Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant

by Judith Alguire

  “Officer,” Mrs. Millotte said after Semple had stepped into the lobby, “someone stole this man’s vehicle.”

  Semple, who thought the laundryman vaguely familiar, reached into his pocket and took out his notebook. “Can you give me a description of the vehicle?”

  “A white commercial van with the words ‘MacAvoy’s Dry Cleaning and Linen Supplies: Serving the Area since 1925’ on the side panels.”

  Semple frowned. “So, you’re the laundryman.”

  “I am.”

  “Why would anyone steal a laundry van?”

  “I don’t know, Officer. Maybe the thief has a thing for the smell of fresh linen.”

  Semple gave him a stern look. “I mean, why would someone steal a commercial van with a logo on the side? It would stand out like a sore thumb.”

  The laundryman shrugged. “I can’t say I know much about the criminal mind. I only wanted to report the theft, hoping you might find my vehicle.”

  “I’ll get this out right away.”

  Mrs. Millotte shook her head as Semple made his exit. “I don’t think it will take too long to find your van. Whoever took it must have done it as a prank. I don’t expect they went far in it. Why don’t you have a cup of coffee?”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Millotte.”

  “By the time you finish, Lloyd will be back from town. He’ll drive you back to the laundry.”

  ·

  “So who found it?” Brisbois regarded the laundry van.

  “Petrie and Howard. Whoever took it drove it onto that old wagon road, lost control on the slope, and ran it into a tree. Then he took off, I guess. There was nobody around.”

  The crime scene team was crawling all over the van. Sheffield, the forensics officer, stepped over when he saw Brisbois.

  “What’ve you got?”

  “Prints all over the place.” Sheffield grinned. “And as you can tell, the intruder really stunk up the place. Moldy leaves and soil tramped all over. The linens thrown around and filthy.”

  Brisbois mulled this information over for a moment, then turned to Creighton. “Okay,” he said, “let’s have a word with the folks at the Water’s Edge.”

  ·

  Brisbois studied his notes a moment, then shoved his notebook into his pocket and marched back to his car. A word with the folks at the Water’s Edge had not proven productive.

  “It’s not as pretty as the Pleasant,” Creighton remarked as Brisbois fumbled for the car keys. “A little stiff, I guess, more formal.”

  “Not as friendly, for sure.” Brisbois jammed the keys into the lock. “The staff and the guests — what a bunch of duds.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Boss.” Creighton shrugged. “They were respectful and cooperative.”

  Brisbois opened the door. “Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard the vehicle coming or going. Nobody even seemed to be aware that the laundry van came every day. Where do they think their towels come from?”

  “Maybe they think the laundry is done in-house.”

  “That’s weird, Creighton. I’ll bet if you asked anybody at the Pleasant, not only would they know that the linens were delivered from elsewhere, they would know what time they came and where the guy parked his van.”

  “Yeah, but that’s because there’s always two or three guests hanging around the desk at the Pleasant. It’s part of the entertainment, watching Rudley rant and rave.”

  Brisbois eased his way into the car. Creighton went around to the passenger’s side and got in.

  “I guess that’s it. Here the guests live in their own world.”

  “Guess so.” Creighton pushed his seat back a notch. “They’re also not huddling together and coming up with crackpot theories.”

  Brisbois put the keys in the ignition but did not start the car. He sat back in the seat, staring through the window. “There’s a picture coming together here that I don’t like. We’ve got a serial killer who may have gotten off the bus at Lowertown. We’ve got some unsubstantiated sightings. We’ve had reports of thefts, clothes being taken off lines. Now we have two kids missing and a laundry van stolen.” He pulled out a cigarette. “Any word on the parents?”

  Creighton took out his notebook. “Nothing new. They’re supposed to pick up their mail in Wengen in three days.”

  “At least we know they’ll be in Wengen then.” Brisbois lit his cigarette. “They don’t seem to care if their kids can reach them or not.”

  Creighton laughed. “If those little shits were mine, I wouldn’t care if they could find me either.”

  Brisbois glared at him. “I don’t care if they’re the Children of the Corn, we’ve got two kids missing. Two kids who may have run into a not so very nice person.”

  ·

  “I’ve noticed as we progress down the river the banks are getting steeper,” Rudley remarked, drawing his paddle from the water and stopping to look around.

  Margaret drew her paddle in too. “And the forest is getting thicker.” She studied the bare rock tumbling to the water. “I’ve never seen so much wilderness.”

  Rudley inhaled deeply. “Ah, yes, Margaret, this is the real thing. Makes the environs of the Pleasant seem suburban. And wait until we get to the gorge. I hear the rock face is forty feet high. Sixty feet and completely vertical at some points.”

  “Formidable.”

  Rudley nodded. “This is what our forebears came into and, after much struggle, came to embrace — for some foolish reason.”

  “It’s majestic, Rudley. Imagine someone from the heart of London arriving here.”

  Rudley returned his paddle to the water and drew languidly. “They were sturdy people, our pioneers. Samuel Hearne, Henry Hudson, Alexander Mackenzie, John Franklin and his ill-fated crew reduced to hauling a silver tea service across the frozen tundra.”

