A Most Unpleasant Wedding

by Judith Alguire

  “That was very kind of you.” Margaret smoothed the horse’s mane. “He must belong to someone near here.”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I’ll call Animal Control,” Margaret said. “Someone must be looking for him.”

  Creighton hammered at the door to the Pines. Brisbois stood by, hands in pockets.

  Creighton massaged his knuckles. “This is like trying to wake the dead.” He tried the door. “It isn’t locked.” He turned to Brisbois, grinned. “Did you hear somebody say ‘come in’?”

  Brisbois nodded. “Yeah, I think I did.”

  Creighton pushed open the door. “Mr. Arnold?”

  Arnold lay sprawled across the bed on his abdomen.

  “Mr. Arnold. Police.”

  No response.

  Brisbois glanced around. “The place looks as if a tornado hit it.”

  Creighton pointed to a pair of pants, halfway across the room. “He’s got mud up to his knees. He must have crawled home.”

  Brisbois gestured toward the bed. “Let’s make sure he’s OK.”

  Creighton snickered. “Blue boxer shorts with little white clouds.”

  “Cloud 9,” said Brisbois.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “That’s what it says.” Brisbois leaned over the bed. “Mr. Arnold.” He grabbed him by the shoulder, gave it a vigorous shake. “Sir, wake up.”

  Arnold groaned, turned over, opened one eye.

  Brisbois produced his badge. “Police.”

  Arnold blinked.

  “Sit up, please.” Brisbois turned to Creighton. “Could you get him a glass of water?”

  “Over the head, I hope.” Creighton found a mug on the table. He took it to the sink, filled it with water. He returned, handed the mug to Arnold.

  Arnold took a swig, spluttered. “This tastes like piss.”

  “Sorry,” said Creighton. “I guess I didn’t let the tap run long enough.”

  Brisbois pulled up a chair, sat down. “Do you mind answering a few questions?”

  Arnold shoved his hair out of his eyes. “This had better be good. I had a lousy night.”

  “Oh, it’s good,” said Brisbois.

  Arnold gave him a wary look.

  “Where were you last night?”

  Arnold ran a hand across his chest, coughed. “I went into town.”

  “What time?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Sometime after supper. Around dusk.”

  “Notice anything unusual? Anybody on the road?”

  Arnold looked at him as if he were crazy. “There was the odd car.”

  Brisbois turned a page in his notebook. “OK, where’d you go in town?”

  “The hotel.”

  “What time did you get back?”

  Arnold hesitated. “I don’t know. Late, I guess.”

  Brisbois stared at Arnold for a long moment. “How’d you get home?”

  Arnold squinted. “I drove.”

  Brisbois raised his brows. “I heard they found you sacked out on the veranda this morning, smelling like a distillery.”

  Arnold snorted. “They sent two detectives out here over a DUI?”

  Brisbois glanced at Creighton. “We’re a small detachment. We — what is it you call it? — multitask.”

  Arnold took a deep breath, looked around. “Look guys, I figured I wasn’t in any shape to drive, so I pulled over.”

  “Commendable,” Brisbois said. “So you walked home?”

  “Yeah. So you guys came for nothing. No DUI.”

  Brisbois ignored this. “How far did you walk?”

  Arnold drew a hand through his hair. “From where I left my car.”

  “And how far would that be?”

  “I don’t know exactly. How can you tell out here?”

  Brisbois watched him for a moment. “Your pants” — he gestured toward the crumpled trousers — “how did they get so dirty?”

  “I took a shortcut.”

  “Through a mud puddle?”

  “No, through that boggy area.” Arnold paused as Brisbois stared. “Hey, it was messy but it was short. Else, I’d have had to go all the way around on the road.”

  Brisbois smiled. “And you didn’t want to get caught beside your car, ten times over the limit.”

  Arnold looked hurt. “Hey, I was a little wobbly. If I’d stayed on the road, I might have been hit by a car.”

  Brisbois rolled his eyes. “You had to be a pretty good navigator to find your way back to the Pleasant through the swamp.”

  Arnold smirked. “I went as true as the crow flies. I came out right into the driveway.”

