crammed into close, airless quarters permeated the room, along with variations of soap, shampoos, and colognes. The worst, though, was the smell of sweat pouring from bodies that had consumed far too much liquor the night before.
Gabe stood at a podium set on the floor instead of up on the stage. Just like Gabe, she thought, to want to be on the same level as everyone. She let escape a small smile.
“He's changed some, but not in the important ways,” Hazel observed.
Gabe thanked everyone for coming, introduced his team, then proceeded with official business. The RCMP knew little more than they had in the wee hours of the morning. It was important to the investigation that they talk to everyone and get the necessary contact information before anyone left town. Joan wasn't sure she'd get away that easily, given Marlena's insane accusation that she had murdered Roger.
The woman Mr. Fowler had identified as Daphne raised her hand. Of all the women in the room she seemed the most perfectly made-up today. Her hair was precisely sprayed in place. “I can't stick around,” she called out. “I have to get to Calgary by six o'clock.” Her voice was abrupt and impatient this morning. This was a far cry from the timid girl Joan had known in high school. Gabe told her that an officer would take her information right away, and they'd see what they could do about getting her on her way as soon as possible.
Gabe then singled out Peg. She looked pale and unsteady. He reminded her that they needed a complete list of reunion guests. Then he thanked everyone again and left the podium.
Before anyone could get away, Ed Fowler hurried to the microphone and announced that he had organized an evening of board games at the old school, now the cultural centre. The caterers had agreed to set-up in the hallway there for an Italian-themed buffet. His cheery smile belied the tragedy that was keeping them all in Madden. One would have thought that this recent turn of events had created a wonderful opportunity. Joan had no idea whether or not Mr. Fowler had a wife and kids or any social circle, but he was obviously enjoying the company from his past.
Ed Fowler had been kind to her mother, her brothers, and her. He had made them feel as though they belonged in Madden when the common attitude was that the Parker family had made their own bed because her father had spent beyond his means. She recalled Fowler quoting Robert Kennedy, insisting that they all had the potential, through small actions, to change the world. He applauded moral courage, and outside the classroom, he practised those teachings by supporting her family despite community disapproval. People in the gym were grumbling at his suggestion of Scrabble and rummy. Although she usually avoided large social gatherings, she would make a point of showing up at her old teacher's tournament. It was time to repay his kindness.
She still hadn't touched base with Peg in person, so she hovered near while the reunion chairperson met with Gabe. The only thing that looked healthy about her was her generous head of silky black hair. When she started to waver, Gabe helped her to a seat. It certainly looked worse than a twenty-four hour bug.
A flurry of activity caught Joan's attention. People were gathering around a small table as though it was an end-of-the- year clearance sale. Over their shoulders she could see that they were flipping through the 1979 Madden yearbook. She felt a heavy weight in her chest. Her family had left town before she could pick up her copy. Although she'd paid for it, she'd never even seen it. She wondered again if her photo had been included or if all record of her time at Madden High had vanished. She felt as though she was intruding on a private ceremony and turned toward a display of student art, staring at the charcoal sketches of motorbikes and flowers until the crowd around the yearbook began to thin.
Once everyone had drifted away, Joan went to the table. The book, bound in the navy-and-gold school colours, was open to photographs of a school production of
The Princess and the
Pea
. She recognized Rudy Weiss sitting on the edge of the stage holding a ukulele. The next few pages featured athletic teams. A fuzzy shot of Hazel lifting the regional volleyball trophy above her head, the photo poorly framed and out of focus, was credited to “Marly”, some aspiring photographer who, hopefully, had developed more skill over the years. Joan tentatively flipped to the headshots of the graduating class. There she was, in the middle of the bottom row. She stared into the eyes of her younger self. This girl's entire life was about to change seconds after the picture was snapped. Had already changed, but she hadn't known it. She scanned the page and saw both Candy and Peg. It was odd how they had switched personalities. Candy was the bouncing and familiar middle-aged woman. Peg was now tired and unsettled looking. Joan turned to the next page. The smell of the old high school overwhelmed her as it wafted up from the pages. With a certainty that she couldn't explain, she felt that the solution to Roger's murder was in the pages of this book but, as she scanned the rows of faces, nobody whispered any clue.
Joan hadn't been in a high school washroom in years but the aroma hadn't changed: heavy bleach and hairspray. She found Peg dabbing at her eyes with a long tail of toilet paper. After polite comments about Joan's purple hair, Peg broke down in tears again.
“This flu makes me madder than a drunken, tired hornet. I've spent three years planning this reunion. Three years. I thought it would be a party â
my party
.” She stopped then blurted out, “I haven't had a man since one of my patients took me out five years ago. What if that was my last sex? I thought this weekend would change all that. One more romance, even a weekend fling, that's all I want! Hell, I even fantasized about ol' Roger. Until he was so rude to me about paying for his motel room.” She blew her nose. “I feel so stupid. Please don't tell anyone.”