PEG 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.
Maybe, though, she shouldn’t have told Daphne so much about Madden’s personal affairs, about Linda Howard’s miscarriages early in their marriage, the details of Candy’s divorce, the tension in Marlena and Ray’s relationship. Although anyone with eyes could see that the young Howard children looked nothing like Steve, that Candy should’ve dumped her brute of a husband years before, and that Marlena had had the hots for Roger since they’d been kids. But it was just her personal opinions. Daphne would be gone from Madden in the blink of an eye. Peg decided to put it out of her mind and just enjoy the view: the two pagoda-shaped bird feeders outside of her window, and the lovely breakfast tray Daphne had left by her bed. A bit more rest then she’d get up.
When a searing headache attacked the back of her skull, she reached for the painkillers. She couldn’t remember how many she’d already swallowed this morning. Two more couldn’t hurt. This was the worst bug she’d ever had.
Old Doc Rimmer was respected in the community the way that you respect an old guard dog. A dog that, simply by existing, has kept thieves at bay for a lifetime, but has never gone out and done anything splashy, like catch a bank robber. In addition to setting bones and writing prescriptions, Dr. Rimmer served the community in many respectable, unexciting ways, such as sitting on the school board. His most notable achievement was serving as chairman when they voted in construction of the new school. He steered the board quietly. “Hard work without hullabaloo” was his motto. When the board wanted to design a plaque in his honour, he refused with a shake of his head.
When it came to raising his only child, though, Dr. Rimmer had been a drowning man. In his day, during the war, there hadn’t been all these street drugs. Well, not in the schoolyards of small towns like Madden. When he and Laura realized that the beautiful green palm under the grow light in Roger’s bedroom was marijuana and that he was supplying the junior high school, Laura started reading books about drugs while he buried himself in work. It turned out to be the beginning of Roger’s long road that ended with hard drugs and the destructive behaviour that went with addiction. The doctor couldn’t admit it out loud, could barely admit it to himself, but he was relieved that his son was dead. It had been an exhausting, terrifying twenty-five years. His wife and he could now sleep through the night without worrying. He wished it could have come some other way, that it hadn’t had to be so violent, but at least it was over.
Candy was breathing heavily by the time she reached the top of Peg’s front stairs. She shifted the box of Co-op pastries to her other arm and knocked with her free hand. There was no answer so she tried the door. It opened easily. The house was silent, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the Chinese wind chime above the door. When she called out, there was no response. There wasn’t even a sign of Peg’s old cat, Me-Me, who was usually quick to greet guests in anticipation of treats.
Candy made her way down the hallway to Peg’s bedroom, making as little noise as possible in case Peg was asleep. She entered, then stumbled backwards in shock, dropping the bakery box. It broke open, scattering pastries across the broadloom. Me-Me was beside the bed greedily eating the remains of Peg’s breakfast that had spilled onto the floor.
When Joan arrived at the Rimmers’, there were already several cars parked at the curb and in the driveway. One, she noticed, had rental plates. As she walked up the path toward the tidy splitlevel home, a couple of older women were leaving. There was one thing in Madden that hadn’t changed. In the event of tragedy, you were never alone, at least for the first while. The casserole brigade bolted into action and tea flowed like the Nile. She remembered how it had been when her dad had died. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she rang the bell and Hazel answered the door.
“C’mon in. Glad you made it.”
Eau d’egg salad assaulted Joan when she stepped into the house. Hazel took Joan’s coat and eased the introduction. “Laura, look who’s here. It’s Joan Parker.”
Mrs. Rimmer, wearing the sagging look of suppressed anguish, fawned over her. “It’s good to see Roger’s friends here.”
Joan felt like a fraud, but this wasn’t the time to correct the mourning mother. She sat down next to Mrs. Rimmer with a plate of shortbread and a cup of Earl Grey.
“Except for the members of his band,” Mrs. Rimmer said, “I never knew who his friends were. I never met any of his girlfriends, not even his wife.”
“Crystal, wasn’t it?” asked Joan.
Laura Rimmer nodded. “He didn’t tell us that he’d been married until it was over.” She dabbed at a spot on her skirt with a napkin. “I felt badly about it, but it was probably for the best.”
