Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant (12 page)

“Yes’m.” Lloyd hesitated.

Mrs. Millotte read the disappointment on his face. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll get you a piece of apple pie and a glass of milk.”

That done, she handed the tray to Lloyd and shooed him off to the basement. Back in the kitchen, she heated the dregs of the coffee in the microwave and sat down at the counter. She knew she should have invited Lloyd to sit with her but she wanted to relax for a few minutes before going to bed and having coffee with Lloyd didn’t fit the bill.

She had known Lloyd since he started working at the feed store in Middleton eight years before. Sam Henson, who ran the place, kept Lloyd at the rear of the store where he loaded seed or feed or other heavy items from the loading dock to customers’ trucks. Sam had confided in her that Lloyd was not a good front man.

After Lloyd came to do some chores at the Pleasant he never went back to Henson’s. Rudley didn’t seem to care about having an eccentric like Lloyd out front. Of course, Rudley, in her opinion, was just as alarming and much more off-putting than Lloyd.

As for the fugitive murderer showing up at the Pleasant, she thought the odds were remote. And even if he did show up, they’d have nothing to worry about if they took the precautions Detective Brisbois suggested. She was more worried about the police constantly dropping by to give updates, which would alarm the guests, particularly Mrs. Sawchuck. As long as the police kept their presence to a minimum, everything would be copacetic.

Mrs. Millotte was determined that no one would be murdered at the Pleasant on her watch.

Margaret snuggled deeper into her sleeping bag as a ray of sunlight penetrated the canopy. “I could swear Gregoire was making fresh bread next door.”

“Were that it was so,” Rudley murmured. “Gil’s probably got the fire going and is making up breakfast.”

“Oh!” She grabbed his arm. “Rudley, you were going to see if you could call home.”

“Yes, Margaret.” Rudley crawled out of the tent and stumbled off in bare feet and pajamas, cursing the pinecones and pebbles.

He borrowed the satellite phone from Gil, who obligingly showed him how to use it. When he returned, Margaret was up and dressed.

“Did you make your call, Rudley?”

“Yes,” Rudley replied as he ducked into the tent and grabbed his trousers and shirt. “Apparently, everything is going smoothly.”

“Whom did you speak to?”

“Melba.” He sat down and yanked on his socks and shoes.

“What did she have to say?”

“Albert is getting plenty of exercise, Lloyd is keeping a careful eye on the grounds, the Sawchucks are active and alert, and Aunt Pearl is enjoying her time relaxing on the veranda.” Rudley tied his laces with a double knot. “Which means she probably has a case of Johnny Walker stashed in the window box.”

“It sounds as if they’re coping well with your absence, although I’m sure everyone eagerly awaits your return.”

Rudley smiled. “Of course, Margaret. I give their lives structure.”

She returned his smile. “Come, Rudley, breakfast.”

·

Tiffany came up the back steps and fetched her broom from the closet. Mrs. Millotte was at the desk.

“The boss phoned,” Mrs. Millotte greeted her. “He sends his regards.”

“Are they having a good time?”

“He didn’t say. In fact, he avoided the question. He wanted to make sure we were all right, given the fugitive in the vicinity.”

“How sweet of him.”

“I told him everything was just fine. No point in putting his blood pressure through the roof.”

“I’m sure that was best.”

“And how are you getting along with Mr. Bostock?”

“All right.” Tiffany commenced to sweep the area in front of the desk. “This morning, he drew up a chair and sat and watched my every move. When I went into the bathroom, he followed and stood at the door until I was finished.”

“Perhaps his razor is encrusted with diamonds.”

“You would think.”

“He is an odd duck.”

“Yesterday afternoon he took out a rowboat. He had a satchel with him.”

“Perhaps it was his fishing gear.”

“No, he was carrying that in the other hand. This morning he took the paddle boat and the bag.”

“Maybe it’s his lunch.”

“I don’t know. I do know he went off in the same direction.”

“He must prefer the scenery that way.”

“There’s something disturbing about Mr. Bostock.”

“If Miss Miller were here, you could make a case of it.”

“I’m going to keep an eye on him.”

Mrs. Millotte tapped her fingers along the guest register. “Good idea. That will keep you out of trouble and keep you from conspiring with Lloyd to wreck the antique chairs.”

“You’re making fun of me, Mrs. Millotte.”

“Sorry.” Mrs. Millotte went into the cupboard and brought out the invoices. “I agree that Mr. Bostock may have a screw or two loose. But he’s probably not dangerous. He hasn’t taken a hatchet to us yet.”

