The forest and raptors she was unfamiliar with, but the big boat was like old home week. She took a look around and flew to intercept it.
“Mary’s coming to the cottage tonight,” Brisbois said to Creighton over the phone. “I caught some nice trout today. I’ll put them on the grill. Make a salad. Chill a nice bottle of wine.”
“Sounds great,” Creighton said, “but I’ve got a little problem.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah” — Creighton tucked the phone into his shoulder, glanced around the corner — “I’ve got this girl…”
“Which bar did you meet her in?”
“I resent that,” said Creighton. He took another look around, returned to the phone. “I met her on the lake. Actually, I fished her out of the lake.”
“Did you rescue her or catch her on your line?”
“Actually she swam up to my boat. She’d sunk hers.”
“Good story so far.”
“As it turns out, she lost everything when the boat went under, although I don’t think she had much to begin with.”
Brisbois hesitated. “Why don’t you bring her along to dinner.”
“I’ll have to ask.” Creighton glanced around the pillar. “She’s trying on clothes. All she had was a T-shirt and shorts when I met her. And, I suppose, underwear.”
“You suppose,” said Brisbois dryly. “So she lost everything she owned with the boat.”
“Apparently. She was on her way to a job with some old guy in these parts. She was supposed to meet his yacht at the dock, but she missed the train.”
“Bring her to dinner. We can drop her off at her job later.”
“She doesn’t know where it is. She rented a boat. She thought she could just troll around every lake in the province until she spotted a yacht.”
There was a long pause. “You’re sure she didn’t escape from…you know where.”
“A local institution?”
“Yes.”
“She’s perfectly sane.”
“How old is this girl?”
“It’s hard to say,” Creighton said. “Maybe early to mid-twenties. She’s a bit of an elf.”
“An elf?”
Creighton hesitated. “Something like that. She kind of sparkles.”
“Sparkles?”
“Sparkles.”
Brisbois considered this for a moment. “Are you sure you weren’t drinking out there?”
“Nothing stronger than coffee.” Creighton filled Brisbois in on the rest of the story.
“So you got her a hotel room and lent her some money,” Brisbois concluded. “And she’ll pay you back once she gets settled.”
Creighton winced at Brisbois’s tone. “I did save a lot of money by not going to Vegas.”
“Yup,” said Brisbois. “Well, if you’d like to bring her to dinner, Mary’d be happy to have the extra guest. She gets bored with us — for some reason.”
“She’s vegetarian. Ovo-lacto something.”
“I’ll make her an omelet.”
Creighton hung up and returned to his seat by the dressing room. Presently, Cerise came out in a blue sundress.
“Do you like this?” she asked.
“Do you?”
“Yes, but you’re paying for it.”
He looked at the price tag. “I like the yellow one better.”
“All right,” she said.
“A friend of mine has invited us to dinner.”
“Where?”
“He and his wife have a cottage on the next lake. They’re an older couple.”
“Older than you?”
“Way older than me.” He looked at her feet. “Did you see any shoes you like?”
“I just want a pair of runners.”
“Runners with a sundress?”
She gave him a tired look. “As if you’re one to give fashion advice.”
The proprietor of the houseboat did not immediately notice Betty. When she flew down from the roof to the voices below, she was met by a rush of fur and a large set of fangs. She squawked and flew up.
“What in hell’s wrong with you, Attila?” a man shouted.
Attila continued to snarl and lunge. Betty managed to escape back to the top. Attila scrambled after her, challenging her from a few feet away.
The man’s wife went to see what was bothering Attila. She caught a flash of feathers as Betty made her escape.
“Raymond, Raymond!” she shouted. “Attila was after some kind of cockatiel.”
“A what?”
“Maybe a budgie or something.”
“Elise, what would a budgie be doing out here?”
“I don’t know. It was a very bright bird.”
“Maybe one of those painted buntings,” he said. “We’ve seen those around before.”
“I suppose it could have been. It seemed bigger.”
“Everything seems bigger on the water, Elise.”
“I think that’s closer, Raymond.”
“Bigger, closer, clearer, whatever,” he muttered.
While Elise and Raymond were sorting out these truisms, Betty hopscotched her way to shore on a little series of islands.
It was almost dusk when she reached her destination, guided by what proved to be a well-stocked bird feeder. After she had eaten her fill, she settled into the limbs of a thick spruce, tucked her head under her wing and slept.
Chapter Thirteen
Rudley left Lloyd in charge of the front desk and hobbled down the back stairs to the basement and out onto the bench just below the back porch. He glanced right and left, then removed a package of cigarettes from his pocket, stuck one into his mouth and lit up. He puffed away happily, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders, enjoying the light breeze and the sight of birds flitting tree to tree, secure in the knowledge that Margaret had gone down to the Oaks to paint a splash of daisies that had taken her fancy. He knew, too, if he washed his hands and chewed a stick of gum, she would never know he had been indulging — or at least she’d be able to reasonably pretend she didn’t know.