“How long were they married?”
“I’m not sure.” She looked embarrassed. ”It’s been over for years. There were no children.”
Throughout Joan’s visit, Dr. Rimmer was robotic in his responses, smiling when spoken to, obediently holding his cup out for a top up when the pot came around, but mostly his tired eyes rested on the television, where herds of elephants silently crossed the savannahs of Africa.
Hazel easily navigated her way around the Rimmer house, directing guests to one of three bathrooms and pulling extra cotton napkins from a drawer in the buffet. Joan chalked it up to her friend’s experience as a minister. This kind of pastoral visit must be second nature. But when Mrs. Rimmer caught Hazel’s arm and requested that she bring her pills to her, Hazel went directly upstairs without asking where to find the medication.
When a chair became vacant beside Roger’s father, Joan perched on the edge and leaned over to get his attention.
“Can I get you anything, Dr. Rimmer?”
His automatic response was to shake his head, but then he pursed his lips and really looked at her. “Joan?” he asked.
She nodded, shocked that he recognized her so easily.
“It’s good to see you. How is your mother?”
Joan brought him up-to-date, but was surprised that not much was necessary. Not only had Vi been sending Christmas cards, but Dr. and Mrs. Rimmer had had lunch with her in Vancouver.
“Must have been a dozen years ago,” he calculated. “But, when you get to our age, that’s like yesterday.” He filled Joan in on their day-to-day lives. Both Mrs. Rimmer and he kept active in the community.
“But you’re retired?”
“Trying to be,” he answered. “Stepped down as president of the Rotary last year, but still busy as past-president, and we both volunteer at Mountain View. There are two other doctors in town now, but some of the older patients still call for a second opinion now and then. ”
By the time Joan left him he’d filled in the fine strokes, but they’d never once mentioned his only child.
Later, Joan walked with Hazel to their cars. Here they were, two middle-aged women. So many years had passed. This block-shaped, grey-headed women in African dress was a complete mystery to her. She asked her about her partner, Lila. Joan knew from Gabe that the two women had been together for nearly twenty years, had contemplated marriage. It was a committed relationship.
Hazel hesitated before answering. “We drove up to Madden together, but Lila’s cloistered in our hotel room. She’s grading papers for the Russian lit class she teaches at UC Berkley.”
Joan suggested that the three of them get together for dinner.
Hazel shook her head. “Lila’s grumpy with me at the moment.” She looked at Joan, assessing whether or not to say more. “The reason I didn’t get to the opening night reunion bash was because we pulled over to the side of the road to decide if we should end it.”
“End it? You mean the trip?” asked Joan.
“The relationship. The whole bag. She thought I had a thing for Roger. Can you believe that?”
“Did you?” asked Joan. She was beginning to feel like a cop.
Hazel paused before answering. “I went from hating Roger to feeling sorry for him. I guess I did love him, the little boy in him. But not the way you mean or Lila feared. It’s my work to be there for people and it’s work that I’m cut out for. Keeping their confidences is another part of the job. I’m good at that too.” She put an abundant arm around Joan’s shoulder and gave her a friendly squeeze. “I’ll see if I can get Lila to quit whining and have dinner. You’ll love her. I’ve always thought that she’s a lot like you.”
Joan smiled. “What does that mean?”
“Why, intelligent, honest, a bit of a prig . . . ” Hazel held her at arm’s length, “And still hot after all these years.”
As Hazel climbed into her rental car, Joan called out: “How long are you staying?”
“Don’t know. The most I can hang around is till mid-week.
How about you?”
“I have no idea,” Joan responded, but she had an overwhelming sense the decision was no longer in her hands.
Peg lived in one of the older neighbourhoods, where boulevards separated the sidewalks from the roads, wide porches overlooked the street, and people still walked to the corner store. It gave Joan comfort to see that some parts of Madden hadn’t changed. Peg would be able to clear up the misunderstanding about the invitation list, and then she’d be able to return to Vancouver. As she turned the corner onto Peg’s street, an ambulance passed her headed in the opposite direction. Joan’s stomach lurched when she saw a police car parked in front of a hot pink bungalow. Candy Dirkson sat on the curb, tears flowing, her generous body heaving with uncontrolled sobbing.