  “In the dead of winter.” Margaret shivered, returning her paddle to the water.

  “Of course. And there was Champlain arriving in the New World in his Parisian togs to freeze his ass off that first winter.”

  “Oh, my. In silk breeches and a brocade waistcoat.”

  “He would have perished if it hadn’t been for the indigenous people. They saved him that first winter with food and herbal remedies and later carried him in a basket after his knee was shot through with an Iroquois arrow. The French were allied with the Hurons.”

  “And we English were allied with the Iroquois.”

  “A wise choice, Margaret. The Iroquois were renowned warriors.”

  She smiled. “It was a wonderful alliance, Rudley.” Her smile faded as she glanced again at the landscape. “It’s overwhelming, Rudley. Forbidding. It’s as if nature were drawing you in as you proceed down river and, before you know it, you’ll find yourself at the point of no return. Man against nature, and if man is not obsequious to nature, nature wins.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You’ve been watching Deliverance again.”

  She shuddered. “It’s a ghastly movie, Rudley, but absolutely gripping. There’s a horror about plunging headfirst into the wilderness but an excitement about what lies around the next bend.”

  “A nice flat rock to pull up our canoes would be good and perhaps Miss Miller’s latest culinary delight.”

  “Reminiscent of Mr. Cadeau.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Apart from the fricasseed frog legs.”

  “Bite your tongue, Margaret.”

  ·

  Brisbois sank down onto the veranda steps and glanced toward the police dog handler who was crisscrossing the lawn with a pair of bloodhounds. He took off his porkpie hat and pushed his hair back with both hands.

  “Tired, Boss?” Creighton sat down on the step beside him.

  “Mmm,” Brisbois replied noncommittally, reaching for his notebook. “Let’s recap. The kids were last seen when Tim took t
heir supper tray away around nine-thirty last night.”

  “Check. And they left an order for breakfast in bed for ten this morning.”

  “When they were discovered missing, the staff checked the grounds and buildings, then called in.”

  “A little over half an hour later.”

  “Nobody noticed anyone strange around.”

  “No.”

  Brisbois scanned the lake. “They checked along the shoreline.”

  “Yes. The kids were good swimmers.”

  Brisbois paused in thought. “Nobody liked the kids,” he said after a moment. “They were rude, played nasty tricks on Gregoire, ran Tiffany’s unmentionables up the flagpole.”

  Creighton chuckled. “I would have liked to have seen that.”

  Brisbois gave Creighton a sharp look. “Watch your mouth. The kids’ parents are making themselves scarce and the grandparents have no idea where they are and don’t seem that worried. The only people who seem to have taken an interest in them are the Benson sisters. The kids were nice to them because of their big television set.”

  “Semple says the grandparents told him the kids have run away before.”

  “There’s running away and there’s running away.” Brisbois pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “There’s no evidence of a struggle in their room. The only way they could have gone out was through that front window because all the other windows were locked and bolted.”

  “Unless someone took them out the front door, lost them, then came back in, bolted the door, then unlocked the window to confuse us.”

  Brisbois gave him a bleak look as he lit a cigarette. “Why? We’re already confused enough.”

  “You’d think the dog would have barked.”

  “Albert is so used to people coming and going at all hours, he probably doesn’t pay any attention. But you’d think somebody here would have heard something.”

  “People get murdered around here all the time without anyone noticing.”

  Brisbois nodded grimly, conceding the point.

  “They could have been lured from their room by someone promising a big adventure.”

  “Maybe.” Brisbois blew a plume of smoke in the air. “Or they ran away as a lark, got lost, fell into the lake, or were grabbed by an opportunist.”

  “Tiffany thinks Mr. Bostock is a likely suspect.”

  Brisbois flipped through his notes. “Except nobody ever saw him anywhere near the kids.”

  “Semple ran a background check on him,” said Creighton. “He’s a teacher with no record whatsoever.”

  “Sometimes Semple does something right.”

  “The reason Tiffany thinks he’s suspicious is because he goes out in boats in disguises.”

  “We’ll talk to him later.” He returned the wave of the dog handler who had tethered the dogs by the van. “Come on, let’s see what Corrigan’s got.” He pushed his hat down on his head, pocketed his notebook, and started toward the van. “Corrigan?”

  The dog handler gave him a curt salute.

  “How’s it coming?”

  “Not great,” Corrigan replied. “The kids have laid down scent all over the place along with dozens of other people and thousands of animals. They got interested in that place over there.” He pointed to the Elm Pavilion. “They were sniffing around, then a squirrel ran out from behind a garbage container. And there was a big cat in the window, hissing.”

  “The kids spent a lot of time in there,” said Brisbois.

  “But the dogs picked up their scent again,” Corrigan went on. “It led to the end of the dock and disappeared.”

  “They fell in or someone abducted them in a boat.”

  “Or a helicopter pulled them up in a basket. I imagine someone around here would have heard that.”

  “One would think so,” Brisbois responded dryly.

  “Maybe your dogs need new batteries,” Creighton said.

