A Nose for Death

by Glynis Whiting

  “Oh yeah, she’s here, this time without her mom. She’s in Room 10.”

  So much for security. With a killer on the loose, this guy wasn’t helping keep his customers safe. He may as well have handed her the key. She thanked him and turned to the door but he stopped her.

  “Oh, and hey, there was another chick here. I think she was from that reunion too.” His voice fell into a whisper, “From who she was with, the guy, you know?” He gave Joan a couple of seconds to figure it out then he added, “A babe, blackish hair and...” He motioned to indicate large breasts. Ray and Daphne.

  “She left a bag of stuff in the room. I was thinking she’d come back for it, but she never did.”

  “A bag?”

  “There’s nothing worth much, really,” he sighed.

  So, he’d already rifled through it. “Do you mind if I have a look?” she asked.

  The clerk pulled a paper shopping bag from beneath the counter. Joan grabbed it.

  “I’ll see that she gets it.”

  The clerk started to protest then shrugged his heavy shoulders.

  Alone in her car, she opened the bag and was greeted by a cornucopia of scents, overpowered by the aroma of rotting banana and apple core. She tossed the offending fruit out of the window into an overgrown ditch, then inspected the remaining items one at a time. There were several pieces of poorly constructed jewellery, the kind of thing a dollar store would stock. The bright blue necklace and bracelet set may have been what Daphne had been wearing last Friday night. In dim light it would have had a convincing sparkle as long as nobody looked too closely. The bag also contained paper trash and a half-eaten granola bar. At the very bottom was the folder for the rental-car form. Joan flipped it open. It was a carbon copy and the print was faint. The car had been rented in Calgary ten days ago and had been due back on Sunday. Before she had a chance to read further, the door to Room 10 opened and Lila emerged, alive and robust. Joan sank down in her seat, but Lila strode directly to the car and swung open the driver’s door.

  “Are you stalking me?” Lila demanded.

  Cowed by her Amazonian height, Joan dumbly shook her head, thinking that anyone, psycho or not, would have second thoughts before attacking Hazel’s partner. “We were worried about you.” She detected the tiniest glint of satisfaction in Lila’s expression, the kind of reaction she’d expect in a test subject who was savouring the finest chocolate or champagne.

  “Fine. Then you can give me a ride back to the hotel. The cabbies around here are robbers. This place is a dump and I don’t have any clean clothes. You can’t even buy a pair of panties in this town.”

  Joan could only imagine the attention she would have attracted trying to purchase lingerie in Elgar.

  While Lila went to the motel office to check out, Joan flipped open Daphne’s car rental agreement again, quickly scanning the document. The handwriting on the carbon copy was smudged. She could barely discern the surname “Pyle.” It was impossible to make out the first name, but it seemed to start with a “P” rather than a “D,” and filled eight spaces rather than six. The two letters, written sloppily, could easily be confused. Joan remembered her walk with Daphne on Saturday morning, Daphne speaking with a mother’s pride of her daughter Patti, Patricia. She could see Lila concluding her business in the office and quickly dialed Gabe’s cell phone. Her words came rapidly.

  “I can’t talk now, but I need you to do something. I have the rental form from Daphne’s car. Call A-1 Rentals in Calgary. We need to know who rented the car. It’s not clear on the form but I think it might be Patricia.”

  “A middle name? Or you think she changed it?” Gabe asked.

  “No. I think her daughter rented it.” She gave Gabe the phone number of the rental car company and the contract number as Lila approached the car.

  “What’s the connection to the case?” asked Gabe.

  “I’m not sure yet,” answered Joan.

  “Thank you for the information. I’ll check into it.” Gabe was suddenly all business. He didn’t even ask her how she was.

  Once Lila was safely buckled into the passenger seat, Joan was tempted to drive the two blocks to the detachment, just to see if she could catch a glimpse of Gabe. Instead, she turned the car toward Madden.

  Gabe hung up the phone and turned to Betty.

