Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant (11 page)

Mrs. Millotte took the usual path into the forest, calling Albert’s name as she went. She was glad she had the powerful flashlight. The quarter moon was a useless sliver.

She wasn’t afraid of wild animals. None of them gave her cause for concern. She was more concerned about being shot by some local yokel who’d had too much to drink and decided he was Rambo on a night mission. She realized, with a chuckle, that after warning everyone to lock their windows and doors and exercise caution, she was out in the woods, armed only with a flashlight.

Mrs. Sawchuck was in a dither. Walter was pretending to be in a dither but was actually weary of the situation. He had warned Doreen not to sit on that occasional chair, telling her he thought the leg was wobbly. He’d been meaning to ask Rudley to replace it with a wider chair, but wasn’t sure how to explain his request to Doreen. She liked the pretty little antique chair and, before tonight, had been able to squeeze into it and get herself out. The straw that broke the camel’s back, he surmised, was the bulky nightgown Doreen had chosen that evening. Although the weather was seasonable, Doreen, because of her arthritis, felt a chill in the air. Besides, as she told him, she liked being extra warm. She could have been extra warm in a bigger chair, he thought, instead of being wedged into that dainty little thing while Lloyd pulled and Tiffany wriggled it, trying to pry her out.

“You’re hurting me!” Doreen shrieked.

Lloyd released Mrs. Sawchuck. Tiffany stepped back before the chair leg landed on her foot.

Tiffany patted Doreen on the shoulder. “We’ll take a rest while we decide what to do next.”

“Maybe grease,” said Lloyd.

“You’re not going to ruin my lovely new nightgown with grease!”

“I think the nightgown’s caught in the arm,” Tiffany said.

“Guess we have to take it off then,” said Lloyd.

“Well, I never!” Doreen spluttered.

“I can pry it off and fix it good as new,” said Lloyd.

“He means the arm of the chair, Doreen,” Walter yelled from the bed as Doreen continued to splutter.

Tiffany sighed with relief. “That’s a wonderful idea. Mrs. Sawchuck, your nightgown won’t be damaged and we’ll get you another chair until Lloyd can fix this one.”

By the time Lloyd had run down to the basement, got his toolbox, and returned, Mrs. Sawchuck had calmed somewhat. Lloyd employed a thin wedge and a rubber mallet to remove the arm. He and Tiffany then hauled Mrs. Sawchuck up and into bed.

Tiffany tucked Mrs. Sawchuck in. Lloyd picked up the chair and headed for the door.

“Take your time fixing that chair,” Walter called after him.

·

Mrs. Millotte was off the property, a good mile into Crown land. She had a number of things on her mind besides finding Albert: Being away from her post so long, rechecking the linen inventory for the laundryman, who appeared not long after sunup, getting a decent night’s sleep. Her concerns about the most recent psychopath were shoved to the back burner.

She sat down on a stump, took out her cigarettes, and lit up. Clamping the cigarette between her teeth, she shone the flashlight at her wrist. It was already after eleven. She finished her cigarette, buried the butt in the damp forest floor, and moved on.

·

Lloyd took the chair to the basement, repaired the arm, and left it in clamps to dry. Then he went into the storage room and checked the spare chairs. He finally decided on a nice upholstered armchair with embroidered cushions. It was like the little one Mrs. Sawchuck favoured but it was three inches wider. He made some quick calculations and decided three inches would be enough allowance for Mrs. Sawchuck’s girth. This year at least.

·

Mrs. Millotte estimated she was about two miles from home, deep in the forest. She wasn’t tired but she was getting desperate. If Albert had caught his leash on a limb and hung himself she would never forgive herself.

She stopped, shone the flashlight around, and called his name. She noted with alarm the hesitancy in her voice.

Was it her imagination? She was sure she heard an excited yip. She headed in the direction of the sound, calling the dog’s name, stopping periodically to listen.

The yip seemed closer.

She broke through a dense stand of undergrowth and there he was. Albert leapt up when he saw her, then fell back.

“Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?” Mrs. Millotte tried to sound gruff. She checked her watch again in the beam of the light. It was after midnight. “Two and a half hours!” She freed Albert’s leash from the fallen log and wrapped it firmly around her wrist. “It’s a good thing you got caught up on that. God knows where you might have ended up.” They set off toward the Pleasant, Albert leading the way, tail wagging.