  “Amazing. In the dark. In an unfamiliar place.”

  Arnold shrugged. “I’m a builder. I have good spatial sense.”

  Too bad you don’t have any other kind of sense, Brisbois thought. “So what time did you get back?” he said.

  Arnold looked into the cup, swished the water around. “Look, can you get me something from the fridge? Maybe a Coke.”

  Creighton spun off the wall, returned with a can of ginger ale. He opened it, shoved it into Arnold’s hand.

  Arnold took a long drink.

  “What time?” Brisbois prompted.

  “I don’t know.” Arnold looked to Brisbois, found only a riveting stare. “Late.” He paused, studied their faces. “This isn’t about a DUI.”

  Brisbois shook his head.

  Arnold dragged his hand across his mouth. “It’s about that dame in the bar, isn’t it? I’ll bet she claimed I was harassing her.”

  Brisbois didn’t respond.

  “Look, all I did was ask her to have a drink with me. Ask the bartender. I didn’t touch her.”

  “Did you catch this woman’s name?”

  Arnold snorted. “We didn’t get that far.”

  Brisbois scribbled some notes. “So you had a confrontation with a woman in the bar. Then what?”

  Arnold shrugged. “Nothing. I hung around the bar, had a few more drinks, then I came home.”

  “What happened to the woman?”

  Arnold stared at him. “How in hell should I know? She threw a drink in my face and stormed out.”

  “OK.” Brisbois flipped a page. “So you left the bar and started home. Did you see anything?”

  Arnold shook his head. “Hell, I can’t remember. There might have been a car or two, but I don’t remember anything in particular.” He paused, took a drink. “What’s this about, anyway?”

  Brisbois sat back, let the silence build for a minute. “We found a body. Might have been near where you were.”

  Arnold’s jaw dropped. “You think I killed somebody? You’re crazy.”

  Brisbois glanced at Creighton. “We’re just asking questions.” He gestured toward the trousers. “We’d like to take your pants, have a look at them, if you’re agreeable.”

  “Are you charging me with something?”

  “No, just asking for your cooperation.”

  Arnold stared at him for a moment. “Take whatever you want. I didn’t kill anybody.” His lips parted in a sloppy grin. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  Brisbois stood. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Arnold waved this off. “No problem, buddy. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “That’s good.”

  Arnold reached for a tumbler and a bottle of whisky on the bedside table. “Oh, by the way…”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you get those pants cleaned before you bring them back?”

  Terri Hopper arrived home around eleven. Roslyn had just finished washing the kitchen floor. Terri stopped a few feet inside the door. “Sorry, Ros.”

  “It’s OK, honey, it’s just about dry.”

  Terri took off her shoes, tiptoed in, looked around. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He went upstairs to have a shower a while ago. Maybe he fell asleep. He took a couple of pills for his tooth before he went up.”

  “How did the dentist go yesterday?
”

  Roslyn moved the mop pail to one side. “I think he had kind of a rough day. The pills they gave him made him all fluey. He said he fell. When I got here, I thought he’d been rolling in Drummie’s dirt pile. He looked like that kid from the Charlie Brown comic.”

  “Pig Pen?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. He said he slept on the couch. I don’t know if he had any supper. I made him some scrambled eggs. He hardly touched them.”

  Terri frowned. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Your dad said she went riding.” Roslyn glanced at the clock. “Gosh, she’s been gone a while. She was away when I got here.” She paused. “Do you want me to fix you some lunch?”

  Terri gave her a hug. “Oh, no thanks, Ros. I stopped for something on the way. I’ll just go up and look in on Dad.”

  Roslyn went on with her cleaning. Terri went upstairs. The door to the master bedroom was ajar. She knocked, peeked in.

  Carl lay on the bed in his bathrobe, fast asleep, his hair still damp from the shower.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Dad,” she whispered.

  She ran back downstairs, grabbed some carrots from the kitchen, called to Roslyn as she passed the living room, “Ros, I’m going down to see the horses.”

