A Most Unpleasant Picture

by Judith Alguire

“Maybe half an hour.”

  “But you didn’t see her sink her boat. You didn’t see any debris. She didn’t tell you she’d been on the island waiting to be rescued. Although it seems she would have had plenty of time to swim all the way to the shore.”

  His forehead crimped.

  “Did you ask her?”

  He hesitated, then admitted he hadn’t. “She started talking a blue streak the minute she saw me. Then she took half my lunch. Then she told me I was going to have to help her because she had lost all of her money and papers. Gave me hell for breaking her necklace.”

  “She distracted you with constant chatter.”

  She sparkled, he thought, turning to Simpson. “What do you think?”

  “I think her situation sounds a little strange when you think it over,” Simpson replied. “Although I’m sure stranger things have happened.”

  “I think we should go out and poke around those little islands,” Miss Miller said. “You never know what you might find. Where are they?”

  “Just on the other side of Middleton.”

  She clapped her hands. “Detective, I think we have some investigating to do. Are you up for that on your vacation?”

  “I think you have to be,” said Simpson, without adding or you’ll never hear the end of it.

  “Why not?” Creighton shrugged. “What else have I got to do?”

  “We’ll take a motorboat,” said Miss Miller. She jumped up. “I’m just going to tell Mr. Rudley.”

  Miss Miller whipped into the lobby, returning a minute later. “He’s in agreement!”

  “Meaning he’s glad to have us all out of his hair.”

  “More or less.”

  Sherlock was still in his chair when they passed, his head cocked back. He appeared to be staring at something in the trees.

  “Detective Sherlock?” Miss Miller inquired.

  Sherlock murmured a greeting, adding, “Betty’s lost half of her tail feathers.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Tibor watched as Frankes prepared to slip into the water in the boathouse. “I don’t know what you need that wetsuit for.”

  “It’s pretty cold and slimy in there,” Frankes complained.

  “You should clean that thing off once in a while. You’ve got a kelp forest growing on it.”

  “I’ll toss it when we’re finished mucking around. It’s got a hole in it anyway.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  “I got it caught on something.”

  Tibor looked at the tear without interest. “Let’s just get on with this.”

  Frankes jumped into the water, which came up to his chin. He shuddered, pulled down the mask and disappeared below the surface. A few seconds later he popped into view and handed the end of the rope to Tibor, which he took with distaste.

  “You’re going to have to help here,” Frankes said. “A canoe’s pretty heavy when it’s full of water.”

  After they eased up the first canoe, Frankes went back down for the second. “That’s it,” he said when they were finishing, pushing himself back onto the deck.

  Tibor surveyed the canoes. He gave one a kick. Looked at the second one.

  “The damage on that one looks high enough up,” said Frankes. “I can probably fix it enough to let us get to dry land.”

  “Probably?”

  “There’s some caulk up there.” Frankes motioned to the shelf above Tibor. “I can patch something over it.”

  “Good.” Tibor gestured toward the water. “Now see if you can find the oars.”

  Frankes gave Tibor a nasty look and slid back into the water.

  “There.” Creighton pointed to the middle distance.

  “Are you sure?” Miss Miller scanned the lake surface, one hand over her eyes.

  “Yeah. I was parked out there in a bunch of weeds near that shoal.” Creighton turned around in the boat. “That big tree was just across from me.”

  “I don’t know if you would call those islets, Elizabeth.” Edward indicated two piles of rock covered with moss and some scraggly brush.

  “You might call them something to camp out on while you were waiting to be rescued,” Miss Miller murmured.

  “What are we waiting for?” Creighton said. “Let’s check them out.”

  Miss Miller started the boat up and steered it carefully toward the islets. Simpson hung close to the side of the boat, watching the water.

  “You’ll have to bring up the motor,” he called out.

  “Roger that,” said Miss Miller. She killed the motor and swung it out of the water. “Stand by to lasso that tree and slide in.”

  Creighton threw the weighted line toward the sapling. It stuck and he began to reel the boat in. Miss Miller grabbed an oar and stuck it down into the water. “It’s only three feet here,” she said. “We can roll up our pants and wade in.”

  Creighton did as instructed, but, stepping into the water, he lost his balance and came up spluttering.

  “Slippery?” Miss Miller asked.

  He took off his hat and poured the water out. “Not at all.”

  “Edward will stay with the boat in case it breaks free.”

  “Staying with the boat,” Edward echoed.

  Creighton and Miss Miller proceeded to check the islet while Simpson relaxed and fixed on a hawk circling. He was glad Elizabeth had not got too involved this time, although, from what he could gather, there wasn’t much for her to sink her teeth into. He considered what she had told Detective Sherlock — three unusual things had occurred together: the arrival of Betty, the arrival of Sherry and the murder of Chief Longbow. However, as his father often told him: “Coincidences do happen, Edward. You could probably find all sorts of such triads if you looked at everything in life critically.”

