A Most Unpleasant Picture

by Judith Alguire

  Rudley thought his conduct exemplary, given his circumstances. He didn’t think his behaviour was any different than usual and felt abused by suggestions it was otherwise. “What these ninnies don’t understand,” he said to Albert, “is that an innkeeper cannot be perpetually sunny. Being an innkeeper demands being authoritative, of steely determination, and sometimes being impatient when things are not going according to plan.”

  Albert frisked in behind the desk and stood on his hind legs to lick Rudley’s hand.

  “At least you understand,” Rudley said, grabbing his crutches and backing up to his chair. He eased himself down, feeling defeated.

  Miss Miller entered at that moment. “How are we today, Mr. Rudley?”

  “We are fine,” he muttered.

  She fetched a chair, came around the desk, and sat down beside him. “I know it’s hard to live in a cast,” she said. “Especially with everyone telling you what you should and shouldn’t do.”

  He nodded, surveying her with hound-dog eyes.

  “When Edward was in his leg cast, I treated him as if he were fully able,” she said.

  “As I recall, you had him driving you all over the place, thumping through the forest, rowing you miles around the lake.”

  “And he was the better for it.” She smiled. “I had a long talk with Chief Longbow. He’s a rather charismatic man.”

  “He’s a damn annoying man,” Rudley grumbled.

  “I wonder if he has amnesia,” she mused. “He seems to have arrived here without much of a history. The history he recounts, I’m not sure if it’s his.”

  “He’s probably been in jail for the past ten years,” Rudley said.

  “I think he’s a bit of a mystic. He has mesmerizing eyes.”

  “I think he’s a hobo taking advantage of my good humour.” He sat back. “His story doesn’t check out,” he continued. “None of the people our lawyer contacted have any memory of him or can connect him to any tribe.”

  “What do the police say?”

  The mention of the police made his pupils dilate. “I’ll put up with him for the next ten years rather than having those flatfeet mucking around here.”

  She smiled. “Speaking of the police, how is Detective Brisbois?”

  “Well?” The brown eyes probed Creighton’s. “Aren’t you going to invite me aboard?”

  He reached down to grip her arm, tangling his wristwatch in her necklace, which broke and fell into the boat at his feet.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” she said, aggrieved.

  He picked up the necklace and glanced at the inscription. Happy Birthday, Sweetie.

  She plopped her small frame down in the aft seat. “It was a gift from an old friend. Sherry Brown,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Chester Creighton.”

  She laughed. “Chester? What a weird name.”

  “My mother was a big fan of Gunsmoke.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Never mind,” he said. “What brings you out here?”

  “My boat sank,” she said cheerfully, then sighed. “I have had the worst day. I just don’t seem to be able to get things together. Know what I mean?”

  He raised his brows.

  “I was supposed to meet my new boss at his boat, but I missed the train. I got on the wrong bus. I would have sent an e-mail but I didn’t have an address. So I hitched a ride — ”

  “You shouldn’t hitch rides.”

  “It’s all right. I carry Mace.” She reached into her pocket. “Damn, it must have fallen out when I went into the water.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “I knew he lived on a lake somewhere around here so the truck driver said I should ask at the dock, but they’d never heard of a Mr. Bartok and had no idea who he might be since I didn’t know the name of his boat. I guess he’s not the only one around here with a big boat.”

  “If you didn’t know where he lived, what were you doing out here?”

  “I thought if I rented a boat I could motor around until I found his boat.”

  “But you said you didn’t know the name of his boat.”

  She frowned. “I thought if I actually saw the boat I might recognize the name.”

  “So, once upon a time, you knew the name.”

  Her expression turned peevish. “He told me but I forgot because he said it would be at the pier. I knew I would remember the name of the boat when I saw it.”

  Creighton raised his brows.

  “I try not to remember anything more than I have to,” she continued, “because I don’t like to clutter my mind with extraneous details.”

  “Extraneous details?”

  “And then my boat sprung a leak and sank. It was like the Titanic all over again.” She peered at his fishing rod. “Cute stickers.”

  “It’s a rental.” He covered the stickers with his hand. “So?”

  “So? What?”

  “You’re sitting here drenched, your boat’s sunk to the bottom — like the Titanic.” He shrugged. “You can’t stay here forever.”

  She glanced at the near bank. “Now that I’m rested up, I guess I can swim that little distance.”

  He laughed and put a hand on her wrist as she started to rise. “Hold your horses. I’m just asking where you want to go. I can drop you off in town. You can make whatever phone calls you need to make from there.”

  “I’d like to try Mr. Bartok again.”

  He raised on eyebrow. “If you have his phone number, why didn’t you call him from the dock?”

  “I must have written the number down wrong. When I tried it I got one of those ‘this number is no longer in service’ things.”

  “I suppose,” he said with some exasperation, pointing to the water, “that the number is down there.”

