Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant (5 page)

He paused. He hadn’t slept a lot lately. Running on nerves as it were. He considered spending the night in the
RV
but thought better of it. The
OPP
would come across it eventually, especially if they were looking for it. Noting a survival kit behind the driver’s seat, he removed a foil blanket and added it to his backpack. He decided to put a couple of miles between himself and the
RV
, blend back into the woods, and find a cozy spot to take a nap.

He made his way back to the main road and walked another half mile until he spotted a wood lot. Ducking in, he found a dry spot, wrapped himself in the foil blanket, and soon fell asleep.

Donnie woke to birds singing. He used a disposable razor to shave and brushed his teeth and washed up using bottled water and travel wipes.

The
RV
gambit had given him breathing space but anxiety was building again. He suspected that once the police got through the preliminary investigation of the cabbie and the old couple, they’d spread their net wide. He couldn’t hitchhike. He would be too obvious. He’d have to pass as a hiker travelling through the countryside until he reached a town big enough to have a bus station.

He was trudging along a faded paved road in what seemed like no man’s land when a car appeared on the horizon. He glanced up as it passed but the driver seemed intent on his surroundings. Then Donnie heard the car turning around.

He kept on walking, hoping the car would pass him again, but when tires crunched gravel behind him apprehension surged through his body. He expected an off-duty police officer to approach, his hand hovering near a shoulder holster.

“Hey, buddy.”

Donnie turned and looked into a smiling face.

“Need a lift?” Smiley asked.

Donnie nodded and got in.

“You’re lucky,” the man said, “at this hour of the morning, you could be walking a long way. I got turned around coming off the bridge.” He pulled onto the road. “I don’t usually pick up hitchhikers,” he added, his smile conspiratorial. “But seeing as how you’re part of the nation.”

“Pardon?”

The man tapped the logo on Donnie’s gym bag.

Donnie recovered quickly and grinned. “Oh, yeah. Go, Red Sox.”

·

Rudley was at the front desk, lingering over his morning paper, when Lloyd appeared down the hallway.

·

“Had to come in the side door,” Lloyd explained before Rudley could speak. “The back door was bolted.”

“At this hour?”

“The kids did it. They was running ahead of me. They went in and put the bar on the door so I couldn’t get in.”

Rudley crossed his eyes. The children. Suddenly the idea of getting away had more appeal.

The children. Hell One and Hell Two. Or, as their grandparents called them, Ned and Nora. They’d seemed so innocuous when their parents dropped them off. A pair of neatly dressed, well-groomed eight-year-olds who smiled shyly at him while their mother explained they would be away one month and that the children’s grandparents, Doreen and Walter Sawchuck, would be responsible for them during their absence.

The children had behaved beautifully for the first few hours, carefully calculated, he guessed, to take into account the time it would take their parents to drive to Ottawa, catch their plane, and be halfway across the Atlantic before anyone noticed how hellacious they really were. And so far the Sawchucks hadn’t taken a lick of responsibility for them.

Doreen and Walter were hobbling into the lobby as he contemplated how to handle the latest transgression.

Rudley cleared his throat. “Walter, Doreen?”

Doreen shook her head as if puzzling over some distant sound.

He raised his voice. “Walter, Doreen?”

Margaret came out of the dining room. “Mr. and Mrs. Sawchuck, how did you enjoy the paddle boat?”

“Wonderful,” said Walter. “Great exercise for the knees.”

“We think we’ll try it again,” said Doreen.

“We were just on our way to breakfast,” Walter added.

“Could I have a word with you first?” Rudley practically shouted this time.

“I think Rudley’s calling you.” Margaret gestured toward her husband.

The Sawchucks turned, feigning surprise at finding him looming over the desk.

“It’s about the children,” Rudley began.

The Sawchucks’ mouths formed O’s.

“They locked Lloyd out of the basement.”

“Doesn’t he have a key?” Walter asked.

“He does. They threw the bolt.”

Doreen smiled. “They’re a lively pair.”

“That’s all very well and good, Doreen. Children are entitled to a certain amount of mischief-making. But if they continue to amuse themselves in this manner, we’ll all have to become proficient at climbing in windows.”

“We’ll have a word with them,” Walter huffed. He took Doreen’s arm and urged her into the dining room.

“You shouldn’t bother the Sawchucks about an innocent prank. They were clearly upset.”