  For example, he and Elizabeth had arrived at approximately the same time as Betty and close enough to the arrival of Sherry Brown to be part of such a triad. Still, he had to admit the possibilities were intriguing. He watched as the hawk sailed out of sight behind a tall tree. Sherry had arrived two to three weeks before, appearing out of the lake to ask Creighton for a lift to shore. She had lost all of her identification when her boat sank. Add to that the appearance of a parrot and the murder of Chief Longbow, a man stating he was aboriginal and laying claim to the Pleasant… Simpson raised his brows. Even his father would have to admit that was a rather unusual set of coincidences.

  Creighton and Elizabeth returned, the latter wearing a look of disappointment.

  “Nothing?” he asked her.

  She shook her head.

  “Lots of cormorant guano,” Creighton said.

  Elizabeth climbed into the boat. “You can untie and push off,” she told Creighton.

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re already wet.”

  He did as told. Miss Miller used the paddle to turn the boat and head it toward the second islet twenty yards away. They tied up and once again left Edward with the boat. This islet was smaller, not more than fifteen by twenty feet, surrounded by a flat rock that tapered away into the water for several feet before dropping off precipitously.

  “I should have come here to fish,” said Creighton, pointing out a large bass just off the islet. “The water’s so clear I could have netted something like that.”

  Miss Miller peered into the water.

  “See anything?” Creighton asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” said Creighton. “She sunk the boat. It’s somewhere on the bottom. Unless I can give the inspector a good reason, he’s not going to drag the lake.”

  “It’s a big lake,” he said when she made no response. “And there’re probably dozens of boats down there.”

  “I was sure we’d find something.”

  “That wo
uld have been nice,” he said. “But if finding something might confirm Sherry’s story, finding nothing doesn’t disprove it.”

  She sighed.

  “They taught me that in detective school.”

  “I’ve got a decent patch ready,” Frankes told Tibor when he’d finished his work, “but I’ll have to wait for the boat to dry out before I can put it on.”

  Tibor took a joyless bite out of his sandwich. “How long?” he said, his mouth half full.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” said Frankes.

  Tibor swore.

  “I can put it on now, but it won’t last worth shit.”

  “Fine,” Tibor grumbled.

  “Fine, you want me to put it on now, or fine, you want me to wait?”

  Frankes was getting quite tired of Tibor’s sour temper. Not that Tibor had ever had a sunny disposition. But at least he always exuded authority and made grand promises. Now he had lost his spunk, which made Frankes depressed and insecure. He wondered if anything good was going to happen from here on in.

  “We’ll wait,” Tibor replied.

  Frankes went to the refrigerator and looked over the slim pickings.

  “Did you take the last of the ham?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish Luther was here,” said Frankes. “He can make a six-course meal out of nothing.”

  Tibor had many regrets, the least of which was losing Luther. He regretted helping Leonard in his scheme and assuming the bulk of the liability without much of a return, which might end up with him doing something that would put him in danger with the local authorities.

  “How much money do we have?” Frankes asked.

  Tibor hesitated. He knew this question would come up sooner or later. “I have about six hundred dollars.”

  Frankes had about a hundred in his pocket. The difference didn’t seem fair. “Maybe you should give me my share of that and we should split up. That way if they’re looking for…”

  “They aren’t looking for either of us right now. And if we’re careful and don’t panic and blab something we shouldn’t, we can catch a bus and get over the border before they even know they should be looking for us.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I haven’t decided,” said Tibor. He didn’t tell Frankes he had a couple of thousand dollars in his pocket. He’d lifted Leonard’s wallet and raided Luther’s moneybox, items Luther had left behind. He’d always had light fingers where these were concerned, taking a bit at a time so as not to be too noticeable. He figured Luther couldn’t count that well anyway. “We’ll cross into Quebec,” he said. “We can lay low there for a couple of days and think things through.”

  “I thought we were going back to St. Napoli.”

  “I don’t think we can, not for a long while.” At least, he thought, you can’t.

  Sherlock glanced at his watch. He had been sitting for over two hours, pondering. Margaret had stopped by to see if he needed anything. He had said no, thank you. Tiffany had stopped by as she took her cart around to ask if he was all right. He had said he was, thank you. Now Tim was in front of him bearing a tray with a sandwich, a piece of pie and a small carafe of coffee. Sherlock waved it away.

  Tim set the tray down nevertheless. “Mrs. Rudley noted it was well past lunch. She doesn’t approve of anyone not having lunch. No one says no to Mrs. Rudley,” he added as he turned to leave.

  Sherlock glanced at the food. If the last time was predictive, he knew the sandwich would be delicious, with fresh, tasty ingredients complemented with just enough dressing to bring out the flavours. The coffee would be perfect. The pie would be the best he had ever eaten. He squared his shoulders.

  Lloyd came along with his garden rake at that moment. “Ain’t you going to eat your lunch?”

  “No.”

  “Mrs. Rudley won’t like that.” Lloyd grinned. “She’ll think you’re sick if you don’t eat and she’ll take your temperature.”

  “I don’t care if she thinks I’m sick or not,” Sherlock muttered. “And she won’t be taking my temperature.”

  “If you let her take your temperature, she’ll give you a plate of brownies.”

  “I don’t like brownies.”

  “Can I have your pie?”

  “You can have my pie, you can have my sandwich, you can have my coffee.” Sherlock picked up the tray, thrust it toward Lloyd, then returned to scanning his notebook.

