Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant

by Judith Alguire

  He hesitated. “Sure.”

  “Brown bread okay?”

  He stared at her, incredulous. “Fine.”

  She finished making the sandwich and left it on the counter.

  He stopped in front of her as she started toward the door. “Where are you going?”

  “To get the rest of the paper. I read it to Will.”

  “I’ll be watching.” He stood in the doorway while she retrieved the paper. She returned to the kitchen, pulled her chair close to Will’s, and read to him in a high-pitched quaver. Donnie shoved his chair back against the counter. From this position he could watch both doors as he ate.

  The telephone rang, startling him. Mary scrambled up, but he grabbed the receiver before she could.

  “I have to answer it,” she said.

  “Answer it, then. Tell whoever it is you’ll call back.”

  Her hand brushed his as she took the receiver. The touch of her dry, thin skin made him shiver. He pressed close to hear the conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” she said into the receiver, “I can’t talk now. I’ll…”

  He pulled the phone from her hand. “It’s a robocall. Telemarketer,” he added, as she looked dumbfounded.

  She stole a quick breath. “They’re terrible. They always call at supper. My granddaughter got put on a list. Maybe I should…” Something in his expression made her break off and scurry back to Will, who gave no sign he had noticed her absence. He was reaching across the table trying to snare Donnie’s sandwich. Donnie pulled it away.

  “I’ll make you something, Will.”

  Will continued to stare at the sandwich. Donnie broke off a big piece and devoured it, his eyes never leaving Will.

  “Maybe you’d like the rest of the soup Jena made for you,” Mary said.

  Donnie took another bite of the sandwich and gulped it down. “No, don’t give him anything.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We’ve got things to do.” He pushed his plate away and rose. “We’re going to call a cab.” He grabbed the phone and thrust it at Mary. “Call your home care worker. Tell her not to come.”

  “She just comes.”

  He grabbed a card stuck on the wall near the phone. “Is this the place she works?”

  “Yes.”

  “Call them and have them tell her not to come. Say you’ve got family visiting.”

  He dialed the number and held the receiver to her ear.

  “Dot,” she said as someone answered. “It’s Mary Dack. Can you tell Paula not to come tonight? I’ve got company.”

  “Are you all right, Mary?” Donnie heard a pleasant voice ask. He scowled as Mary hesitated.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she managed.

  “You sound a little breathless.”

  “Oh, all the fuss.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean,” Dot said. “You’re glad to have them come and glad to have them leave. If you change your mind about Paula, give me a call.”

  “Okay.”

  Donnie grabbed the phone away from her before she could add anything else. “Now, I want you to call a cab.”

  Mary’s head wobbled. “Why?”

  “I have to catch a bus.”

  Donnie dialed the taxi number from another card near the phone and listened as Mary gave the information. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll wait for the cab in the front room. When it gets here, you’re going to go to the door and ask the driver to come in and help you with your luggage.”

  She balked. “I can’t go anywhere. I can’t leave Will.”

  He smiled. “You and Will are going to stay here. I’m going to take the cab.”

  She looked confused. “You’ll leave me here?”

  “Yes.”

  The cab seemed to take forever. The old lady watched the window, turning anxiously at every sound from the kitchen. Finally the cab slid into view. The driver sat for a moment, then tapped his horn.

  Donnie pushed Mary toward the door, whispering in her ear. “Ask him to come in and help you with your suitcase.” As she hesitated, he whispered, “You don’t want anything to happen to Will.”

  She stuck her head around the door. Donnie held his breath as her mouth worked soundlessly. The driver, a slight middle-aged man, came toward her, frowning.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Luggage,” she croaked. “Help.”

  The driver came up the steps and into the living room. “Where’s your…?” His breath left him as Donnie smacked him across the head with the fireplace iron. The driver wobbled, then crashed to the floor. Donnie closed the door, grabbed a pillow from the couch, and pressed it firmly over the man’s face.