·

Lloyd went back upstairs. He met Tiffany on her way down from the second floor.

“Want me to bring that big chair up now?”

Tiffany shook her head. “Better wait until tomorrow. I’ve just got Mrs. Sawchuck settled.” She yawned. “I’m going to bed. Are all the doors locked?”

“Yes’m. I’ll check them all again.”

“Don’t forget to throw the bolts.”

“Can do.”

Lloyd made his rounds, checked and bolted the front door, the side door, and the back kitchen door, then went down to the basement where he ususally slept. He checked the back door and threw the bolt.

·

“Rudley.”

“Hmm?”

“Rudley.”

Rudley opened one eye. Margaret was shaking him by the shoulder. He opened the other eye. “What’s wrong, Margaret?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She sighed. “Rudley, I think we should ask Gil if we can use the satellite phone tomorrow. I want to call home.”

“Why?”

“I’m worried about the staff.”

“I worry about those ninnies all the time, Margaret.”

“Rudley” — she propped herself up on one elbow, leaned over him — “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“With that murderer so close, I just want to be assured that everyone is all right.”

“They’ve had murderers close by before and they’ve been all right.”

“Yes, but we’ve always been there.” She paused. “I suppose that didn’t help much before, us being there.”

“I like to think we had some positive influence.”

“Do you think they’re all right?”

He groaned. “I’m sure they are, Margaret. If not, we’ll probably read about it in a two-inch headline. Perhaps a plane will fly over trailing an announcement: Another Murder at the Pleasant.”

“Rudley, don’t be facetious.”

“Margaret, Mrs. Millotte is in charge. What could possibly go wrong with Mrs. Millotte in charge?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, Margaret.” With that Rudley rolled over and went back to sleep.

·

Lloyd was sleeping soundly on the couch in Rudley’s office, dreaming. In his dream, he was in the tool shed behind the Pleasant with the transom open wide, enjoying the music of the night birds and the soft rustling of nocturnal creatures. The air felt fresh and slightly moist. The breeze off the lake sighed through the evergreens and rustled the leaves in the maples and oaks. And in the background, a tap, tap, tap. Then closer, tap, tap, tap.

In his dream, he couldn’t move a muscle. The tapping continued, joined now by shuffling. He wasn’t frightened; in the dream, he simply couldn’t figure out who or what was making the noise. Aunt Pearl? Sometimes she came downstairs for a snack in the middle of the night. But the tapping and shuffling came not from above. They seemed to come from down the hall.

Then the tapping stopped, replaced by the squeak of a door opening. Lloyd drifted up through
REM
sleep, waking with a jolt as something struck him in the ribs. He opened his eyes to see Doreen Sawchuck in a sliver of light. She was standing over him, trying to extricate her cane from his armpit. Walter hovered behind her.

“Lloyd,” Mrs. Sawchuck said in a hoarse whisper.

Lloyd blinked into the flashlight Walter directed into his eyes. “Yes’m?”

Mrs. Sawchuck motioned him to keep his voice down. “Someone’s trying to break in.”

Lloyd raised himself on one elbow. “Think so?”

Walter glanced over his shoulder. “We know so,” he whispered irritably. “We heard someone on the veranda, trying the front door.”

“Maybe a raccoon.”

“Why would a raccoon be trying the front door?” Walter’s voice rose a notch.

“Don’t know.” Lloyd rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You want me to look?”

“Yes. Then, if necessary, call the police.”

“Mr. Rudley doesn’t like the police around.”

“Mr. Rudley isn’t here.”

“He’ll know.” Lloyd got up and pulled his jeans up over his pajamas. “You stay here and if I don’t come back, you can call the police.”

He turned to see the flashlight, but no Walter.

Taking the flashlight, he started down the hall. Mrs. Sawchuck hobbled after him. Behind them a toilet flushed.

“That was Walter,” Mrs. Sawchuck whispered.

Lloyd slid the bolt across the back door and unlocked it.

Mrs. Sawchuck hovered at his shoulder as he pushed the door open. “Do you see anything?”

Lloyd’s gaze shifted left to right. “Nope.”

“Are you going out to look around?”

Lloyd turned and grinned. “Was thinking about going back to bed.”

“There could be a murderer out there.”

“Probably better to go back to bed.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Sawchuck fretted, “I won’t sleep a wink if you don’t go out there.”