“True.” Tiffany went on with sweeping the lobby. Albert rolled over to the middle of the rug. She gave him a nudge with the broom but he didn’t wake.

I should wake him up and make him take a brisk walk, Mrs. Millotte thought. Some of us had to be up at the crack of dawn after last night’s fiasco.

·

Nora and Ned wandered into the kitchen. Gregoire turned and frowned at them. “I have said that you cannot come into the kitchen.”

Nora gave him a cross look. “Why not?”

“Because you are guests.”

“I’ve seen that skinny old man come in here and that old drunk,” Ned said.

Gregoire pointed the spatula at him. “I will not have you call Miss Dutton an old drunk. And that skinny old man is named Mr. Bole.” He gathered himself. “You cannot come into my kitchen because you are children. Children do not wash their hands. And that would be against public health regulations.”

“You let Lloyd come in,” Nora countered.

Gregoire didn’t have a quick answer for that. “You must have more interesting things to do than pester me in my kitchen.”

“No,” said Ned. “We don’t.”

“We’re bored,” said Nora.

Gregoire raised the spatula and brought it down, stopping just before it hit the counter. “How can you be bored at the Pleasant?”

“Easy.”

“Why don’t you go swimming?”

“We’ve done that.”

“You could go hiking.”

“We’ve done that.”

“And there weren’t any zebras,” said Ned.

“You could take the binoculars and look at the birds.”

“We’ve done that.”

“I suppose you’ve taken Albert for a walk in the woods.”

“Millions of times.”

“You could go out in the paddle boat.”

“Paddle boats are boring.”

Not if you forget your lifejackets and the thing springs a leak, Gregoire thought.

“Why can’t we take the motorboat?” Ned asked.

“Because it is not legal for someone your age.”

“We shouldn’t have come to this stupid place,” Nora pouted. “They said there’d be all kinds of arcade games and a midway. And they said we shouldn’t bring any of our games because the place was full of them. Better ones.”

“And you don’t even have a computer,” Ned concluded.

“And we don’t have a charge card,” Nora added. She began to pick at the cupboard door.

Gregoire raised the spatula again. It twitched in his hand like the tail of an angry cat. “Mr. Rudley does not like electronic devices. If you wash your hands, you can make fudge with me.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “We can buy fudge in the store.”

Tim entered the kitchen carrying a tray.

“The children are bored,” Gregoire said.

“Perhaps you’d like to help me in the dining room.” Tim placed the tray on the counter. “Or, if you’d rather, I’m sure Tiffany would like some help with the cleaning.”

Nora made a face, while Ned climbed onto a stool and slumped over the counter. “That’s no fun.”

“But it is different,” said Gregoire.

“Maybe you should see if Grandma and Grandpa would like to amuse you.” Tim added.

Ned buried his head in his arms and uttered an anguished yowl.

“What he’s saying,” Nora said, “is Grandma and Grandpa aren’t interested in anything except their bowels and joints and prostate glands.”

Tim laughed. Gregoire blushed.

“I do not want to hear that language from children in my kitchen,” Gregoire said. “Not to mention that it is disrespectful to your grandparents.”

Ned raised his head. “Grandma and Grandpa aren’t any fun.”

“They’re too old,” said Nora.

“Perhaps you are too young,” said Gregoire.

Tim began to load his tray with the canapés Gregoire had taken from the oven. “Lloyd’s going into town to pick up some things. Maybe you could go with him.”

Nora made a face. “He smells.”

Tim shrugged. “Ask him to take the motorboat. That way, with the gasoline fumes and fishy smell, you won’t notice Lloyd at all.”

“You can make it an adventure,” Gregoire declared. “Pretend you are in the middle of the ocean, looking for pirates. Or you are about to get shipwrecked.”

“If only that were so,” Tim murmured. He took the tray and whisked out to the dining room.

“He doesn’t like us,” said Nora.

·

Lloyd was in the garden when Gregoire appeared on the back porch. “Will you be going into town soon?”

“Ten minutes.”

Gregoire looked off into the line of trees at the back of the lawn. “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Can do.”

“I wonder if you could take the boat instead of the truck.”

“Could do.” Lloyd tidied the mulch around the Labrador tea shrub.

“Do you have my list?”

Lloyd reached into his back pocket and pulled out a strip of white paper. “This is it.” He shoved it back into his pocket.

“And then there is the favour.”

“Said will do.”

Expecting to do some wheedling, Gregoire paused, flummoxed. “You don’t know what the favour is.”