“Balderdash, Margaret. They were upset because I delayed their arrival at the trough. I don’t think they’re at all worried about the trouble the children are causing everyone else.”

Margaret looked doubtful. “The parents must have considered the Sawchucks capable of managing the children. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have left them in their care.”

“I think the parents were so desperate to get away from the little miscreants, they would have left them with Attila the Hun.”

Margaret opened the register, then closed it. “Rudley, they’re just children. What have they done that was so terrible?”

“They ran a pair of Tiffany’s bloomers up the flagpole.”

“She was a good sport about that.”

“They put a frog in Lloyd’s bed.”

“Lloyd didn’t mind.”

“The frog might have.”

“The children are at loose ends.”

“How can they be at loose ends?”

“Children these days are accustomed to constant entertainment, Rudley.”

“They’re getting a daily dose of crap at the Elm Pavilion.”

“Apparently, their father promised there’d be a full complement of electronic devices and an arcade. He inadvertently left their games at home.”

“The man’s a sadist, Margaret. Leaving us to cope with those brats in electronic game withdrawal.” He paused. “I hate to leave the staff to deal with them.”

“They’ll be fine, Rudley. There’s Tim and Gregoire and Tiffany and Lloyd. And Mrs. Millotte, who’s had more experience with children that anyone. She’ll have them in hand in no time.”

“Margaret” — Tim appeared in the doorway — “Gregoire has some scrumptious French toast for you.”

“Lovely. Shall I bring you some, Rudley?”

“Perhaps just a muffin and some coffee when you’re finished, Margaret.”

Rudley turned the page of his newspaper and smoothed it along the top of the desk. “Mrs. Millotte will have them in hand,” he murmured, then added: “Mrs. Millotte will have them well in hand.”

He raised his brows. “Mrs. Millotte will have them on their knees, begging for mercy if they make one misstep. Mrs. Millotte will lock them in a closet and feed them liquid pap through a straw inserted through the keyhole. Mrs. Millotte will set them adrift on the lake with bread and water and no paddles.”

He did a little pirouette. “Mrs. Millotte will hang them from the rafters by their toes.”

He whistled a few bars of “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,” tapping out the rhythm on the desk.

“Glad you’ve perked up, Rudley.” James Bole strode across the lobby toward the desk. “You’ve been down in the mouth lately.”

Rudley resumed his position behind the desk. “As you know, Mr. Bole, it’s always stressful contemplating changes in routine, but I’ve just had the most wonderful mental images.”

“Ah, yes, the great boreal forest. Rushing water, pristine air.”

“Yes, that sort of thing.”

“Makes me nostalgic for spring in Kashmir, the rivers and streams engorged with water rushing from the snowmelt in the Himalayas.”

“Spectacular, I imagine.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Bole paused. “Rudley, if you need some reassurance, I feel confident everything will run smoothly while you’re away. The young people are reliable, Mrs. Millotte is stalwart, and I will be available to lend the wisdom of my experience as necessary.”

“That’s reassuring, Mr. Bole.”

Mr. Bole tipped his hat and went on into the dining room.

Rudley considered Mr. Bole’s words. He wasn’t surprised. Mr. Bole had been coming to the Pleasant so long he probably considered himself innkeeper emeritus.

He frowned.

Really, they were all acting as if the place could run perfectly well without him — except for Mrs. Sawchuck. He retrieved her latest note from the trash. It read:

Mr. Rudley, please make sure the screens on my windows are in perfect condition before you leave on your vacation so the bats can’t get in.

Rudley smiled.
The bats don’t come through your windows, Mrs. Sawchuck. They come from under the eaves and enter your room through the heat registers
.

Mr. Rudley, would you remind the staff to keep the doors locked?

He considered this for a moment.
As you know, Mrs. Sawchuck, I have installed a Breathalyzer at the front door. Anyone too drunk to remember to lock the door behind them will not be able to get in. No, Mrs. Sawchuck, I have left explicit instructions that the doors are to remain wide open during my absence with arrows pointing toward your room.

Mr. Rudley, I trust that Lloyd will not be too busy during your absence to help us into our boats.

Rudley ticked off the item with a flourish.
He’ll help you in, Mrs. Sawchuck. If you tip him well enough, he might help you out.

Did you remember to order my prunes, Mr. Rudley?

Rudley tore the note in two and dropped it into the recycle bin.
Mrs. Sawchuck, I’ve ordered enough prunes and prune juice to give every guest and member of the staff fulminating diarrhea until well into the next century. Enough to keep the septic tank pump truck on permanent loan.