  Mary grabbed a vase. Catching the movement from the corner of his eye, Donnie jumped up, caught her by the arm and flung her against the wall. She reeled back, her head slamming into a radiator. She collapsed and lay still.

  Donnie felt for the cabbie’s pulse. It was faint and erratic. He pressed the pillow over the man’s face for a full two minutes, then rechecked the pulse. It was gone. He dragged the driver away from the door, locked it, and went to check the old woman. She was breathing irregularly. He held the pillow over her face for a few minutes, then went into the kitchen, pillow in hand.

  “Mary,” the old man whispered.

  Donnie didn’t answer. He tipped the old man’s chair back onto the floor and pressed the pillow over his face.

  The old man surprised him, putting up a vigorous fight, flailing about with his arms and legs, and sending a glass of orange juice on the table crashing to the floor. But Donnie clamped the pillow down hard, continuing to push even as he heard Will’s nose crunch.

  Leaving the old man on the floor, still in the chair, Donnie returned to the living room to make sure Mary and the cabbie were dead.

  Once outside, he eased the cab onto the street. He felt anxious, as though other eyes were upon him. But no one was on the street and only the flicker of television light was visible from a few of the windows. Donnie drove toward the train station, following side streets, keeping an eye out for police cruisers. He spotted one two blocks away going in the opposite direction. No lights, no siren. Once at the station, he drove to the deepest, darkest corner of the parking lot. Before leaving the car, he paused to check his face in the mirror. Satisfied he looked neither harried nor otherwise suspicious, he checked his pockets. Reassured to feel the package of vinyl gloves, he left the cab, straightening his jacket down over his hips.

  The cabbie’s wallet had yielded two hundred and fifteen dollars. That, with the fifty he had found in the old woman’s purse, would keep him going for a bit. He took a deep breath. He had killed four people for a little over five hundred dollars. It didn’t matter how many more people he killed at this point. If they caught him, he’d never see the light of day from anywhere but a prison again.

  He shifted his suitcase to his right hand and walked along the rear of the parking lot. Slipping through a line of trees, he walked along a grassy verge, trying to orient himself and not look conspicuous. Beyond the verge, a ramp led to the Trans-Canada Highway and below that that he saw the lights of a service station. As he contemplated where to go next, he heard a train whistle. Turning, he saw the train shuffle away.

  Chapter Six

  The service station Donnie had spotted consisted of a self-serve bay backed by a cafeteria. He hesitated before going in. He was carrying a suitcase, which made him uncomfortable. People didn’t often go into rest stops carrying luggage. But he was still hungry and he was thirsty. When he got inside the cafeteria though, he felt reassured. The place was packed. He bought a coffee and a jelly doughnut. The clerk at the end of the line took his money without looking at him.

  He sat near the back, facing a window, where, he reasoned, he could spot the police quickly and make an inconspicuous exit. He saw one cruiser but it was On
tario Provincial Police and it didn’t slow down. It took the ramp and went onto the freeway. Donnie slouched in his chair, trying to look bored and weary while he considered his options.

  He couldn’t stay in the area long. The cab company would be looking for its driver soon. At first, dispatch would be annoyed, figuring he’d turned his radio off. Then they’d be worried. Within the next two hours, Donnie calculated, the bus and train stations would be flooded with police. He finished his snack and exited through the side door.

  ·

  An RV pulled into the service station. Ricky Betts and his wife Monica were travelling from Nova Scotia to visit her family in Red Deer. Monica had developed a migraine and had been asleep in the rear of the van since they left Montreal. Though reluctant to wake her, Ricky thought he’d better check on her. After filling the tank at the self-serve, he moved his vehicle to the side of the station and went to the back of the van.

  Monica was stirring.

  “Oh,” Ricky said with relief, “you’re awake.”

  She looked at him groggily.

  “I’m going to get some coffee. Want anything?”

  “Yeah.” She strained to see the clock dial. “You go ahead. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  “What do you want? I’ll bring it back.”

  “No.” She yawned widely. “I want to see what they have.”

  “Okay.”