He finished the first, stubbed it out, then thought, why not have another? After all, it would be more efficient than going back to the desk, waiting until he found someone else to cover it, and hobbling all the way downstairs again. Besides, not stressing his injury would be more prudent from a medical point of view. Margaret would have to appreciate that. He inhaled deeply, smiled.
“Dirty bird.”
He flinched, surprised by the hoarse voice behind him. He turned, but saw nothing. He took another drag.
“Dirty bird, dirty bird.”
Rudley seethed. Obviously, someone was playing a trick on him. Tim, he guessed, probably in the pantry, lurking below the window that looked out onto the back porch, popping up when his back was turned. “On time I’m paying for,” he said loud enough for Tim to hear. He waited for a response. When none came, he called out, “Pretty poor imitation of a parrot, too, I must say.” Still no answer. “I know you’re there,” he shouted.
“Stupid, stupid. Tweek and Freak.”
Rudley dropped his cigarette, thumped up the back steps, and stuck his head in the pantry window. No one. He caught a glimpse of Gregoire passing by into the kitchen, but he appeared to be alone. He thumped back to where he had left the cigarette and ground it into the ground with the tip of his crutch, then, with difficulty, retrieved the butt.
“Ouch.” He put his hand to his crown. Something had snagged a strand of his hair. He turned, incensed. “Damn it to hell.”
“Stupid, stupid. Leonard’s stupid.”
Rudley looked up and found himself staring into the inquisitive eyes of a large parrot.
“Dirty bird.”
As Rudley watched agape, the bird climbed up the trellis, inched along the porch
roof, and disappeared around the corner. He seized his crutches and hobbled around the side of the house, squinting into the sunlight along the roof and muttering obscenities under his breath.
“Is there a problem with the roof?”
Rudley turned awkwardly to see James Bole watching him with perplexity.
“The roof is fine,” Rudley rasped. “I’m looking for a bird.”
Mr. Bole smiled. “I didn’t realize you’d taken up birdwatching, Rudley.” He tapped Rudley’s crutch lightly with his walking stick. “Good for you. You need a hobby.” Before Rudley could reply, Mr. Bole continued down the path toward the Sycamore.
Rudley was lurking furtively in the bushes when the Phipps-Walkers came into view, binoculars and cameras slung around their necks.
“Rudley,” Norman greeted him with a bucktoothed smile, “good to see you out enjoying this fine morning.”
“I’m not enjoying the weather, Norman,” he replied irritably, “I’m looking for a bird.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” Geraldine trilled.
“There are lots of birds around of all types, in case you haven’t noticed,” Norman said.
“Norman and I got some wonderful shots of a bevy of quail,” said Geraldine. “Usually they’re deeper in the forest, but we came across these just behind the High Birches.” She thrust her camera toward Rudley. “Take a look.”
Rudley glanced at the pictures. “Yes, yes, very nice, but the bird I’m looking for is a big one with a hooked beak. A parrot.”
“Oh,” said Norman. “I imagine some sort of hawk.”
“I’m acquainted with hawks,” said Rudley, peering into the spruces, “and this was not a hawk.”
Geraldine was thumbing through her photos blissfully. “There are quite a variety of hawks, Rudley. This may have been one you’re not familiar with.”
“We have an unabridged copy of Birds of North America in our room,” said Norman. “We’d be glad to bring it down and go over it with you.”
“The damn thing spoke to me!”
Norman and Geraldine looked at Rudley, then exchanged glances.
“Perhaps it was a mockingbird,” said Norman.
“It was not a mockingbird.”
“What did it say?” Geraldine asked.
“It called me a dirty bird.”
“Perhaps it’s someone’s pet that got out,” Geraldine suggested.
“Apparently one that knows you well.” Norman grinned.
Rudley crossed his eyes.
“Don’t worry, Rudley. Norman and I will keep a sharp eye out. Not many birds can elude us.”
“If I were a bird around here, I’d feel as if I were in a perpetual peep show,” Rudley muttered.
“We should try to find it,” said Geraldine. “If it’s a pet, it will be at risk.”
“People shouldn’t imprison birds in the first place,” said Norman.
“It really isn’t nice,” said Geraldine.
“That damn bird took a chunk out of my head,” Rudley complained.
Geraldine patted Rudley’s crown. “She was probably collecting material for a nest.”
Frankes slipped into town with the excuse of getting fresh greens and deposited the garbage bags containing Cerise’s belongings in a bin at the back of a restaurant. They had been able to ascertain that she had taken a few clothes, her jewellery, and all of her papers. Tibor was waiting for him on the porch when he returned.
“You’re sure no one saw you.”
“The place was like a tomb,” said Frankes. He opened his bag to show Tibor an assortment of candy and licorice. “Want some?”
Tibor took a bag of jelly beans. “You forgot the lettuce.”
“I think we’ve got a refrigerator full.”
“Well, if the old man asks, say the stuff didn’t look good, and you decided to wait until they got the fresh stuff in.”
Leonard was in the breakfast nook, watching Luther serve up his lunch. He glanced up as Tibor and Frankes entered. “Did you find Cerise?”
Tibor’s jaw twitched. “No.”