Joan parked and went to her. “The ambulance. Is it Peg?”
Candy nodded. “I haven’t been to visit Peg all weekend, after all her hard work to make this reunion happen. She would have had so much fun with us last night. I’m a horrible friend!” she wailed. “And she was probably feeling terrible about what happened to Roger.” Between sobs she tried to describe what had happened when she arrived an hour earlier.
“Me-Me was eating Peg’s breakfast.”
“Who’s Me-Me?”
“Peg’s cat. Peggy was all twisted around.”
“And she was hurt?” asked Joan.
Candy shook her head. “No, Joan. She was dead.”
Ray couldn’t believe his luck as he watched Daphne at the end of the bed slowly unhooking the clasp of her bra. When her generous breasts were unleashed, her nipples pointed toward him as though begging for him. He couldn’t help but compare them to Marlena’s tiny breasts that matched the rest of his wife’s boyish, athletic body. Goddamn, Daphne looked great for her age.
They had driven to a motel on the other side of Elgar. He wasn’t quite as well known there, and the unkempt young man at the front desk didn’t look familiar. The guy didn’t seem to give a shit anyway. Unlike a lot of men he knew, Ray wasn’t experienced at adultery. Marlena liked sex and besides, basically she scared the shit out of him. She yelled at him if he even told a dirty joke to another woman. When Daphne had come on to him at the gas station that morning, he couldn’t resist. How lucky is that, a good-looking broad asking if you want it at nine o’clock in the morning? She even bought him a coffee and muffin. Marlena would never know and Daphne would be gone from town by tomorrow. While driving, she had unzipped his fly and pulled his schlong out of his pants. He’d just about spilled his coffee on her head. Now, straddling him on the motel bed, she was making him crazy by flicking her tongue in and out of his ear.
“You stay in shape to play with the band, Ray?” she whispered. “I heard Marlena stays in shape to play with the band, too.”
Ray corrected her. “Oh, Marlena doesn’t play with the band. She just . . . ”
Daphne interrupted, “Maybe not the whole band, but at least one member. One besides yours.”
Before he could respond, she slid her head under the covers. Oh, God! Oh God, this was payback time. Whether or not Marlena had ever screwed Roger, she’d wanted to. Ray knew it. Everyone knew it. Even Daphne knew it, and she’d been in town less than a week. That hurt.
When Joan returned to the resort she went into the hotel lobby to let the staff know that she wouldn’t be rushing off. The front desk clerk was glad that not all of the customers were being chased away by the murder. Joan nodded robotically. It wasn’t her place to start spreading the word about Peg’s death. She’d left a message for Gabe and was afraid to say anything until they talked. Her stomach grumbled and she was light-headed. Although she didn’t feel hungry, she had to eat something if she was going to keep her mind clear. She was heading toward the dining room for lunch when the clerk called, “Oh, Miss!”
She turned.
“I forgot to tell you. I put calls through to your room while you were out. One of them sounded urgent.”
Her cell had been on silent when she visited the Rimmers. She turned it on. Still no reception. She wandered the lobby until two green bars appeared on her phone. Wedged between the front desk and a potted fern, she checked her voicemail. The first message was from Mort.
“Hey, babe, just checking in. You sounded stressed earlier. Let’s talk about it.”
The second call was from work. It had to be important for Ted to call on a Sunday. His message was brusque. Tony was having difficulty figuring out her market analysis and could she please call.
The last message was from Gabe. He’d be busy for the next couple of days and didn’t know when he’d get to see her. He didn’t mention Peg but she assumed that was one of the cases now consuming him. He asked her not to leave town without letting him know. “It’s a personal request, Joan, not an official one.”
She punched in the number to Constellation Inc. reception, then the three digits to reach Tony’s direct line.
“Hey there, it’s Joan. What’s up?” Tony admitted he was lost. As she listened it became clear that, as she suspected, she needed to be there to finalize the project paperwork or there would be delays in launching Hint of Midnight in the Southeast Asian market. Ted wanted Joan to come back as soon as possible. She glanced at her watch then across the lobby. Time-zone calculations clicked through her mind. If she left now she’d be back in Vancouver by dinnertime. She and Tony could work through the night then email the documentation to their Mumbai lawyer before he left his office. She could feel her heart start to race. This was her usual cue to run back, not because of how badly they needed her but from her underlying fear that they’d find out that they didn’t.