Lloyd finished his work and shook the mulch from his cultivator. “Don’t matter.”

“I want you to take the children into town in the motorboat.”

“Okay.”

Gregoire looked at him, round-eyed. “Is that all? Okay?”

Lloyd grinned. “Are you making pie?”

“What kind do you want?”

“One pecan, one lemon, and one apple.”

Gregoire hesitated, then said, “It’s a deal.”

Tim was in the kitchen when he returned, noshing on a bowl of strawberries.

Gregoire whisked the bowl away. “These are for my shortcakes.”

“I wouldn’t have done it for three pies,” said Tim.

Gregoire tucked the strawberries into the refrigerator. “If you keep eavesdropping all the time, you will get a reputation.”

Brisbois threw his pen onto the desk and shoved his chair back. “So we still don’t have anything on our John Doe.”

Creighton picked up the reports Brisbois had been reviewing and thumbed through them. “Nothing that’s panned out. The only ones close are a couple of homeless guys who have gone missing.”

Brisbois shifted restlessly in his seat. “This guy sure wasn’t homeless. Clean toenails. Even his nose hairs were clipped.”

Brisbois wheeled his chair back to the desk. “Let me see that sketch again.”

Creighton handed it over.

Brisbois took a look and shook his head. “Kind of expressionless.”

“It’s hard to get a lively pose from a stiff.”

Brisbois didn’t like Creighton referring to the unfortunate John Doe as a stiff but let it go. He supposed Creighton talked that way to hide his feelings. “He was found close to the border crossing. He could be an American.”

“He wasn’t wearing a flag pin,” Creighton said.

“Where would he have put it? On his jockey shorts?” Brisbois swiveled in his chair. “All we know for sure is somebody didn’t want us to know who he was.”

“Or somebody just wanted his clothes.”

Brisbois thought for a moment. “Let’s get the artist to do something different — like a sketch of him leaning out the window of a generic vehicle, smiling, handing his papers to the border guards. If he’s American or a returning Canadian that might twig somebody’s memory. Maybe something with him just sitting in a chair, smiling, or at least looking alive.”

“Sounds good, Boss.”

“And let’s get them out on the air as soon as possible.”

·

“Can’t you go any faster?” Nora sat in the middle seat of the motorboat, arms folded over her chest.

“If we go too fast, we’ll smash up on those rocks.”

“You can go around them. Or jump over them. The way they do on television.”

“They aren’t driving Mr. Rudley’s boat,” said Lloyd. “You don’t go fast unless you’re running away from a thunderstorm.” Lloyd navigated past a shoal marker. “You want to go slow to see the turtles and the birds and the muskrats and otters. Up where the river runs in, sometimes there’s beavers.”

“We’ve seen all that,” Ned said.

Nora leaned over the side of the boat. “What would you do if I fell in?”

Lloyd grinned. “There’s snakes in the water around here, some of them taller than me.” He pointed toward a rock plate at the shoreline. “Like that one lying there.”

Nora recoiled.

“They like to lie on the rocks and sun themselves,” Lloyd went on. “And if they get scared they get into the water lickety-split. And sometimes, if you’re just sitting quiet, they climb into the boat.” A thought sobered him: “One got caught in the motor once. That was bad. It got all over Tiffany.”

“All right,” Nora said. “We get it.”

“Sometimes you see the deer,” said Lloyd. “If you watch out for where the trees get thinner.”

“Big deal,” Ned said.

“I guess you’ve seen everything.”

“Yeah,” said Ned. “Pretty much.”

“Glad I haven’t.” He waved at a boat flying a fleur-de-lis. “That’s Mr. and Mrs. Belanger. They have a place on one of the little islands.”

“Why don’t you have a big boat like that?”

“Don’t have that many groceries.”

Nora poked Ned in the arm and rolled her eyes.

“You’re weird,” Ned said.

Lloyd grinned.

“Are we going to the ice-cream parlour?” Nora asked.

“We can get ice cream at the dock. Then we have to get the groceries and go home.”

“Why?”

“Cause if we don’t, everything will spoil and melt.”

Ned flopped back in his seat.

·

“Why can’t we go to the amusement park?” Ned whined as they left the dock and proceeded toward Main Street.

“They don’t have one here.”

“Not even a miniature golf course?”

“They got a real one but that’s a ways away.”

“Isn’t there anything here?” Nora moaned.

“Here’s all that’s here.”

Nora regarded him, incredulous.

“You got chocolate all around your mouth from the ice cream,” Lloyd observed. He dug a few dollars from his pocket. “Here, you can get a drink.”