  “No, it’s in my pocket.” She dug into the pocket of her shorts and came up with a piece of soggy paper. She frowned. “Can you read this?”

  Creighton took the piece of paper, squinted. “All I can make out here is a 1 or it could be a 7. This looks like pencil.”

  “I didn’t have a pen. How was I supposed to know I was going to fall into the water?” She took the paper back, tore it into pieces and tossed them into the lake.

  “That’s pollution. I could fine you for that.”

  “You’re an environmental superhero?”

  “Something like that.” He peered at her. “Do you have enough money to get home?”

  She turned out her pockets, shrugged. “I suppose I could go to the real estate office in town and see if anyone called Bartok has a place around here.”

  “Now you’re thinking,” he said. She seemed scatterbrained, but he had to admit she was cute. Young but not a kid. A bit of an airhead, but a damn good swimmer. “What do you do when you’re not sinking boats?”

  “This and that. I was supposed to work as a housekeeper for Mr. Bartok.” She bit her lip. “At least I think his name was Bartok.”

  “You think?” he said, incredulous.

  “I really haven’t decided what I want to do permanently. Or if I want to do anything permanently.” She reached over and lifted the brim of his hat. “So, what do you do when you’re not fishing with Hello Kitty?”

  He smiled. “I’m in sales.”

  “You don’t look like a salesman.”

  “Sorry,” he said amiably.

  She studied him critically. “I think you’re a cop.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, you’re dressed like Indiana Jones, which you think is cool. Except it’s not cool unless you’re wandering around Kathmandu or Cairo in the thirties and forties.”

  “So you’re trying to tell me cops don’t have any style.”

  “Most of them don’t. Neither do the military. Oh, they look fine in un
iform, but in civilian clothes, mostly they look crappy.”

  “If you say so.”

  She frowned. “I hurt your feelings, didn’t I?”

  “No, well, maybe a little.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  He smiled.

  “You can take me to lunch,” she said. “And you can get my necklace fixed. Since you broke it.”

  “The guy who had it inscribed didn’t know you very well, did he?”

  Leonard glanced at his watch, then squinted at the wall clock. “Is that thing right?”

  “I think so,” said Tibor, who didn’t care.

  “I don’t understand why Cerise isn’t back yet. Where did you say she went?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she went back to St. Napoli.”

  “Oh.” Leonard paused, then said, perplexed, “What for?”

  “Maybe she got bored? I don’t know, Leonard. Why do you think she would go back to the islands?”

  “Maybe she had a date.”

  “Or,” said Tibor, “maybe she thinks there’s something valuable there, maybe something she could fence.”

  Leonard wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know what that could be.”

  “Maybe something in your collection.”

  “My stamp collection?”

  “Your art collection,” said Tibor, struggling to keep his tone even. “Maybe the Cartwrights?”

  Leonard considered this, then leaned toward Tibor. “Didn’t we burn those?” he whispered.

  Chapter Twelve

  She folded her arms over her knees. “So are you going to take me to lunch?”

  Creighton raised his brows. “Since I’m the life saver, don’t you think you should be buying me lunch?”

  “Remember?” She turned out her pockets once again, gave him a scathing look. “You didn’t have to save me, you know. I would have made it to shore.” She glanced toward the bank. “It isn’t that far.”

  “Guess not.” He waved toward the bank. “Be my guest.”

  “And you did break my necklace.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He reached behind him, brought forth the picnic basket. “Want to share my lunch?” He opened the basket.

  Her eyes examined the contents.

  “Ham sandwiches, dill pickles?”

  She looked forlorn. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t catch any fish.” He sorted through the basket. “Okay, I’ll eat the sandwiches. You can have the dills and carrot sticks. You can have the apple, but I get the Twinkies — just in case they contain animal matter.”

  “I’m an ovo-lacto vegetarian,” she said. “We’ll split the apple and the Twinkies.”

  “Fine with me.”

  He tucked into his sandwich, watched her surreptitiously as she ate. She was sitting in his boat with nothing to her name but a T-shirt and cutoffs, showing every intention of calling the shots. “Hey, slow down,” he said as she hiccoughed.

  “I’m just wound up,” she said. “I always gulp my food when I’m wound up.” She finished the carrots, chewing more slowly. “You have to admit I have lots of reasons to be wound up. I sank my boat, missed my ride, missed my train. I don’t have any money left and I don’t know where my job is.”

  He pushed his hat back, gave her a big smile. “Look on the bright side.”

  She gave him a dubious look.

  “Things can’t get any worse.” He shrugged and broke open the Twinkies.

  After breakfast Tibor beckoned to Frankes. They headed out the door and down to the dock.

  “Do you think she drowned?” Frankes said.

  “I don’t know,” said Tibor.

  “They’ll find her floating.”

  “Not right away.”

  “They always come up eventually. Then we’ll have the cops around asking questions.”

  “We’ll just have to keep our mouths shut then.” Tibor shot Frankes a steely look.