“Joan, are you still there?”
Before answering, she took a deep breath. “Sorry, Tony. You’re going to have to deal with this one on your own for now.” She gave him a list of instructions and said she’d call in a couple of days to see how they were doing without her. Just before she hung up, she added, “And get Rosy to help.”
“Rosy? The receptionist?”
“She’s enthusiastic and smart. She deserves a chance.”
On the way to the hotel restaurant, Joan slid a copy of the Madden Monitor from the stack on the reception desk into her purse then frowned into her wallet when she went to pay. A lonely twenty remained. She mentally revisited her purchases since leaving home yesterday, added in her poker loss, and calculated that she was missing about forty dollars. It was too much to have accidentally overpaid. It must have fallen out of her wallet, or maybe she’d bought something and forgotten. She’d physically retrace her steps this morning and at the same time, start to gather information on who killed Roger Rimmer.
“Why the hell did they haul her out of the house before we got there? Is everyone in this town trying to make rat shit out of this case?” Staff Sergeant Smartt’s fury hung in the air like an avalanche ready to rumble down a mountain. He cursed the local ambulance service then screamed at Gabe.
Gabe knew that if Smartt didn’t keep his mouth shut, or at least his voice down, nobody would get this job done. Why did the yellers so often rise to the top positions?
“It appears to have been a stroke, natural causes.” Gabe said calmly.
“She was a goddamn witness in a goddamn murder investigation that’s not even two days old. That makes it a suspicious death. Period. I want an autopsy and I want to know where her classmates were this morning,” demanded Smartt.
Again, they had an audience in the office, and this time Gabe wished they hadn’t. He knew that Smartt was right. Nobody should have touched Peg’s body. He hadn’t been called until after she’d been moved. It had been dealt with as a normal death, despite her involvement with the reunion and Roger Rimmer. No matter, Smartt lacked the sensitivity to work in such a small community. There was barely a person in town that didn’t know either Roger or his parents, and everyone knew Peggy. This situation touched everyone.
Smartt wasn’t finished. “And what about that woman from Vancouver, Parker? Do you have any more on her?”
“Nothing of interest,” replied Gabe.
He had been uncomfortable running a check on Joan. Part of him had been afraid that he’d find information that he didn’t want to know. Not criminal activity, but personal stuff that she had a right to keep private, like the fact that her car was still registered in her husband’s name. What made him feel particularly awkward was that another part of him wanted to know.
He wondered just how separated Joan and Mort were. But who was he to question her personal circumstances? Betty would be home by tomorrow evening, and all he could think about was how he could arrange to see more of Joan before then. It all seemed impossible with the murder investigation and now Peg’s death.
“The dead woman, this Chalmers, she said Parker contacted her and asked to be included in this reunion,” said Smartt.
“Where did you get that?”
“I interviewed her myself, yesterday at her home.”
It irritated Gabe that Smartt was duplicating their efforts. “When she was at the school yesterday she was confused. She was sick, obviously worse off than we all knew, and she’d had a lot on her plate for the past few months with this reunion.”
Smartt grumbled as he skimmed through his notes. “Says here Cardinal called her late yesterday. He was going to her place today to go over her statement one more time, get it all straightened out.”
“My notes say Peg contacted Joan Parker by telephone and insisted that she come to Madden.”
“You’re certain?” Smartt asked.
Gabe nodded but didn’t mention that it was Joan who had explained to him the sequence of events that got her to the reunion.
“How close are the two of you?”
Gabe thought he knew where the Superintendent was going with this and that he’d be ordered to avoid her. “We were friends in high school, but we haven’t spoken in almost thirty years.”
“Good. I want you to make a point of talking to her. Keep tabs on her as long as she’s in town,” ordered Smartt.
“Done,” said Gabe then he turned away so that Superintendent Smartt wouldn’t see him smile.
Joan walked into the arts centre to find several teenagers in the hallway running lines from Little Shop of Horrors. A good-looking boy with shaggy hair and a tight T-shirt broke into song to the appreciative swooning of the all the girls and at least one of the boys. He reminded Joan of Roger. How little the world changed. She found the door to the games room open and went inside.