Leonard tried to keep his expression neutral. “I don’t understand why she left that way,” he said. “Without telling anyone.”
“She’s been part of the family for a long time,” he continued when Tibor didn’t respond. “Why wouldn’t she say goodbye?”
“Maybe she did,” Tibor said, suddenly inspired.
Leonard looked at him sharply.
“You’ve had some problems remembering things,” said Tibor hesitantly, as if he were reluctant to acknowledge this unfortunate fact.
“I think I would have remembered Cerise saying goodbye,” Leonard murmured.
Before Tibor could respond, Frankes stepped forward holding out the bag of sweets. “I got the licorice you wanted.”
Leonard frowned, then said, “Thank you.”
“The red kind. Nibs, the ones you like,” Frankes added. He handed the bag to Leonard.
Leonard studied the contents. “Actually, I like the Dutch variety better,” he said, smiling, “but this is my second favourite.”
Frankes nodded. Tibor turned to leave but not before poking Frankes in the back to signal he was to follow — which Frankes did reluctantly.
“What was that all about?” Tibor demanded once they were out of earshot.
“You said we were supposed to make him think he had a memory problem.”
“Yes, except he’s never eaten licorice in his life.”
“I got him thinking he has,” said Frankes.
Tibor stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I think we have to be careful about how we gaslight him. It’s one thing to suggest he didn’t remember something that happened recently. It’s another thing to suggest he liked something he never ate.”
Frankes shrugged. “You could talk my grandfather into thinking there was a polar bear on the front lawn,” he said.
“It’s not the same thing. From now on, follow my lead.”
Leonard opened the bag and popped a piece of licorice into his mouth. Not bad, he thought. He was quite sure he had never been particularly fond of the confection, however. He wasn’t sure if Frankes was making fun of him or if he were honestly mistaken about his fondness for it. Perhaps he had confused him with his grandfather, a man Frankes mentioned from time to time. He was troubled about Cerise’s abrupt departure. He didn’t want to believe that she would leave without saying goodbye. He had no doubt she was up to something. Exactly what, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps she had returned to St. Napoli, expecting to find the Cartwrights in his studio. She was unpredictable, much like her mother — full of surprises. He liked that in Sylvia. He smiled. He was capable of the odd surprise himself.
Margaret was at the desk with Rudley, sorting through the invoices and confirming bookings. Rudley smelled strongly of Doublemint gum, which suggested he had been smoking again. She decided to let it pass until his cast was off and life was back to normal. As much as she deplored his behaviour since he had broken his leg, she realized he found his immobility extremely frustrating. Three more weeks, she thought. Three more weeks. As Gregoire had suggested when she mentioned this earlier, it might prove to be the longest three weeks of their lives.
And now he was on about a parrot that had spoken to him in a disrespectful manner and had had the audacity to peck him on the head. She had examined the wound and found it not terribly significant.
“It’s humiliating,” he had said, “to be attacked by a parrot.”
“Well,” she’d responded, “if anyone asks just say you were wounded at the Battle of Dorking.”
He was about to retort when the door opened and Chester Creighton entered with a young woman.
“Detective Creighton,” Margaret greeted him while Rudley rolled his eyes.
“Detective?” Ce
rise grabbed Creighton’s arm. “You didn’t tell me you were a detective.”
“And you didn’t tell me you were the world’s worst back-seat driver,” Creighton countered.
“That’s not the same.”
“Margaret, Rudley,” Creighton continued, gesturing to his companion, “this is Sherry Brown. You might say I ran into her on the lake.”
“He was asleep in his boat with a Hello Kitty fishing rod,” said Cerise. She held out her hand to Rudley. “Pleased to meet you both.”
“Likewise,” said Rudley.
Margaret smiled. “It’s lovely to meet you. Why don’t you come into the dining room and have a nice cup of tea. And Gregoire has made some delicious fruit tarts.”
“Are you here on business?” Rudley asked the detective.
“I’m on vacation.”
“I would think you could have gone further away,” Rudley muttered.
“I’m renting a place near Middleton,” Creighton said.
“Anything to ruin my life,” said Rudley.
“Be nice, Rudley,” Margaret whispered.
“Actually, we came here for another reason,” Creighton said. “Sherry’s in kind of a pickle. She’s new to the area. She tipped her boat on the lake and lost all of her money, ID, credit cards, and so forth. So until she can get things sorted out, she needs a place to stay and maybe some sort of job.”
“Your friend is welcome to stay in the bunkhouse,” said Margaret. “There’s an extra room always, but it’ll be a problem hiring her if she’s lost all of her papers.”
“What kind of work can you do?” Rudley asked gruffly.
“Almost anything.”
“Why don’t you say she’s a friend you’re putting up and she’s just helping out,” Creighton suggested. “To show her immense and eternal gratitude.” He gave Cerise a meaningful glance. “And she would be extremely grateful for your help.”
Cerise smiled. “I would be extremely grateful.”
“And when she gets her papers, you can put her to work in earnest,” Creighton added.
A Most Unpleasant Picture Page 10