Judith Alguire - Rudley 02 - The Pumpkin Murders

The Pumpkin Murders

Judith Alguire

Doug Whiteway, Editor

© 2010, Judith Alguire

Print Edition ISBN 978-18987109-45-8

Ebook Edition, 2011

ISBN 978-1897109-69-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, for any reason, by any means, without the permission of the publisher.

Cover design by Doowah Design.

Photo of Judith Alguire by Taylor Studios, Kingston.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Manitoba Arts Council for our publishing program.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Alguire, Judith

The pumpkin murders / Judith Alguire.

I. Title.

PS8551.L477P86 2010     C813’.54     C2010-905616-7

Signature Editions

P.O. Box 206, RPO Corydon, Winnipeg, Manitoba, R3M 3S7

www.signature-editions.com

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Acknowledgments

About the Author

To Sadie, Newt, and Gus the Bus

“Where are you going?” Adolph came out of the kitchen carrying a plate and a tea towel. He was wearing a gingham apron that fell to his ankles.

Gerald zipped up his jacket. “I think I left my wallet at work.”

“Won’t it be safe until tomorrow?”

Gerald paused in front of the hall mirror to fluff his hair. “Surely you jest. Some of those people would steal pennies off the eyes of their dead grandmothers.” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose you have money for a cab.”

“I’ll lend you bus fare.” Adolph reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change.

Gerald gave him an aggrieved look but took the money. “Imagine, reduced to taking a bus.”

“It’s been done, Gerald.”

Gerald gave the mirror a final look. “If I’m not back by midnight, give my clothes to Hector.” He dashed out, slamming the door behind him.

Adolph stood, absently drying the plate and listening to the diminishing clatter of Gerald’s shoes on the stairs. Finally, he returned to the kitchen, stacked the plate in the cupboard, removed his apron, and hung it on a hook beside the door.

He told himself he never should have let Gerald move in. He had known him for several years and was aware of his proclivities. But Gerald had begged and he couldn’t say no. Why? Because he was spineless. He brushed a strand of wispy sandy hair from his forehead. Because he was lonely. Because life seemed humdrum.

He took off his glasses, polished them, set them back on his nose. One ear was higher than the other. The asymmetry had distorted the frames over the years. Gerald would never commit such a fashion faux pas. Gerald would have his ears surgically altered.

He glanced into Gerald’s room as he passed into the living room. As meticulous as Gerald was about his appearance, he was a disaster around the apartment. Left things where he dropped them. Never lifted a finger to help with the housekeeping. Seemed to think food found its way to the table on its own.

Adolph sank into his chair, absorbing the silence. Because Gerald brought an excitement to the apartment that made him feel more alive than he had in his previous thirty-eight years. Having Gerald around was like replacing a forty-watt bulb with a floodlight.

“I should have loaned him the money for the cab,” he said to himself. “What’s another twenty dollars?”

Gerald left the bus as gracefully as possible, given that he had to squeeze past a woman carrying several bags and a man with a belly that extended halfway across the aisle. Talk about your smelly masses, he thought. He made a beeline to the corner and turned into a side street. Halfway down, he stopped in front of a long, one-storey building with boarded windows. He slipped into the alley that ran alongside the building, counting the windows until he found the one he frequently popped open for a smoke. He jiggled the window up and crawled through, leaving it open. “Now where, Gerald?” he muttered to himself, tapping an index finger against his lips. If he’d left the wallet here, the most logical place to look would be the dressing room.

He sniffed. Not a formal dressing room, mind you, the sort you’d find in the better places. Just an eight-by-ten with a spotty mirror, a couple of auditorium chairs, and a line of coat hooks nailed to a shelf that ran the length of the room. He felt along the shelf. Nothing.

Where else? The laundry basket. He grimaced and shoved one arm into the dirty sheets and clothing, feeling around until he found the faux-silk robe he had worn for his last performance. And there it was. He plucked the wallet out, thumbed through it, and found his identification intact along with one measly Sir Wilfrid Laurier. He shrugged. Que sera sera.

He started toward the window, then turned back, thinking, why not go out the front door?

He was halfway there when he heard a key in the lock. He ducked into the storage room behind the reception area and peered through the louvered divider.

The boss and a man with the face of an eagle entered. The boss went to the desk and switched on the banker’s lamp. Silhouettes danced on the opposite wall. Gerald heard the implosion of a butane lighter and smelled cigar smoke. He shifted, feeling a bit silly. Why not just go out and explain to the boss?

Explain what? That he had snuck in through a window he had carelessly left unlocked, jeopardizing his boss’s films and God knows what else? He shrank lower. Perhaps he could say he was passing by and noticed the window was open. Felt it was his duty to check things out. Sure, Gerald, he’d believe that. He rocked forward. Maybe it would be best just to tiptoe down the hall and slip out the window.

A fragment of conversation stopped him in his tracks: “I’ve got six trucks carrying now…” There was a bark of laughter. “…some of it legit.” The boss’s voice.