Well, he considered, at least I won’t have to preside over the mess. I’ll be up some godforsaken creek without a paddle. Mrs. Millotte will be in charge of this lunatic asylum. The thought made him laugh out loud.

“What’s so funny, Rudley?” Norman Phipps-Walker asked as he came down the stairs.

“Mrs. Millotte will be in charge.” Rudley couldn’t help himself and broke into gales of laughter.

Norman looked at him, frowning. “It must be reassuring, Rudley, to know you can hand the inn over to someone like Melba and walk away.”

“Oh, yes.” Rudley wiped away a tear. “Tremendously reassuring.”

Norman regarded him solicitously. “I’m glad you’re able to get away, Rudley.”

As Norman continued into the dining room, Rudley did a little soft-shoe behind the desk. Leaving Melba in charge was the only bright spot about going away. For some reason, Melba was under the impression it was possible to control this crowd of stinkers as long as you didn’t give in to them. The name of the game, he told himself, was to let them think you were giving in to them, all the time keeping in mind where you’ve drawn the line in the sand. Mrs. Millotte was a fine woman, competent, respectful without being gracious, a woman of integrity, unflappable. He smiled. It was all very well to have a drill sergeant in charge for a week, just to keep people on their toes, but over the long haul the vocation of an innkeeper required finesse.

“Mr. Rudley” — Mrs. Sawchuck hobbled out of the dining room — “I want to add something to my note.”

“Yes?” Rudley grabbed a notepad and picked up a pen.

“I wanted to make sure Mrs. Millotte knows to check for snakes.”

He leaned across the desk toward her. “I assure you, Mrs. Sawchuck, Mrs. Millotte will do a complete inventory of all reptiles on the premises.”

Doreen did not look reassured. “You know they can come in on the firewood.”

“If the forecast is correct, Mrs. Millotte will not need to bring in any firewood.”

“I’ve heard they come in on produce too.”

“I think you’re thinking of black widow spiders.”

She gasped, then put a hand to her mouth. “I hadn’t thought of those.”

He crossed his eyes. “Mrs. Sawchuck, Gregoire has a special device to scan the groceries for such creatures. He would be hurt to think you could imagine him letting a black widow spider nestle into your salad.”

She sighed. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” He smiled. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Sawchuck?”

She stared into space, her mouth open as if to reply, her upper dentures slipping over her lower lip. Finally, she recovered. “You’ve been very reassuring, Mr. Rudley.”

“Reassuring is my middle name.”

When she had hobbled back to the dining room he took a celebratory cigarette from a battered pack under the desk and lit it.

“Rudley?”

He turned, smoke trailing through his nostrils, to see Margaret facing him across the lobby.

“You promised not to smoke unless absolutely necessary,” she said, plopping his muffin and coffee down on the desk.

“I assure you, Margaret,” he responded, tapping ash into his saucer, “it is absolutely necessary.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Mrs. Sawchuck is doing her best to see that I end up in an insane asylum,” Rudley explained. “Now she’s worried about snakes coming in on the firewood and black widow spiders on the produce.”

“I suppose spiders could do that.”

“Bite your tongue, Margaret. I’ve assured her Gregoire scans every item with a magic wand.”

“I’m sure she didn’t believe that.”

“Margaret, the woman is so dense she’d believe we had a cupboard full of elves climbing through the lettuce with ray guns.”

Margaret gave him a reproachful look. “Rudley, the Sawchucks aren’t worried about snakes and spiders. They’re anxious about you going away. They’re getting older. They depend on you. They trust you to keep them safe.”

He looked at the cigarette burning away in the saucer. “Nonsense, Margaret. They’re anxious because they haven’t figured out how to manipulate Mrs. Millotte.” He took her hand. “Now, Margaret, I want you to go into the kitchen and apprise Gregoire of that magic wand situation.”

She shook her head in reproval and left.

“And so I can enjoy the remainder of my Benson & Hedges in peace.” He took a deep drag. Sublime.

He had just finished his cigarette when Margaret reappeared, waving her way through the haze. “If you’re going to smoke, Rudley, you need to blow away the fumes.” She got a fan from the hall closet and plunked it down on the desk.

“Yes, Margaret.”

The door opened. A stolid-looking man entered carrying two suitcases and stopped at the desk.

Margaret smiled. “Good morning.”