  Frankes held up his hands. “I’m not saying anything.”

  “It’ll take a while before the body comes up.”

  “They’ll see her ID and track her back to us.”

  “Her ID will be at the bottom of the lake with everything else.” Tibor stared across the lake. “If they find any of her ID, we’ll just stick to our story: She left and took everything with her. We’ll need to get rid of her stuff.”

  “Burn it?”

  “No. Leonard might wonder why we had a bonfire going. The best thing to do would be to put it into a garbage bag, take it into town, and dump it into a dumpster or a garbage can. You can do that, I imagine.”

  “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “What if the cops come here?”

  “They won’t come here until they find a body,” Tibor said, trying to keep his voice even. “And they won’t be able to link her to us until they can identify her. And even if they do identify her, we can just say we didn’t know she was missing, that we thought she left to go back to the islands.”

  Frankes knit his brows and nodded to indicate he had memorized the story line.

  “If it makes you feel better, we can take the boat around the lake for a few days, pretend we’re fishing. See if we spot anything, see if there’s any police activity in the area.”

  “What about the old man? We can’t count on him to go along with our story.”

  When Tibor didn’t respond, Frankes persisted, “I mean, what if they come here and ask the old man about Cerise? He’s so loopy, he might just say something incriminating.”

  Big word for you, Tibor thought. “Well, we’ll just have to prep him. We’ll keep to the story that she left without saying anything. And then, if the police finally identify her and come nosing around, we’ll feed them the same story and express shock and sadness that she met an unfortunate end.”

  Frankes grinned. “Yeah, that sounds as if it might work.”

  “Good. So practise acting shocked and sad.” Tibor paused in thought. “We’ll clear out her room, then tell Leonard that when we checked on her because she was gone so long that we found her stuff missing, including her passport and plane ticket. We’ll tell him we assume she was headed back to St. Napoli.”

  “Okay…so when do we start working on the old man?”

  “Let me deal with that. You just follow my lead.”

  “Why don’t we just go back to St. Napoli?”

  “We’ll have to get the old man softened up first,” Tibor said. “He’ll probably act up if we move too fast.”

  “What about the paintings?”

  “Now that we’ve got rid of our little problem — slowed her down, at least — we can afford to take our time. The one thing I know is, if we don’t play it right with the old man, he could cause a big problem.”

  “Like spilling the beans to the wrong people?”

  “I think you’ve got it, Frankes.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “Of course not,” Tibor said. Not too stupid, he thought, but just stupid enough.

  Creighton balled up the waxed paper and tossed it into the basket, then picked up the container of dill pickles. It was empty. “For a little girl, you sure eat a lot of pickles,” he said.

  “You took the Twinkie.”

  “You ate the whole apple.” He closed the lid of the basket and stowed it under the seat. “So what do I do with you now?”

  She shrugged.

  “I guess I could ask at the police station if they know a Mr. Bartok in these parts.”

  “What if they don’t know?”

  “Then you’ll have to phone home for money or find another job.”

  “I don’t have anybody to phone home to,” she said.

  “You don’t sound too broken up about that.”

  “It’s not as if it happened yes
terday.”

  Creighton felt guilty for his insensitivity. “You should be able to get something to do.”

  “I don’t exactly have the right clothes for an interview.”

  “If you apply for a job at one of the hotels, they won’t be too fussy. Just tell them what happened. They’ll probably advance you enough for a uniform.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Did anyone ever tell you you were a cheapskate?”

  “What?”

  “Here I am with absolutely nothing and you don’t offer me enough for a room and a set of clothes. And you wouldn’t even give me your Twinkie.” She paused at his startled expression. “I found you out, didn’t I? Coming out here pretending you’re Indiana Jones with delusions of rescue.”

  “It’s just a hat.”

  “And the jacket and the khakis.”

  He heaved a sigh. “OK, so I happen to resemble Indiana Jones. Purely by accident, you understand.” He pointed a finger to silence her as she opened her mouth. “So you figure I set out here in a boat dressed like Indiana Jones and waited around for some sassy little brat to sink her boat.” He hauled up anchor, rowed the boat a few feet away from the shoals and yanked the cord for the motor.

  She flicked him an uncertain glance. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to take you into Middleton — that’s the nearest town — and introduce you to social services, bid you adieu, and get on with my vacation — such as it is.”

  She held out her hand. “Lend me a twenty. I’ll pay you back in a week.”

  He shook his head. “I knew I should have gone to Myrtle Beach.”

  “Isn’t it kind of hot at this time of year?”

  He let the motor idle and rested his chin on his hand. “I knew I should have gone anywhere else.”

  “Make it forty.”

  Betty was sitting in a tree a half-mile from the cottage when she saw the big boat. She tilted her head to one side. She had been flitting through the woods and hadn’t found anything to eat that suited her champagne tastes. A large bird that swooped near her had also frightened her. She huddled close to the tree trunk under the canopy. Finally the raptor went on its way.