One window blind was up so there was plenty of light to guide her to the table where they’d played blackjack the night before. If she’d dropped her cash while playing cards, it might still be there. She passed the couch and stopped. A chill ran down her spine. Mr. Fowler’s motionless body was stretched out on the floor. She calculated what to do first, call the police or check to see if he was still alive, then she stepped toward him and bent to feel his pulse.
Suddenly his eyes shot open and she screamed.
“Oh, Joan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mr. Fowler clambered to his feet as quickly as his aging joints would allow. “My back’s bad. I like the floor for a nap.” As she gasped to catch her breath, he continued. “It’s nicer here than at my place.” He smoothed his hair and buttoned his sweater. “There’s nobody there since my wife passed on.”
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Her heart was still pounding. “I’ve misplaced forty dollars.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I thought it might have fallen on the floor when I was paying Candy out last night.”
He grinned impishly. “She’s quite the shark. Wouldn’t have expected it.” He shook his head. “I tidied up this morning but I didn’t find any cash. There were other things people forgot. In the old days it was faded jean jackets and textbooks. Now it’s reading glasses and cardigans.”
They both smiled then spent a few minutes together looking under tables and the old, sagging couch. Finally they gave up. The money wasn’t here. Joan said goodbye and turned to leave, but Mr. Fowler stopped her.
“Joan, I have something I need to tell you.” His tone was serious. He directed her toward the couch. “It’s about me, my life. But it’s also about you.”
She perched on the edge of the sagging sofa and Mr. Fowler closed the door. She wondered what could be so important. He stood before her, as though at the front of a classroom, cleared his throat and began to tell her a story.
In 1973 Ed Fowler was a twenty-eight-year-old Madden schoolteacher with radical ideas. Half-a-dozen years earlier he’d left Portland at the height of the Viet Nam War. “That war was unconscionable. But it wasn’t just the war, it was the number of people in my country who supported it and refused to listen with grace. It’s a sinking, lonely feeling when you realize you don’t belong in the country of your birth.”
“I can’t imagine,” said Joan.
“It was a horrible era for the United States of America, no question, but leaving it was the best thing that ever happened to me. It set me free.” He paused for a moment to wipe his glasses. “I left with a duffle bag and a degree from Oregon State and I crossed the border into Canada.”
“You dodged the draft?” asked Joan.
“Technically, although I don’t think they were that interested in someone my age, at least not at that point in the war. Eventually I wound up in Madden. Property was cheap and I knew they got a good deal of sun. I met Suzette, my future wife, through friends. She had the skills to live an alternative lifestyle; she gardened and sewed and made the most whimsical quilts on a frame that dominated our living room.”
“Hippies. You were hippies,” said Joan.
“I suppose we were, although we never would have described ourselves as such. Labels were verboten back then, a sign of the establishment.” He chuckled at the memory, but she detected melancholy in his voice. “A dozen of us like-minded souls plotted out a communal farm where we would become self-sufficient. Our cropland was cultivated in a large circle with pie-shaped plots. I can’t quite remember why we did that,” he said shaking his head, “but we grew everything imaginable: potatoes next to beets next to carrots next to soybeans, and so on. In the centre of it all was a large ramshackle house that we built mostly from found materials. At any given time there were seven or eight adults and a half-dozen or more children living there, including our twin girls, Sky and Summer. The revenue from the farm was paltry, not enough to pay for gas or sugar or to buy shoes, so I took a job teaching math and science at the school in Madden. One of the first parents I met was Vi Parker.” He looked up at Joan with watery blue eyes. “I was smitten. Immediately and irreversibly smitten.”
Joan was stunned. “My mom?”
Fowler nodded again. “Vi was a few years older than I was, but to me she was eternal youth. I found reasons to talk to her whenever she came to the school, and that was often since you and your brothers were there.”
“I don’t remember her being so involved with the school,” said Joan.
He stopped for a moment and stared out the window as though it framed a view of Joan’s mother as a young woman.