  After Ricky left, Monica struggled to the side of the bed. A beam of light from the service station sign burned her eyes and she dropped back onto the bed, where she promptly returned to sleep.

  ·

  Donnie slipped out the side door of the cafeteria just as Ricky Betts walked in the front entrance. He hesitated, trying to decide which way to turn.

  Without warning, a police cruiser pulled into the service station. An officer jumped out and stepped inside the cafeteria. Donnie froze, his heart doing a stutter step against his breastbone. He knew he had to get away.

  He stumbled along the row of cars, cringing as his suitcase banged against a fender, desperate to find one unlocked with the keys in the ignition. No luck. He came to the RV. The door was unlocked. No keys. He couldn’t steal the van, but he figured he could, at least, hide out until the cop left.

  He eased into the RV, crouching low to avoid being seen. The RV was substantial, with living quarters separated from the cab by a curtain. He slipped behind the curtain and sidled down the passageway past a kitchen nook until he came to a louvered window. He lifted a slat in the Venetian blind to check the cafeteria.

  “Ricky?”

  ·

  Rudley backed out of the Sawchucks’ room, cardboard box in hand. “Yes, Mrs. Sawchuck, I’ll dispose of him at once.” Oh, I don’t know, he added to himself, perhaps I’ll use one of Gregoire’s meat cleavers. He eased the door shut and pounded down the stairs to the main desk.

  Margaret looked up.

  “What was the problem, Rudley?”

  “Mrs. Sawchuck saw a bat in her bathroom.” He opened the box and turned it toward her.

  Margaret looked away. “Rudley, don’t let it out in the lobby. The poor creature will be frightened to death.”

  “There is no bat, Margaret. It was just the way the light struck the curtains. The woman can’t see a thing without her glasses but has enough conceit to imagine she can.”

  “Sooner or later, Rudley, she’ll catch you in one of your subterfuges.”

  “No, she won’t. The woman is as dull as a bag of hammers. Walter isn’t any better but at least he doesn’t imagine things. Because he has no imagination.”

  “Now, Rudley, you like the Sawchucks.”

  He considered this. “I suppose I do, Margaret, but I prefer them when they haven’t taken complete leave of their senses.”

  “Mrs. Sawchuck is simply obsessing. Once you’re away and she realizes the staff is prepared to address her concerns, she’ll settle down.” Margaret sighed. “It’ll be good to get away for a week.” She trotted off into the drawing room.

  “Once we’re away she’ll realize the staff is prepared to address her concerns,” he repeated to Albert, who lay on his back, nose twitching. Rudley collapsed on the desk, propping himself up on his elbows, his hands muffling his ears. Tim could handle the bats and mice. For an unmitigated fop, he was surprisingly cool about such things. Gregoire, on the other hand, would throw a fit and start quoting public health regulations. Tiffany could deal with the mice but she had a problem with centipedes. Lloyd could handle any species.

  Rudley raised his head and smiled blissfully — Mrs. Millotte had been handling the old asses for years. She could handle the Sawchucks. But why do I have to put up with all this nonsense in the meantime?

  He straightened, picked up a pen, and began noodling through the order forms. Because you’re an innkeeper, Rudley. The guests have come to depend on your very high standards of service. Rudley sniffed. And what a pain in the ass that was at times. I could have been a dancer, he thought. I was good enough.

  He picked up the grocery order. Fancy red and green peppercorns? Couldn’t Gregoire make do with ordinary black pepper? He doubted if anyone around the place had a palate refined enough to detect the difference. Gregoire was like all chefs — a royal pain in the butt. Rudley shook his head. A cook was one of those things beyond the control of an innkeeper. Good chefs were always in demand. The possibility of being stuck with a terrible one with no recourse was an innkeeper’s worst nightmare. He shuddered as a vision of Mr. Cadeau crossed his mind. He’d had to keep a running tally of every squirrel, raccoon, and frog around the place when Mr. Cadeau was in the kitchen. What a difficult bunch they were, these chefs.