  “Mrs. Rudley says if you don’t eat your brain don’t work right,” said Lloyd.

  “Then you must all be fasting because nobody’s brain works right in this place,” Sherlock barked. “What do you do around here? Pump in halothane?”

  “Just water.”

  Betty had been perched in the tree by the veranda. When she caught sight of Lloyd she flew to sit on the back of the bench. “Feed Betty,” she chirped.

  “I don’t think you should let her that close when you’re eating,” said Sherlock. “It isn’t sanitary.”

  “She needs extra to grow back her tail feathers.” Lloyd gave Betty a piece of his bread, which she ate greedily, then began to groom the back of Lloyd’s head.

  “Feed Betty,” the bird chirped again.

  “Can’t give you any more bread,” said Lloyd. “Ain’t good for you. I’ll get you something in a minute.”

  “Dirty bird,” said Betty. “Sweetie, Sweetie. I like Sweetie. Got to go. Sweetie’s got to go.”

  Sherlock had to smile. “I think she believes, if she uses her phrases, you’ll reward her. That’s probably how she was trained.”

  “Feed Betty. Tweek and Freak. Freak is a freak.”

  “Soon as I finish the pie,” said Lloyd.

  Betty nibbled the side of his neck. “Leonard is stupid.”

  Sherlock sat up straight. “What did she say?”

  “She said ‘Leonard is stupid.’”

  “I’ve never heard her say that before.”

  “Sometimes she says that.” Lloyd fed Betty a piece of the pie crust. “Mostly she says dirty bird and feed Betty.”

  Sherlock flipped a page in his notebook and sat back, eyes widening.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Sherlock called in to headquarters and asked for a police boat and three officers. Within an hour, a boat appeared at the Pleasant dock with Officer Vance on board along with Officer Petrie. Officer Stubbs was at the helm. Sherlock stepped into the boat and barked orders.

  Rudley and Margaret were at the desk when Lloyd returned with the lunch tray.

  “Detective Sherlock said to tell you he appreciated the lunch,” Lloyd said.

  Rudley gave Lloyd an appraising glance “He appreciated it so much you’ve got crumbs all over your face.”

  “Said he wasn’t hungry,” said Lloyd. “I told him Mrs. Rudley was going to take his temperature. And he said everybody’s brains was asleep and we must pump something in.”

  Margaret sighed. “Poor Detective Sherlock. He must be under incredible stress. It doesn’t seem as if he has any leads in this case.”

  “So then Betty came over and I gave her some of my sandwich and he said it wasn’t good for her and she kept asking for some more and all of a sudden he got on his phone and a boat came and took him off.”

  “That’s a good reason for keeping her around,” said Rudley.

  “He got all excited because Betty said ‘Leonard is stupid.’”

  “I can’t see why that would be so exciting,” said Rudley. “I imagine she repeats anything she’s heard more than once, especially if someone encourages her.”

  “He said she probably says things to get food,” said Lloyd.

  “I expect that’s how they trained her,” said Margaret. “I must say, whoever taught her could have come up with something more uplifting.”

  “What would you have her say?”

 
; She pondered this. “Perhaps ‘good morning,’ ‘lovely day,’ ‘may I have a cracker,’ ‘how do you do’.”

  “It all sounds pretty boring, Margaret.”

  “In that case, we could have her sit beside you all day, Rudley.”

  Rudley smiled. “I have been known to be rather erudite at times, Margaret.”

  “Yes, dear.” She smiled back. “You’ve been in such a good mood since that cast came off.”

  “When have I not been in a good mood, Margaret?”

  She let that pass. “I would imagine you’ll be in good enough shape to take part in Music Hall.”

  “You can count on me, Margaret.” He did a little two-step behind the desk. “Not bad for a boy from Galt who just came out of a cast yesterday.”

  Lloyd grinned. “I guess you won’t be fixing anything any more.”

  Tim knocked on the door of the Elm Pavilion with afternoon tea. The sisters were in the middle of a Gregory Peck marathon and it took a few minutes for Emma to come to the door. Tim entered and transferred the food from the tray to the tea trolley.

  “Here you are, ladies. Watercress sandwiches and lemon meringues with Perrier, just as you requested.”

  “Oh, Tim,” Kate said reproachfully. “Watercress?”

  “Don’t tease us,” Louise tittered.

  He smiled. “You’re right. I don’t know if anyone around here would recognize watercress if they fell over it. We have Gregoire’s usual fine selection of salmon salad, egg salad, ham with Swiss cheese and, for the calorie conscious, peanut butter with marshmallow. All topped up with fruit tarts and maple cake. Tea, of course, and a Pepsi for Louise, who thinks she’s been drinking too much tea.”

  “That’s better,” said Kate.

  Emma sat down with a thump. “You know Gregoire would never send us watercress and low-calorie lemon meringues.” She looked at Tim. “I noticed a police boat picking up the detective. Has he concluded his case?”

  “Not by a long shot,” said Tim.

  “He’s been sitting down there on the bench all morning,” said Kate.

  “We were watching him with our binoculars,” said Louise.