“Oh, she wasn’t one of those parents who sat on committees to demand newer equipment or more library books. She was more likely to appear in a flowing skirt with crepe paper and balloons to decorate the gym for a spring dance, or with a towel, bathing suit, and a bucket of chicken to lead a group of kids to the swimming pool. She’d be right in there, splashing and playing while the other mothers lounged on the sidelines.” As Mr. Fowler spoke, the years fell away and Joan was transported back to those hot June days at the pool, a memory so visceral that she could smell the chlorine and coconut oil and see her mother in her bright-skirted bathing suit and turquoise bathing cap, snapping the caps off Coke bottles, and encouraging their burping contests. She couldn’t remember Mr. Fowler at the poolside, but then she’d been so absorbed with her own life.
“Do you remember that, Joan?”
She nodded slowly. “I do.” She remembered her mother, and an image of the young schoolteacher began to emerge from a corner of her memory. They had all admired him, but never suspected that he had passion beyond his social causes.
“I made excuses to be around your mother whenever I could.” He described her sparkling energy and the sound of her melodious laugh. “I grew as a human being from watching her.
She lived her values, Joan. I never heard her pass judgment on another person. She went out of her way to be kind to everyone.”
“She still does,” added Joan.
He nodded with a sad smile. “Within a very short time, I fell deeply in love with her and she knew it. I began creating elaborate, transparent opportunities to be near her. One time I wrangled an invitation to a party where I knew she’d be. My grand plan was to insinuate myself into her social circle.” He chuckled. “How odd I must have looked, the left-wing teacher among the blue-collar workers of Madden. I’m sure they all thought I was a communist.”
“Weren’t you?” asked Joan.
He shrugged, then, as though it was an afterthought: “I guess maybe I was.” He looked at Joan. “Once I even danced with her.” His eyes shone. “I still remember the feel of my hand on her waist.” He stared down at his hand, now crisscrossed with blue veins. “Your mother broke my heart gently. She reminded me that I had a beautiful wife, and she rhapsodized on Suzy’s best qualities, even though she hardly knew her. She talked about your father, about how he was her one true love. After he died, I thought I’d have a chance. I offered to marry her, to take care of all of you. Once again, she reminded me about my dear Suzy. She was right.” His next words caught Joan off guard. “Your mother is one of the bravest people I’ve ever known.”
All of her life Joan had tallied her mother’s weaknesses. The person Fowler described was definitely Vi, but from a different angle, illuminated by a shift in light, through a prism that gave her image a thousand sparkling colours. Her mother might have had an easier life and not lived the past thirty years in poverty as a single woman. Joan felt a weight lift. Her mother had chosen her life.
Marlena Stanfield scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, silently cursing herself for eating garlic toast with her salad at lunch. It wasn’t just the carbs that angered her. For the first time in years she had come close to having sex with someone whom she found intensely desirable and Roger had to go and get himself killed. She kicked herself for not acting faster, for all the missed opportunities, for her miserable life. She felt stuck.
She turned sideways to better examine her shapely biceps. She was more powerful than a lot of men she knew. Did her physical strength scare them off? Whatever sexual opportunity was going to happen in her life, she’d have to make the first move. And she’d have to act fast while there was all this party action in town. It amused her that the man who tickled her erotic imaginings the most this weekend, besides Roger, had been living down the highway in Elgar all this time. Betty Theissen was out of town for a few days. If Marlena played her cards right, she might end up with a hole in one, so to speak. Maybe a little handcuff action. She smiled to herself then posed in front of the mirror for one last look to see if she could still pull off a convincing wet-lipped pout, then she carried an armload of fresh linens to the guest room.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” She relished the look of awe as Daphne set her small suitcase on the king-size guest bed. Marlena swept open the curtains for the full effect of the view of Madden below. “You won’t be disturbed down here at all. The other bedrooms are all two floors up. You can make all the noise you want. Ray leaves early and I sleep like the dead.” She was momentarily embarrassed by her insensitivity after what Daphne had been through this morning. “I just about fell over when I got your message. It must have been horrible, walking into that house with a dead body lying there and all those police.” She gingerly placed an arm around Daphne’s shoulder. The physical connection felt stiff, but she knew it was probably the appropriate thing to do.
“It was the last thing I expected,” Daphne whispered. “Truly, the very last thing I expected.”