Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant (14 page)

“What do they think of the new sketches?” Creighton asked when Brisbois had completed the call.

“They think they’re great. They’re putting them out everywhere. And most of the local
TV
stations here also reach the northern part of the border states.” Brisbois came over to the desk, sat down, and grinned at Creighton.

“What are you smiling about?”

“That wasn’t what the call was about. That was Turk.”

Creighton looked blank.

“Mel Turk, our lead in Fredericton.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“He had an interesting story to tell me. A cousin of the jewellery store victim, George Pritchard, came to Fredericton to settle the estate. He’s apparently the sole heir. And he wanted to know what happened to his cousin’s gun.”

“His gun?”

“Yeah, the old man brought a Dreyse pistol back from World War
II
. It was never registered. The cousin didn’t know that. He said the old guy kept it at the store.”

“Consistent with the slug?”

“Yup.”

Creighton shook his head. “So Pritchard’s killer stole the old guy’s gun and used it on our John Doe.”

“Looks like it.” Brisbois beamed. “Told you. It’s the same guy.”

Gregoire hustled the last pancake off the grill onto the stack on the breakfast tray. “There,” he said, “just as they requested.”

“At least as they requested last night,” said Tim. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they changed their minds just as I presented this to them.”

Gregoire gritted his teeth. “If those two brats send back the pancakes, I will be sending them up a box of corn flakes and a pint of skimmed milk.”

“With strawberries?”

Gregoire glared at Tim. “No strawberries.”

Tim took the tray. “We’ll see.”

Gregoire was reviewing the plans for lunch when Tim returned. He put the tray, still full of pancakes, on the counter, sat down, and began to eat them. “You’d better call Lloyd,” he said between bites, “otherwise the other stack will go to waste…unless you want them.”

Gregoire glared. “They have rejected my breakfast,” he fumed. “Once again.”

Tim shook his head. “No, they aren’t there.”

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know.” Tim took another bite. “Delicious. Their beds are made. You know what that means.”

“They woke, made their beds, and went into town for breakfast?”

“I can’t see them making their beds,” Tim said.

“Tiffany must have done that.”

“No, they had their DND sign out.” He shrugged at the puzzled look on Gregoire’s face. “Tiffany may have compunctions about disturbing the little twits, but I don’t.” He waved his fork, swallowed. “Either they’ve run away or someone’s kidnapped them.”

“Then shouldn’t we notify the grandparents and call the police?”

Tim lifted the serviette from the tray and dabbed at his lips. “We should probably take a quick look around the grounds first, ask if anyone has seen them.” He rose. “I’ll do that now. I wanted to have a bite of your pancakes before we have police crawling all over the place.”

“They’re probably hiding out somewhere eating Tootsie Roll Pops to give us a hard time.”

Gregoire took a deep breath when Tim had gone. He was sure the children were all right. They were probably just being disrespectful as usual. He paused in thought.
What if they had gone down to the lake and fallen in?
He went over to the table and sank into a seat.
What if they had taken a canoe out and tipped it?
He stared at the remaining stack of pancakes. Tragic. He picked up his fork and took a bite. Delicious. He dug in.

·

“You’ve looked everywhere for the kids?” Officer Semple asked, scribbling in his notebook.

“We haven’t checked Outer Mongolia yet, but otherwise, yes,” Mrs. Millotte replied, hands on hips. “We’ve conducted a thorough search — the entire inn, the cabins, the boathouse. We’ve gone around the grounds and spoken to all the guests.”

“And who saw them last?” Semple raised his gaze and fixed her with a suspicious stare.

“Tim, as far as we know. He saw them at nine-thirty last night when he picked up their supper tray.”

“And did they say anything about wanting to go somewhere, wanting to get away, meeting anyone?”

“I don’t believe so. Not that Tim has said. They gave Tim their breakfast order when he picked up their supper tray. They asked for breakfast to be delivered to their room at ten.”

“And that’s when you discovered they were missing.”

“Yes.”

“And no one has seen them this morning?”

“As I said, I’ve talked to everyone in the place, Officer. No one has seen the children. In fact, I don’t think anyone but Tim has seen them since they went upstairs around four yesterday afternoon. I spoke to them on the phone shortly after that to take their order for supper.”

“Then who else might have seen them at four yesterday?”

“I’m not sure. I was at the desk when Mrs. MacPherson from the West Wind dropped them off.”

Semple flicked her a glance.

“She gave them a ride home from Middleton,” Mrs. Millotte continued as Tim and Gregoire entered from the dining room. “They’d gone to town with Lloyd in the motorboat earlier when he went for groceries. When it came time to come home, they refused to go with him. Mrs. MacPherson graciously offered to bring the children home.”

“I see.” He scribbled in his pad. “Where did Mrs. MacPherson leave the children?”

“Here at the desk.”

“And you were at the desk at the time.”

“I was.”