  She repeated herself. “We should put the house on the market right away, before summer hits and the slump comes with it.” She barely looked at him as she scrubbed the invisible stains on the kitchen counter. “The timing could be a lot worse. With Teddy going off to college, it won’t impact him that much.”

  “What do you mean? His first year of university and his parents are splitting up.” Gabe stared at his wife, shaking his head.

  “C’mon, Gabe. Do you think this will be news?”

  He had gotten used to her emotionless smile. Was this the same hollow, calculated look that she gave her welfare clients? “Do you hate me?” he asked quietly.

  “Hate you? That’s a strong word.” She contemplated a moment. “But I guess it fits. Yes, I’m sure you left no doubt in Madden this weekend. I’ve made one hell of an effort not to draw attention to our situation.” Her jaw tightened. “But you’ve never been diplomatic. Did you leave us any thread of dignity?” She studied his face. “But I’m grateful, too, Gabe. It’s saved me from pulling the plug.”

  “You mean it saved you from being seen to be pulling the plug,” corrected Gabe. “When were you planning on telling Teddy that you’ve been looking for a job in Kamloops?”

  “You’re an asshole, Gabe. That’s all there is to it. But good genes, I’ll always be thankful for that.”

  He suddenly felt sorry for Betty. It must be exhausting trying to organize the world. He wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t struggle but didn’t soften into his embrace as she would have twenty years ago.

  “Okay then,” he said, letting go. He put on his ball cap and left the house.

  Joan suggested that Lila call Hazel to let her know that she was still alive, but the auburn bombshell refused. Joan placed the call herself before they left the parking lot. When Hazel heard the news she began to sob loud tears of relief. As Joan steered the car through high winds, Lila reclined the seat right back and stretched out like a cat.

  Joan glanced over at her. “You put Hazel through an ordeal. She really loves you, you know.”

  Lila shrugged impatiently, but kept her eyes on Joan as they continued down the highway. Eventually she spoke. “She loves the entire world, our Hazel does. I’m just convenient.”

  The description surprised Joan. From everything she’d observed, she thought “high maintenance” fit better than “convenient”.

  Lila read her mind. “I’m not imagining it or feeling sorry for myself. You see Hazel’s public side. At home she’ll mope over some problem in the community. I live for days in her self-imposed silence. If I’d had half the attention that she paid Roger or a small fraction of the praise she afforded you . . . ”

  “Me?”

  Lila chuckled. “Yeah, you. Your struggles thirty years ago motivated Hazel. Too bad you never bothered to call.” She yawned and complained again about the uncomfortable bed at the motel. She continued drowsily. “For years I’ve asked her to get help.”

  “For what?”

  “Depression. I’m pretty sure she’s clinically depressed.”

  “Why did you just up and leave this time?”

  Lila frowned. “Everyone has a breaking point.” It was almost a whisper.

  By the time they reached Madden, Lila was sound asleep and the sun had started to break through the clouds.

  Gabe hung up from the Calgary rental car office, leaned back in his office chair, and looked up toward the florescent box above his desk. The two youngest officers were laughing in the corner, hanging out by the coffee pot and stirring sticky, vanilla-flavoured phony cream into their mugs. Gabe was glad to see them in high spirits. Long hours affect men in different wa
ys. He’d take this giddy energy over dragging resentment any day. He’d miss this place when he moved to the city.

  The faxed copy of the car rental form was centred on his desk. The car had been reported stolen when it hadn’t been returned and the company hadn’t been able to reach the renter. The cell phone number provided wasn’t assigned. It wasn’t just the name on the form that leapt out at Gabe, but also the date of birth from the Alberta driver’s license: May 29, 1979. Patricia had been born the month before they graduated from Madden High School. After jotting quick notes to be included in the file, he pushed away from the desk and called over to Laurel at the reception counter. “I’m heading back to Madden.” One of the junior constables offered to accompany him, but he declined. He was normally enthusiastic about mentoring the young officers, but lately he preferred to operate on his own, especially when he expected — hoped — to see Joan.