  She hurried down the path to the stable. She was worried about her father, and it wasn’t just because he’d had a lousy day at the dentist and ended up sleeping on the couch. He looked so thin. He would never tell her, but she knew his depression was getting worse. He was having trouble with the latest manuscript. He’d told her it was nothing — just a temporary block — but she knew the deadline was a pressure he didn’t need.

  Her mother wasn’t much help. She couldn’t even be bothered to look after him after the dental appointment. She knew her dad was a baby about things like that, but at least her mother could have made sure he was all right before she left.

  She went into the stable, almost tripped over a shovel lying a few feet inside the door. She propped it against the wall and went to check the horses. Gert neighed. Maisie tossed her head. Bob grabbed at her sleeve. She gave them the carrots.

  Ned’s stall was empty.

  She walked back up the line. None of the stalls had been mucked out. It wasn’t like her mother to go riding without cleaning the stalls, or, at least, turning the horses out into the paddock. She went to get the shovel, uttered an exclamation of disgust as she noticed the gelatinous streaks down the blade. Maybe one of the horses had stomped a mouse, she thought. She took the shovel outside, hosed it down, and leaned it against the wall to dry. She released the horses into the paddock and went back inside. She took the pitchfork down from the wall, headed toward the stalls, stopped as a glint of silver caught her eye. She bent and picked up her father’s glasses. What were they doing here? She hung the pitchfork back on the wall and ran up to the house.

  Terri heard the whine of the vacuum cleaner from the dining room as she entered the house. Roslyn’s not unpleasant voice broke occasionally over the whir. She went upstairs.

  Carl Hopper hadn’t moved. Terri picked up the clothes he had left on the floor at the foot of the bed and headed toward the laundry hamper in the en suite. She opened the lid, preparing to drop them in, frowned. Roslyn was right. The clothes did look as if he’d been rolling in a dirt pile. She stared at the straw ground into the knees of his jeans. More like rolling around in a stable, she thought. The shirt was dirty and stained with what could have been horse manure. She folded the clothes, placed them on the lid of the hamper, and went back into the bedroom.

  “Dad?”

  His eyelids fluttered.

  “Dad, it’s Terri.”

  He smiled drunkenly without opening his eyes.

  She shook him by the shoulder. “Dad, wake up.”

  He opened his eyes.

  “Were you in the barn this morning?”

  He looked at her as if she had asked him to recite the BNA Act.

  “What happened to your clothes?”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Dad, I found your glasses.” They felt sweaty in her hand.

  He gave her a goofy smile.“Thanks.”

  He started to turn over. She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Dad, did you and Mom have a fight?”

  He frowned.

  “The stable’s a mess,” she persisted. “She hasn’t mucked out the stalls. She didn’t even turn the horses out. I don’t even know if she fed them.” She bent so she was looking directly into his eyes. “Did Mom go off in a huff?”

  “I don’t…” He closed his eyes, frowning as if struggling to find the answer. “’bout what?” he muttered and fell asleep.

  She surmised the pills he’d taken were in no danger of wearing off imminently. “Damned if I know, Dad.”

  Tim rolled a trolley out onto the veranda. “Lunch is served.” He placed a club sandwich in front of Miss Miller. Fish and chips for Simpson.

  “Anything new to report?” asked Miss Miller.

  “The police took something out of Mr. Arnold’s cabin.”

  Miss Miller leaned forward. “Do they think he’s the culprit?”

  Tim shrugged. “I suspect they’re curious about what he was doing passed out on the veranda at six a.m., covered with mud.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Although, if they asked for my opinion, I’d say he was probably too drunk to do much.”

  “Has the victim been identified?”

  “Not as far as we know.”

  Simpson frowned. “Terrible thing. I wonder why someone would be out in the woods at that time of night.”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Are they sure she was murdered during the night?”

  “That’s the word, Miss Miller.”

  Miss Miller thought for a moment. “Perhaps she didn’t intend to be in the woods. Perhaps she was kidnapped. Or murdered elsewhere and left in the woods.”

  “I don’t know, Miss Miller. The information is coming in slowly.”

  “Meaning Officer Owens isn’t in the loop yet.”