“Big deal,” Nora said, but she took the money.

Lloyd went to talk to the grocer while Ned and Nora wandered off to the cooler. Ned pulled out a Pepsi. Nora rejected lemon-lime and orange before settling on a Swiss Cream Soda.

“Let’s lose him,” Nora suggested.

Ned sighed. “We’ll probably get in trouble. They’ll lock us in our room until Mom and Dad come home.”

“They can’t do that,” Nora said. “That would be forcible confinement.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

They were about to take off when Lloyd surprised them by appearing at the door. He was carrying a large box.

“You got the groceries already?”

“They get the groceries ready and I just have to check the list.”

“Is that all you’re getting?”

“All we need for right now.”

“We want to go to the electronics store.”

“There ain’t one of those until you get to Brockton,” said Lloyd, setting off toward the dock.

Ned and Nora minced along behind him, holding their noses and making exaggerated gestures in his direction.

Mrs. MacPherson, who ran the West Wind, was at the dock, dropping off two of her guests with a yacht in port. “Who are your little friends?” she asked Lloyd.

“Nora and Ned Danby. They’re staying at the inn.”

The children stared at her, sullen. Mrs. MacPherson gave Lloyd a sympathetic look. “I hear the Rudleys are away.”

“We want to go home now,” Nora interrupted with a shriek before Lloyd could respond to Mrs. MacPherson.

“We don’t want to go on the boat,” Ned cried.

“You gotta come with me,” Lloyd said.

Nora commenced to jump up and down and scream. “I’m not going!”

“I’m driving home now,” Mrs. MacPherson offered. “I can drop them off at the Pleasant.”

“Right at the door?”

She took his meaning, nodded, and winked. “I’ll hand them over at the desk.”

·

Mrs. Millotte was at the desk when Mrs. MacPherson entered, nudging the children ahead of her.

“I’m returning Ned and Nora to you. They decided they preferred coming home by car rather than in the motorboat with Lloyd.”

“That bad,” Mrs. Millotte murmured as the children drifted toward the dining room.

“Who do those kids belong to?” Mrs. MacPherson asked.

“Their grandparents are our regular guests.”

“What a pair of little snots. I couldn’t believe the way they treated Lloyd.” Mrs. MacPherson glanced toward the dining room to assure herself the children remained out of earshot. “Why do you put up with them? Are they extra rich or something?”

“We put up with them because we’re not allowed to send them home
COD
.”

“They were rude to me in the car, acted as if they were used to having a chauffeur, made rude gestures at other drivers.” Her eyes widened at Ned and Nora rubbing spit into the panes of the French doors. “I can’t believe Rudley would have them.”

“I doubt if he will again.”

Mrs. MacPherson glanced at her watch. “I’d better get going. You might want to check on what they’re doing to those doors.”

“Thank you for bringing them home,” Mrs. Millotte said, thinking: I would have thanked you more if you’d dumped them a few hundred miles away.

Ned and Nora continued spitting on the French doors, oblivious to Mrs. MacPherson’s departure, smearing the panes with their fingers. Mrs. Millotte took a can of Windex and a cloth from the closet and tiptoed up behind them.

“I think you might need this.”

They turned, startled. Mrs. Millotte sprayed the windows and handed them the cloths. “Get cracking.”

The children gave the panes a few half-hearted swipes.

“I don’t think you deserve supper,” Mrs. Millotte told them.

“We’re going to the Elm Pavilion,” Nora announced. “The Bensons will give us whatever we want.”

“The Benson sisters are watching adult movies. Remember? They can’t receive you today. I think you should go to your room until dinner.”

The twins tossed the cloths onto the desk and flounced toward the stairs. Nora turned, one foot on the first step. “Did anybody ever tell you you look like the Wicked Witch of the West?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Millotte replied, “but just once.”

Nora thumped up the stairs after Ned.

Five minutes later, the phone rang at the desk. Mrs. Millotte picked up.

“It’s room 207.”

Mrs. Millotte rolled her eyes. “How may I help you?”

“We want to order supper.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Millotte reached for the order pad.

“We want spaghetti and meatballs.”

“And what will you have to drink?”

“Coffee.”

“Coffee for two. And what about dessert?”

“Chocolate cake and banana cream pie.”

“I don’t believe we have banana cream pie today. Yes? Lemon meringue pie with a side order of maraschino cherries. Very well.” She finished the order off with a flourish. “And when would you like this to be delivered?”

“Five minutes ago.”