  Before Hazel had called in a panic, Joan had been headed to Marlena’s to track the scent she had detected in Roger’s cabin. Now she drove through the alley behind the Stanfields’ house and parked around the corner, trying to figure how she could convince them to let her into the house to have a sniff around. They’d think she was a lunatic. Marlena probably wouldn’t let her through the door. Ray’s and Daphne’s cars weren’t in sight. She considered trying the windows, but her credibility with the police in town, except for Gabe, was shot. If she was caught attempting to break in, she’d land in jail. No, the only way to get in the house to snoop around would be to march up the front steps and face Marlena again.

  “What the hell do you want now!” Marlena screamed at her. She was loaded down with two large shopping bags filled with clothing.

  “I’m here,” Joan stammered, “to apologize.”

  Marlena looked paralyzed. “Apologize?”

  “I should have given you more support on the newspaper. I realize that now,” said Joan. A satisfied smile appeared on Marlena’s lips until Joan continued. “I was hoping I could come in so we could talk about it.”

  “You’re up to something, Parker. What is it?”

  “Nothing!” Her voice went high and she felt herself blush.

  “You need to take some bullshitting lessons from Daphne. Except she’s not as smart as she thinks either.” Marlena nodded down at the bags. “She’s not getting back in here, thank you very much. You can’t prove I took those pictures. I have nothing more to say to you. Get out or I’ll call the cops.” She stood her ground until Joan walked away.

  As Joan turned the corner she glanced over her shoulder and saw Marlena stuff the bags into the trash cans beside the house. She’d wait in her car until the coast was clear.

  When she reached the Accord, her voicemail beeped. The message was from Gabe, insisting on meeting with her alone.

  She was curious but knew that they’d end up in the sack if he came to her room. Their affair was on Smartt’s radar. She’d avoid another compromising encounter for both their sakes.

  When she called and got Gabe’s voicemail, she left word for him to meet her in an hour in the parking lot at the head of the riverside trails. It was public enough to ensure chastity and private enough to share information vital to the case.

  As she waited, she played Gabe’s voicemail message again; the slow and considered words, so protective and warm. Until two days ago she’d never questioned Mort’s skill as a lover. He knew which buttons to press, and he performed with studied timing and consideration to her needs. She had believed that the metamorphosis from their original raging, fiery passion to the more recent hot-water-bottle comfort was due to the natural progression of age. It was fine, good, perfectly adequate. After she and Mort separated, she had rationalized that she had been lucky to have any sex at all, thus the “friends-with-benefits” relationship. Now, however, she had a new barometer against which to measure. Her experience with Gabe had led her to an erotic place that she had never known existed. It caught her off guard, and she knew that the only way that she could resist him was to avoid being alone.

  The air inside the Accord was getting nippy, so she pulled her jacket from the backseat and wrestled into it. Fifteen minutes passed before she felt secure enough to enter the Stanfields’ yard again. Keeping one eye on the door, she crept to the trashcans. It was the second time today she’d pawed through garbage. She grabbed the Holt Renfrew bags, ran to her car, then pulled away from the curb as quietly as possible.