The other voice, like nails on a blackboard: “…picking up the shipment on the fifteenth. You come around to the warehouse like always.” There was a pause. “You got…?”

“Third door on your right.”

Gerald held his breath. He guessed The Eagle wanted to use the washroom. Footsteps passed him down the hall. He heard the boss shuffling through the desk drawer. He hunched lower, squeezing his knees into his chest.

The toilet flushed. The bathroom door opened. Gerald made a face. The pig hadn’t washed his hands.

The footsteps returned.

The door beside him flew open. The Eagle stared down at him. Gerald’s surprise didn’t melt the steel in his eyes.

“What the hell?”

The desk drawer slammed shut. Gerald stood and approached the man, grinning.

“Who — ?” the man began, but Gerald pushed past him and bolted, a few feet ahead of his boss, who bellowed his name as he raced down the hall. He didn’t hesitate. He charged into the dressing room, scrambled through the window, and sprinted down the alley.

The headlights of a black Mercedes parked in front of the building flashed on as he clattered onto the sidewalk. The Eagle was at the door, gesturing toward him. He looked frantically for a bus as the car churned into reverse. Then, at the light, he saw a police car. He dashed to the intersection and crossed in front of the cruiser, hovering uncertainly on the sidewalk as the light changed and the police car sped away. But then he saw the police car pull into the Tim Hortons in a mini-mall one block down. He hurried in behind the officers, walked directly through toward the washroom, then ducked out the back door and crept along a row of dumpsters.

He had torn his jacket. “There’s four hundred dollars down the drain,” he muttered. He peeked around the last dumpster. The fire lane was empty. The last establishment in the mall was a dentist’s office. I wouldn’t trust my teeth to anyone who practised in this part of town, he thought as he eased along the wall and looked out onto the street. No sign of the Mercedes. The cruiser was still in front of the Tim’s. As he watched, the officers came out and got into the cruiser. And then, bumping around the corner and sliding to a stop in front of the mini-mall, a bus. He plunged across the parking lot, holding up his fare.

Margaret Rudley, co-proprietor of the Pleasant Inn, stood at the front desk, brow furrowed as she reviewed the reservation book. Her husband, Trevor, emerged from the dining room and stepped over Albert, who lay stretched out in the middle of the lobby.

“You’re getting good at that, Rudley,” she said when he arrived at the desk and put his coffee down. “You didn’t spill a drop.”

“That dog’s like a piece of furniture.” He paused as she turned a page. “How does it look, Margaret?”

“A bit nip and tuck. It’s as if we were in high season. I have two rooms open in the main house. I have the Oaks available for a week, then Mr. Gregory Frasor checks in. I’ll have the High Birches once the honeymooners move out. The Davids will be checking out of the Sycamore in the morning, then I have Mr. Salvadore Corsi in.”

“Salvadore Corsi. Sounds like a revolution looking for an island.”

“Don’t be provincial, Rudley.” Margaret reviewed the reservations, then put the book away. “I’m glad we have a little room to manoeuvre. I hate to turn anyone away.”

“Definitely our best fall ever.” He paused. “It’s been a wonderful year, Margaret.”

“Knock on wood.”

He gave her a jaunty smile. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of our luck turning.” He hummed a few bars of “Sidewalks of New York” and did a quick sideways shuffle. “The worst is behind us, Margaret. It’ll be smooth sailing from here on in.”

Adolph checked his watch. Nine-thirty. The dishes were done. He’d run the carpet sweeper over the living-room rug. He was about to lay out his clothing for the next day when the door burst open and Gerald flew in. He ran to his room and hauled a suitcase from the closet. He threw the suitcase onto his bed, tore open the bureau drawers, and began to toss things in the general direction of the bed.

Adolph stopped in the doorway, disconcerted. “Where are you going?”

Gerald gave him a desperate, over-the-shoulder look. “I’m not sure, except out of here.”

Adolph moved into the room and sat on the edge of the blanket box. “I thought you were going out to look for your wallet.”

“I did.”

“Did you find it?”

“Yes.” Gerald grabbed a stack of shirts and shoved them into the bag. “That was the good part.”

Adolph waited.

“I ended up in the middle of a drug deal going down. A big drug deal. Six trucks.”

“Six trucks of cocaine?”

Gerald tore at his hair with one hand and tried to flatten the shirts with the other. “I don’t think there are six trucks of cocaine in the country, Adolph. Maybe some. Maybe pot. Maybe counterfeit smokes. A lot.”

Adolph pushed his glasses up his nose. “Have you called the police?”

Gerald raised his arms and looked toward heaven. “Have I called the police?” He dropped his arms and began to pace. “I don’t think these people would appreciate me going to the police, Adolph.”

Adolph half stood, then sat down again. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

Gerald stopped in front of the window and peered out between the slits in the Venetian blinds. “Yes, I do have a choice. It’s between going on the lam or having my arms removed with a hacksaw.” He put a hand to his mouth and mumbled through his fingers. “Besides, there’s the film.”