  “It’s his day off.” Tim paused to acknowledge Doreen Sawchuck, who was waving frantically. “Excuse me. Mrs. Sawchuck needs her lunch so she can take her pills.”

  Miss Miller watched Tim walk away.

  Simpson cleared his throat. “Elizabeth, I hope you’re not planning to get involved in any of this.”

  She gave him an innocent look.

  “We have to focus on the wedding. We have some details to tidy up.”

  She smiled. “Edward, would I think of getting involved?”

  “Of course, you would.”

  Bonnie and Tee Lawrence came up the steps to the veranda at that moment. Bonnie looked flushed.

  “I came up with some wonderful ideas for the wedding,” Bonnie said. “I had everything written down and forgot to bring the notes. That awful thing that happened…”

  Tee looked somber. “Terrible,” he said.

  “I hope it won’t interfere with the wedding,” Bonnie fretted.

  “We appreciate your efforts,” said Simpson, “but we don’t want you to worry yourself.”

  Bonnie sighed. “We can’t have something like that interfering with the wedding.”

  Tee looked irritated. “The wedding will turn out fine, Bonnie, whether you fuss about it or not.”

  She looked at him, hurt. He took her arm and steered her into the inn.

  “Mrs. Lawrence seems quite distressed,” Simpson said.

  “Mrs. Lawrence is brainless.”

  “That’s terribly elitist of you, Elizabeth. I’m sure Mrs. Lawrence is gifted in her own way.”

  She took his hand. “You’re such a sweet person. Always wanting to see good in everyone.”

  “My parents taught me there’s something good to be said for everyone.”

  “I’m not sure about that. What sort of person would bludgeon a woman to death?”

  He gave her a long look. “The sort of person we’d best av
oid.”

  She smiled. “Of course, Edward.”

  Brisbois put his hand over the phone, turned to Creighton. “Petrie and Vance came across Arnold’s car.” He turned back to the phone. “OK. Thanks. Secure the site. It could be part of a crime scene.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. “That idiot Arnold drove his car into the ditch up in the woods. Petrie says the driver’s door was open. His wallet was on the floor. He must have been some drunk.” He took out his notebook. “I’m surprised he found his way back to the inn — even with his great spatial sense.”

  Creighton smiled. “He leaves the car in the ditch and sets out cross-country, right through that boggy area east of the inn. Just as he said.”

  Brisbois cocked an index finger at him. “It would also bring him kind of close to where that woman was found.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Or maybe he wandered into her bailiwick and the rest is history.”

  Creighton shrugged. “From the way he looked, I don’t know if he would have had the wherewithal to kill her.”

  Brisbois thought for a moment. “He may not have had the coordination to drive, but I’ll bet he had enough strength to commit murder. He was mad. A woman had just insulted him in a bar. Maybe the same woman.” He paused. “You think maybe we’ve got probable cause for a warrant?”

  Creighton grinned. “I think we do.”

  Rudley ran down the front steps as the laundryman pulled up in front of the Pleasant, accosting the man as he got down from his truck. “You’re late.”

  “I am not late, Mr. Rudley. I was detained.”

  Rudley crossed his eyes.

  “I suffered a mechanical malfunction.”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye out for you all morning. I wanted to make sure I caught you. Those serviettes you brought yesterday aren’t the right ones.”

  The laundryman went to the back of the truck, loaded his dolly. “We have your order under control, Mrs. Rudley and I.”

  “You spoke to Margaret?”

  “I did. Mrs. Rudley has kept me constantly apprised of the latest requirements for your fête.” He looked at Rudley over his glasses. “Don’t you speak to Mrs. Rudley?”

  “Now, see here.”

  “If you had spoken to Mrs. Rudley,” the laundryman went on, impervious to Rudley’s glare, “you would have known that the napkins for the wedding will be delivered on the morning of the wedding. The napkins delivered yesterday were replacements for those of general use that have become discoloured, frayed, or have otherwise been rendered unsuitable for your fine establishment and exacting standards.” As Rudley began to splutter, he added, “I wouldn’t feel too badly, Rudley. A wedding in the family is always a disorienting experience.” He wheeled the dolly around smartly and headed for the back entrance before Rudley could respond.