“I’m going.”

Mrs. Sawchuck closed the door once Lloyd was clear and slid the bolt across. A hand touched her shoulder. She shrieked.

Walter stumbled back. “Sorry, Doreen.”

·

Lloyd stood, one hand against the clapboard side of the house, listening. There were lots of sounds at night at the Pleasant. He was used to them. Most were simply pleasant. But tonight he listened to each one of them. He heard the croak of frogs — bullfrogs, green frogs, leopard frogs — the hoot of owls — barn owls and screech owls — the chant of whippoorwills. He heard the water brush softly against the dock and the halyard ping against the flagpole. He wasn’t afraid, but he could understand why the Sawchucks were nervous. A twig snapped. In spite of the Pleasant’s history, he’d never worried much about being murdered. The Pleasant was home, a nice place with friendship and pie.

He let go of the clapboard and eased around the building. He couldn’t imagine himself being dead. He knew if he died, Mrs. Rudley would be sad.

A plop sounded in the water. He walked to the end of the dock, bent to his knees, and looked over the edge. If the moon were full, he thought, he would be able to see his distorted reflection in the rippling water. It would be like looking into a funhouse mirror. The moon was only a sliver, but he lay down on his stomach anyway and let his head hang over the dock to see if he could see a hazy reflection in the pale light. He couldn’t, but he enjoyed the music of the frogs, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be looking for Mrs. Sawchuck’s “murderer.”

And then he did remember. He scrambled back up and headed to the inn, glancing about as he went. A few yards from the building, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he glimpsed a shadow. He stopped, stood very still, and peered into the dark. The shadow seemed to dissolve into the trees. He skirted the veranda, plastered his back to the wall, and peeked around the corner.

Nothing.

A hand touched his shoulder. He spun around.

It was Mrs. Millotte. Her hands were on her hips and she was glaring at him. At her side, Albert gave him a dog smile. “What in hell are you doing out here?” she demanded.

Lloyd broke into a grin. Mrs. Millotte didn’t usually swear. He guessed her spending so much time at the desk was driving her to it. Mr. Rudley was at the desk all the time and he swore a lot. “Mrs. Sawchuck said there was a murderer out here. She said she heard boots on the veranda.”

Mrs. Millotte pointed to her Keds. “Do these look like boots?”

“Nope.”

“It was me,” she said.

He grinned. “Are you the murderer?”

“I could be.” Mrs. Millotte looked at her watch. “I’ve been up in the woods the last two hours. Albert took off on me. Then when I tried to get back into the inn, I found someone had thrown all the bolts.”

“Did do.”

“How did you expect me to get in?”

“Thought you was in. Tiffany said she saw you at the back door.”

“I came in to get the big flashlight to look for Albert, then I went back out. Didn’t you see my note?”

“Nope.”

Mrs. Millotte felt like saying the next time she would tack it to his forehead but she felt that would be unkind since Lloyd meant well. “How do we get in?” she asked.

“Basement door. Mrs. Sawchuck’s waiting there.”

“Good.” She took him by the arm. “Now, we’re going to go in there and tell Doreen that what she heard was just a sassy raccoon and that you shooed him away.”

“That’s telling a fib.”

“Think of it as for the greater good. If you tell Doreen that I was locked out of the inn with a murderer around, her imagination, or what she has of it, will run wild. She’ll start having doubts about our competence. She’ll imagine we aren’t capable of protecting her from the things that go bump in the night. She’ll be on edge the rest of the summer. Which means, she’ll be down every night, perhaps several times a night, waking you up because she thought she heard something.” Mrs. Millotte stopped, put her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a stern look. “Do you get my drift?”

Lloyd grinned. “Yes’m.”

“Good.”

She steered Lloyd around to the basement door and knocked.

“Who’s there?” Doreen’s voice came from the other side.

“Mrs. Millotte and Lloyd.”

The bolt slid aside and the door opened.

“Everything is fine,” Mrs. Millotte said. “Nothing but a raccoon. We can all go to bed now.”

“Are you sure it was a raccoon?”

“Positive.”

“There’s lots of raccoons out there,” said Lloyd.

They collected Walter from the bathroom and saw the Sawchucks back to bed.

“Now,” said Mrs. Millotte when they’d returned downstairs, “I’m going to have a cup of coffee and you’re going back to bed.”