  I could have been a doctor, he thought. His father had wanted him to follow in his footsteps. Rudley shook his head again, reached under the counter, and pulled out a pack of Benson & Hedges. He lit up. Thank God, he hadn’t gone into medicine. Imagine the hell of being stuck by yourself in a cluttered office trying to save people who were hell bent on self-ruination. He took a long drag. A fate worse than death.

  ·

  When Monica’s fingertips brushed against the back of Donnie’s leg she assumed Ricky had returned with the coffee. She was still groggy and when the pillow was pressed against her face she was only able to flail helplessly. The knee rammed into her stomach just below the breastbone took any remaining fight out of her.

  Donnie heard the RV door open and someone step aboard. He stuffed the pillow under the woman’s head and turned her to her side, facing her away from the door, then flattened himself against the wall adjacent the divider. He could hear the man moving around, paper rustling, and smelled French fries. The footsteps approached. He held his breath. The man stopped in the doorway, so close Donnie could smell his aftershave, feel his body heat.

  “Monica?”

  The man stood for a few moments staring at the dim light, then turned and went back toward the cab. Donnie stayed still, pressed against the wall, listening. He heard a cupboard door open and close. He smelled coffee.

  The engine started. He waited, expecting the RV to turn onto the ramp and onto the Trans-Canada. Instead, it turned in the opposite direction. Donnie sank to his haunches, all the time keeping his ears pricked. He took a deep breath. As long as the RV was moving, he didn’t have to worry about being ambushed by Ricky.

  Ricky. It was handy to know a man’s name if he had to act quickly. People always hesitated if someone unexpectedly said their name.

  He felt disoriented as the RV dipped and turned. Were they headed in the direction Ricky had come from? But then, the RV turned again and picked up speed. Donnie rose slowly and peeked out the window. They were headed out of town, toward farm country.

  ·

  When the cabbie failed to respond to repeated prompts, the company notified the police. The officers went first to the origin of the last call and discovered the b
odies of Mary and Will Dack and the cabbie. Next, they went to the destination Mary had named on the phone, the bus station. When they asked the ticket agents if they’d seen anything strange, they rolled their eyes. They saw strange things every day. The officers changed their approach. Had the agents seen anyone who seemed nervous, hypervigilant? They thought about that but, in the end, had to say they hadn’t seen anyone who stood out.

  While the police were questioning people in the bus station, they got a call from an officer who had gone to the train station to check out a report on an empty cab. They decided the murderer had tricked them and boarded a train instead.

  Donnie strained to see the numbers on the luminous dial of the clock beside the bed. The RV had been travelling for over an hour. He eased back against the wall and tried to unwind while images flitted through his mind of the dead woman in the bed sitting up and pointing a finger at him, shrieking “It was him!” He tried to focus on his purpose — to avoid getting caught. He would have to get rid of the man, of course. He didn’t think that would be too difficult. Ricky was tall but slender. And not particularly observant.

  He had been prepared to attack the man when he came to the door, expecting him to lean over the bed to check on his wife. Instead, the man had stood looking at her for a few seconds before turning away. Maybe she’d been ill and he didn’t want to disturb her. Or maybe they’d had a fight. Maybe he was just glad to have some peace and quiet. Maybe she’d been nagging him about his driving — he wasn’t exactly smooth, the way he handled the RV. People often argued when they travelled. He’d earlier glimpsed the RV’s licence plate. Ricky and Monica had been stuck with each other twenty-four hours a day all the way from Nova Scotia.

  His mother and various stepfathers always argued on trips. Donnie remembered travelling to Wawa with his mother and a guy called Jim. Jim had amused himself by driving erratically, threatening to plow the car straight into a rock cut while his mother screamed all the way. Donnie had clung to the back of the seat and cried. When Jim finally pulled into a rest stop, he kicked Donnie’s ass all the way into the diner, his mother hanging onto Jim’s shirt and begging him to stop. When he did stop, Jim slapped Donnie’s mother and his mother slapped Jim back. After the police were called in, that was the end of Jim and the end of his mother for a while.