“The film?”

“Yes, you know the film.”

Adolph shook his head, confused. “Why is there a problem with the film?”

“I don’t think you want to know.”

Adolph spread his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gerald.”

Gerald gave Adolph an exasperated look. “Remember I told you the film was a comedy about female impersonators?”

Adolph nodded.

“Well, it wasn’t. It was a porn film. Several porn films.”

Adolph bristled. “Gerald!”

“Don’t Gerald me.”

Adolph thought for a moment. “That’s despicable, but it’s not illegal, is it?”

“No.” Gerald put his fingers into his mouth, started to nibble at his nails, then stopped and tucked the hand behind his back. “There’s more.”

Adolph looked at him over his glasses. “More?”

“It turns out the director was using…youthful actors.”

Adolph’s eyes widened.

“Do you know what that would do to my reputation?” Gerald fretted.

Adolph glowered. “How could you?”

Gerald flailed his arms helplessly. “Look, during the shoots, I didn’t realize they were that young. They looked young. But everybody under thirty looks young to me. I thought he’d just rounded up some particularly young-looking actors because…”

“Because he was hoping to appeal to a particularly scuzzy clientele?”

“I could end up in jail.”

“Jail?”

“Yes.” Gerald fingered the rhinestone necklace he habitually wore. “So I can’t go to the police. And I’ve got to get out of here because they saw me and they’re going to come looking for me.”

“You told those awful people where you live?”

“No.” Gerald looked to Adolph for comfort, but finding only a frosty stare, turned away. “They know I used to live on Ste-Catherine. They’ll find out I moved to St-Henri. Then they’ll find out I came here.”

“How?”

“These people have their ways.”

“What do you mean?”

Gerald turned and grabbed Adolph by the shoulders. “What I mean is they’ll threaten my previous low-life, but cowardly, landlords.”

Adolph looked weary. “Why didn’t you just put in a change of address at the post office?”

“Let’s not get into my slothful ways now, Adolph.” Gerald shuddered. “These people are not nice guys. They wouldn’t think twice about waltzing in here and rearranging my face with a baseball bat. If I’m lucky. If I’m not lucky, they’ll put a bullet in the back of my head while I’m on my knees thinking you shouldn’t have bothered having the carpets cleaned.”

Adolph stared at him. “What about me?”

“Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t have any trouble doing the same thing to you.” He returned to the closet and stared desolately at a row of trousers.

Adolph blanched. “We’ve got to go to the police.”

Gerald pulled his head out of the closet. “Listen to me, Adolph. We cannot go to the police. The police cannot protect us. These people don’t like snitches.” He gave Adolph a haunted look. “They’d torture us to death. Slowly.”

Adolph cringed. “What am I supposed to do, Gerald?”

Gerald turned back to the closet. He emptied a shelf of shoes on to the floor, sorted through them, then threw several pairs into a bag, including a pair of black wingtips and a pair of red slingbacks. “You’ll have to come with me.”

“Where?”

“Where,” Gerald echoed, ripping through a bank of hangers. He lingered over a silky item. “I’ll never be able to do Judy Garland again. My career is shot.”

“For God’s sake, Gerald, focus.”

Gerald sank down onto the bed. “I don’t know.” His gaze swept the room. “Gregoire.”

“Gregoire?”

“He’s an old friend. He’s a chef at an inn out in the sticks. Maybe I can stay with him. I’ll tell him I’m between jobs.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?” Gerald thought for a moment, then brightened. “You could go home.”

“What if they find me there? What about my mother?”

Gerald cradled his head in his hands. “Let me think this through.” He grabbed tufts of his hair and twisted them through his fingers. “You could get a room at the inn.” He lifted his head. “Gregoire will put me up and you can get a room.”

“What if they track us down there?”

“How could they track us down there?”

“I’d have to register.”

“Adolph, you don’t have to use your real name.”

“What if they want identification?”

“Say you forgot it. Say you left it in another suit.”

“What if I have to sign a cheque?”

“Use cash. They won’t ask for your identification if you use cash. We’re talking about an inn, not the Chinese border guard.”

“How much will I need?”

“I don’t know, Adolph. Take what you think you’ll need. If it isn’t enough, you’ll have to check out through a window.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s better than being killed. Or wishing you’d been killed.”

“Then what?”

“Then what what?”

“After I climb out the window?”

Gerald stared over Adolph’s head at the wall. “I can’t think that far ahead right now. I’ll call Gregoire. You call and book a room — once you figure out who you’re going to be. Then we’ll get our stuff together and get the hell out of here.”

“Tonight?”

“We’ll spend the night at the bus station.” Gerald went to his bedside table and took out a battered leather notebook. He headed for the kitchen with Adolph in tow, tucking the book under his chin while he dialed the number. “Could I speak to Gregoire, please?”