  Corrigan shot him an irritated look. “They aren’t machines, Detective. And this is a hell of an area to start a search. People running back and forth all over the place. Dogs, cats, every animal under the sun. They got distracted and almost ate a big bullfrog.”

  Brisbois stared out over the lake. “Well, we know the kids were here and now they’re gone.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “How’s the bullfrog?”

  “He’s okay. They soft mouthed him.”

  “What now?” Brisbois asked.

  “I can try to pick up a scent around the lake and in the islands. It’ll take time. Do you have any ideas about narrowing the search?”

  “They ran away or they were abducted.” Brisbois shrugged. “They left last night after everybody was asleep or they left this morning before anybody was awake. There aren’t any boats missing. They could have gone left or they could have gone right. They could be a couple of miles away or they could be halfway to Toronto or heading for the St. Lawrence.” He shook his head. “The best I can think of is that you move out from here and see what you can find. If they transferred the kids from a boat to a car they probably wouldn’t do it near any of the cottages.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Corrigan gathered up the leashes.

  Brisbois watched the handler and the dogs retreat. “I can’t see someone abducting them from the Pleasant.”

  “The tracks end at the lake.”

  “Maybe the dogs were confused.”

  Creighton laughed. “Hungry too. That big bullfrog would have been a nice snack.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Do they have a habit of running away?” Brisbois faced Doreen and Walter Sawchuck across the desk in Rudley’s office.

  Walter looked at Doreen. “They’ve done that once or twice. Most kids run away from home once in a while.”

  “How far do they usually get?”

  “As far as the mall.”

  “Where would this mall be?”

  “Ithaca, New York,” said Walter.

  “Not far from us in Rochester,” said Doreen.

  “Not far enough,” Walter muttered.

  “That bad?”

  “Walter doesn’t like our son-in-law,” said Doreen.

  “He’s a hippie,” said Walter. “That’s why the kids are such brats.”

  “Now, Walter.”

  “He has no sense of responsibility,” Walter went on. “Running off to Europe like a teenager with a backpack.”

  “And they left the children in your care,” said Brisbois.

  “They left them at the Pleasant,” said Walter.

  Brisbois raised his brows. “Do you think Rudley saw it that way? Perhaps he thought you would be responsible for the children.”

  Walter gave him a puzzled frown. “The staff here looks after everything. Always has.”

  “Must be rotten kids if their own grandparents don’t like them,” Creighton murmured as he and Brisbois stepped onto the veranda where Mr. Bole and Aunt Pearl were enjoying a drink.

  “Good to see you, Detectives,” Mr. Bole said, rising and offering his hand. “After Semple, you’re a relief.”

  “He was doing his Columbo act,” said Aunt Pearl.

  “Some of his questions were a bit…obtuse,” Mr. Bole clarified.

  Brisbois smiled. “He hasn’t taken the advanced course on conducting interviews.”

  “Shows,” said Aunt Pearl.

  Mr. Bole hesitated before resuming his seat. “I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that I haven’t told Officer Semple. I last saw the children yesterday morning when I was leaving the dining room. I have no idea about the circumstances of their departure.” He shrugged. “They were obnoxious, poorly raised, mean-spirited little trolls, but I wouldn’t want any harm to come to them.”

  “Bad for business,” said
Aunt Pearl, drawing Brisbois’ attention.

  “Do you have anything to add to your previous statement?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “As I told Officer Semple, I slept the whole night. Well, I might have been awake for a few seconds. I remember the dock light in my eyes. If I knew anything I’d tell you. Like Mr. Bole, I wouldn’t want any harm to come to them. One of them might grow up to discover the cure for the common cold.”

  “Did either of you happen to meet the parents?”

  They shook their heads.

  “They were here only long enough to dump the kids and run,” said Pearl.

  “I was on the veranda when they arrived,” Mr. Bole said. “The only impression I got was that they were in a hurry.”

  Brisbois flipped through his notebook. “What about this Mr. Bostock? Did he ever voice any opinion about the kids?”

  Mr. Bole looked surprised. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had a word with him.”

  “He’s a dull fellow,” added Pearl. “Not a social type at all. If you say good morning, he acts as if you’ve imposed. We’ve never had anyone like him before.”

  “Strange guy?”

  Mr. Bole nodded. “We’ve had quiet types, even recluses, but never anyone who’s been so publicly rude.”

  “Except Rudley,” said Pearl, “and we’re used to him.”

  “Did he have anything to do with the kids?”

  “Not that I witnessed,” said Mr. Bole.

  “I think he held us all in equal disdain,” said Pearl.

  ·

  “I can’t wait to interview Mr. Bostock,” said Creighton. “Sounds as if he has the personality of an ox.”

  “Oxen have nice personalities,” Brisbois said, glancing at his notes. “What cabin in this guy in?”

  “The Pines.”

  Mr. Bostock answered the door on the first knock. He glared at them. “Yes?”

  “I’m glad I caught you, Mr. Bostock,” Brisbois said after introducing himself and Creighton. “They tell me you’re usually out on the lake.”

  “Yes.”

  “I imagine you know why we’re here.”

  “No.”

  “We’re investigating the disappearance of Ned and Nora Danby.”