  Back at the Twin Pines, she dumped the first shopping bag onto her bed. A familiar scent rose from the crumpled clothing. She felt a surge of confidence that she was on the right track.She emptied the second bag, eagerly pawing at the makeup case that sat on top of the pile. There it was, a tiny sample bottle of Angel, a Thierry Mugler fragrance. She held the bottle at arm’s length, to avoid being overwhelmed by the top notes — the bright mandarin, coconut, and cotton candy. The heart note of honey worked its way to her nostrils, and then the warm base note of amber and caramel. This combination, almost edible, was one that very few women over the age of thirty-five ever wore. Buried beneath the perfume bottle and other toiletries was the foundation, a thick paste bearing a scent found in less expensive products. Blended together, the perfume and foundation — here was the fingerprint. It was the scent wrapped in the curtains at the scene of Roger’s murder. She started to shove the articles back into the shopping bags, and touched something hard at the bottom of one. She pulled out a pink spiral notebook, and glanced at the clock. Only twenty minutes before Gabe expected her. Rubbing her hand over the cover, she felt the down of aged paper and smelled a faint odor of mildew. The notebook was in a style that had been popular when she’d been in high school. She settled on the bed and opened the book. There it was, right there on the page, circled in red, “Joan P. laid a mauve sweater on me today plus a copy of Siddhartha by Herman Hesse. I’ll have to hide them from Mother and Father. They’d freak if they found any of it.” She flipped randomly through the pages and found another passage circled in red. “Talked to Joan today. We’re going to split a bottle of LG for the party this weekend.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  NESTLED IN HIS BED, HAROLD PYLE could feel a presence in his room. Staff usually didn’t disturb a nap, and if they came into the room for something, they didn’t linger. Too busy; all of them, all the time, were too busy. He opened his eyes. The lined drapes made it as dark as night in the room and there was no movement. He shut his eyes again and started to drift, wondering if the presence was imagined - or divine. Maybe the angels were coming for him. Or maybe his departed wife was watching over him. He often wondered what she’d think about him now, dancing and flirting. When the faint sound came again, he opened his eyes and saw a figure. “Daphne?” He shook the wool from his head. It couldn’t be his daughter. His eyes adjusted. “Oh, so it’s you.”

  “Yes, it’s me,” she said as she took a step closer.

  “I didn’t reckon you’d come back.”

  “But I have to know one more thing,” she said as she stood over him. “Why did you hate me so much? You didn’t even know me.”

  “We were foolish.” A knot of guilt twisted his stomach when he remembered how unkind he’d been. It had been a blistering hot day when his daughter had shown up at the door with her little girl. He tried to sit up and got as far as propping on his elbow then stretched his arm toward her. “Forgive a stupid old codger.”

  The dark-haired girl pulled away. “Forgive! You didn’t forgive us! You didn’t forgive my mother. That’s what gave her the ulcers, and the cancer. That’s what killed her.” Now she was shouting. In a burst of anger, she turned and swept the framed photos from his bureau. Harold cowered back as she paced around the room, jerking her head, hunting for something else to destroy or to use as a weapon to destroy him. “Stupid is no excuse. You’re mean and hateful.” Before she could continue, the door abruptly opened and Theresa Milton’s tall frame filled the doorway. The girl fled.

  He called out, “We loved you. Even if
we didn’t know you. ” Then the damn burst with a lifetime of restrained tears.

  Ms. Milton tried to comfort him. He continued to call out, but the words were caught in his throat and came out as a croak. “So did your father. He loved you. He asked about you.” But it was too late. She was gone.

  Although the sun was shining, the spring breeze was cold, chilling the sensitive hairs inside Joan’s nostrils. She perched on the picnic table with her scarf looped over her hair and the long end wrapped twice around her neck. Daphne Pyle’s journal was tucked securely in her purse. Gabe was late. While she waited, a couple of women came back from a hike, got in their car, and drove off. That left only one other car in the parking lot. A large man in a business suit was behind the wheel, enjoying a late bag lunch, sipping pop from a can as he gazed at the river. Joan often thought about leaving her office at lunch and driving to eat at a spot like this, with a water view. She was going to make some changes when she got back to Vancouver. The gravel crackled beneath Gabe’s tires as he pulled up in his truck. He rolled down the window.

  “Hop in,” he said with a casual smile.

  “Why don’t we sit out here?” Joan patted the picnic table.

  “It’s freezing. C’mon, you’re not dressed for this weather.”

  Joan glanced at the man in the car eating his lunch. How much trouble could they get into with that guy sitting right there? Gabe opened the door from the inside and she climbed in, pulling off her scarf. The Eagles played softly on the stereo. It was warm inside and permeated with Gabe’s clean scent. At the sight of his slightly drooping eyes she softened like milk chocolate under the hot sun. He reached up and wove his hand through her hair to cup her head.

  “Gabe,” she warned as she glanced at the other car. He just smiled and bent into her, kissing her long and gently. She pulled back. “We have to discuss the case.” Her willpower was evaporating under the warmth of his hand.