Mrs. Millotte reviewed the order and beckoned to Tim who had just come in from the veranda. “Would you give this to Gregoire?”

Tim read the order. “Coffee? Won’t that stunt their growth?”

“We can only hope,” Mrs. Millotte replied. “They want room service and they want it right away.”

“I’ll let Gregoire know.” Tim headed toward the kitchen.

·

Tim trotted down the stairs to the kitchen with the tray and emptied the dishes into the dishwasher.

Gregoire sniffed. “So what did they decide about their supper?”

“Fine,” said Tim. “They said it was fine.”

“Only fine?”

Tim decided not to mention the twins said the word in a grudging tone. “They ate every crumb.”

“Of course! It was delicious, after all.”

“And they gave me their breakfast order.” Tim whipped a piece of paper out of his hip pocket. “They each want a stack of buckwheat pancakes with a pat of butter and syrup with fruit on top. Blueberries. And café au lait.” He slid the paper onto the counter in front of Gregoire. “Maybe they’re coming around to your way of thinking.”

Gregoire glanced at the slip and slapped it onto his clipboard. “They will probably send the order back, saying they wanted three blueberries between each pancake and on the top they wanted them to form the shape of a pine tree.”

“And they made it clear they don’t want to be disturbed for breakfast until ten,” Tim added. “I think they wrote that on the menu, too.”

“They must plan to be up late drawing,” Gregoire mused. “Or they’re planning some diabolical thing to do to make my life miserable tomorrow.”

Tim poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the counter. “Maybe they’ll start another ant farm in your sugar bin.”

“I don’t think they like to do the same thing twice.”

“Where do you think they got the plastic ice cubes with the flies in them?”

Gregoire stared morosely at the wall. “Those children have got to go.”

·

Dusk fell softly on the Pleasant, teasing out the resins from the conifers and handing them off to the passing breeze. Dinner guests came early and stayed late. Many lingered on the veranda for coffee and liqueurs as new arrivals took their place in the dining room.

Mr. Bole had dinner in the Elm Pavilion with the Benson sisters. Gregoire had prepared a roast chicken stuffed with wild rice and almonds, with mashed potatoes and green beans and a side salad of tomato and cucumber in a light vinaigrette. For dessert, spice cake and angel food miniatures with raspberries and whipped cream accompanied by strong coffee (since the sisters were nighthawks) and a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream (since the sisters had strong faith in the redemptive powers of sherry). The sisters were hearty eaters and relished hosting an evening at the Elm Pavilion.

“It was lovely of you to join us for dinner,” said Louise.

“My pleasure entirely,” Mr. Bole responded.

“Terrible news about that murderer lurking about.”

“He sounds like a bit of a rascal,” said Mr. Bole, “but I don’t think we need to worry unduly. I imagine he’s miles away by now.”

“Oh,” said Emma in a disappointed tone.

“If I were a serial killer,” Mr. Bole continued, “I wouldn’t linger in one place too long. That’s why these types are usually apprehended. They carry out their nefarious activities in a limited area, thus allowing the authorities to map their probable location.”

“I suppose some of them have jobs,” said Kate. “They’re not free to flit about at will.”

“Yes,” Mr. Bole mused, “it would be hard to conduct a cross-country killing spree if you had to report for work in the morning.”

Mr. Bole hadn’t previously considered the killer might need to work. Independently wealthy, he had never worked a day in his life. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had been bankers with considerable business acumen, but Mr. Bole chose not to go into banking. He had no interest in business or money, except insofar as it allowed him freedom. He had taken a liberal arts education at the University of Toronto and studied an eclectic mix of subjects independently, including antiquities in the Middle East and the migration of Thomson’s gazelle in Tanganyika. He had toured the galleries of Europe and spent a bohemian year on the Left Bank in Paris. He had taken part in ceremonies at Stonehenge, walked the Great Wall of China, climbed Kilimanjaro, lived with Lapp herders, tended cattle with the Masai, and crossed the Sahara with Berber nomads. He was no stranger at either pole. He was particularly keen on the Incas and had gone on a sailing trip around Cape Horn, hoping to approximate the experience of Richard Henry Dana, Jr. in
Two Years Before the Mast
.

At some point — perhaps after an Australian outback experience — someone asked Mr. Bole if he’d ever been to Newfoundland. Mr. Bole was embarrassed to say that he had not. Not to Cornerbrook or Come By Chance or St. John’s or, really, anyplace in Canada outside of Toronto. This epiphany was the prod for his decision to explore Canada, an undertaking that eventually led him to the Pleasant.