“And did you actually see the children?”

Mrs. Millotte gave him a scathing look. “Yes, I saw them. Mrs. MacPherson brought them directly to the desk and handed them over to me. She said they’d been acting up in the car, threatening to tell the police that Lloyd had beaten them up. She felt it prudent to escort them to the desk.”

Semple stopped writing, shook his pen, and tried writing again. Throwing his pen on the desk in disgust, he rooted around in his pockets. Mrs. Millotte took a pen from the desk caddy and thrust it into his hand.

He continued, “Did you accompany the children to their room?”

“No, I did see them go up the stairs to their room.”

“Weren’t you concerned something might happen to them?”

“Why would I be concerned something might happen to them from the top of the stairs to their room, a few doors down?”

“Well, something did happen to them.”

Gregoire, who had been listening to this exchange, swept his cap from his head and balled it into his fist. “I will have you know, Officer Semple,” he exploded, “that from the moment those two arrived here we have watched them like hawks. We have put up with their pranks and kept them at the main inn for additional security. We have not let them go near the boats without supervision.”

“Where are their parents?”

“Scurrying from one chalet in the Swiss Alps to another, doing everything in their power to avoid being contacted,” Tim answered.

“So the kids are here on their own?”

“They’re here with their grandparents,” said Mrs. Millotte, “who couldn’t manage a cat, let alone this juvenile Bonnie-and-Clyde combo.”

Semple paused to review his notes. “Well, we’ll activate the amber alert.” He glanced up at the three of them. “See anyone suspicious around here?”

“No more than usual,” Tim replied.

“Any strangers?”

“There were guests in for lunch and supper.”

“People you know?”

“Most of them. People from town and a few from the cottages.”

“Names?”

“I’ll get the list.” He turned back to the dining room, Gregoire in tow.

“Did you advise the children there might be a dangerous fugitive in the area?” Semple asked Mrs. Millotte.

“Of course. We advised all the guests to make sure to keep their windows and doors locked at night and to be alert for anyone who seemed out of place. And we gave them the warning you give to all kids — don’t go anywhere with strangers, and if you’re leaving the inn, let somebody know where you’re going.”

“You said Ned and Nora accepted a ride from Mrs. MacPherson.”

“Only because Lloyd knew her.”

Semple looked again at his notes. “Well, they’ve gone somewhere. Maybe it was with a stranger and maybe it wasn’t.” His eyes lifted to the dining room door where Tim and Gregoire had retreated. “Where were those guys all evening?”

“What?” Mrs. Millotte followed his gaze and turned back fiercely. “Well, I never.”

·

Mrs. Millotte was still stewing when Tiffany burst into the lobby.

“Guess what?” Tiffany began. She stopped short. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Millotte?”

“Officer Semple, that’s what’s wrong,” she said, tossing her pen down on the desk.

“He’s not very good, is he?”

“He had the nerve to suggest Tim and Gregoire had something to do with the children’s disappearance.”

“Why would he pick on them?” Tiffany asked, then stopped as the realization struck her. “Oh.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Millotte. “Officer Semple is a tad homophobic.”

“Officer Semple is a deeply flawed man,” said Tiffany.

“Officer Semple is an insensitive doofus,” said Mrs. Millotte. She picked up her pen. “What were you about to tell me?”

“I took a little drive. After I finished my chores, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Just in case the children had gone for a long walk and lost their way.”

“No luck?”

“No. I did see Mr. Bostock, though. He was paddling along near the West Wind. He had attempted to disguise himself.”

“How?”

“He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a long black beard.”

“Interesting.”

“It’s very odd.”

Mrs. Millotte took the linen inventory from a drawer. “I agree it’s odd, but compared to some of the guests we’ve had over the years, he doesn’t seem that insane.”

“I realize that,” Tiffany said in a worried tone, “but with everything that’s taken place here, with the children missing, with a murderer in the vicinity… he could be the murderer.”

“I think he’s the most boring man I’ve ever met,” said Mrs. Millotte. “I think the dress-up redeems him a bit.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the situation.” Tiffany turned back towards the veranda.

“Yes, do,” Mrs. Millotte called after her, “just in case.”

Mrs. Millotte paused as she checked the linen inventories. She thought of the murderer reputed to be in the vicinity and of the missing children and wondered how the inn could be at the epicentre of so much misadventure. Nothing like this happened when Mr. MacIntyre owned the inn!

·

Brisbois slowly walked the perimeter of room 207, checking the locks on the windows. The window overlooking the west lawn he unlocked and opened. He poked his head out and glanced down.

“No evidence they went down the trellis,” Creighton said. “Or that anyone climbed in. Nothing disturbed in the flower bed or shrubbery.”

“So how would someone get in?” Brisbois murmured.

“Maybe he was already in.”

Brisbois continued inspecting the room, brow furrowed. “There’s no sign of struggle. A few pictures scattered around.” He picked one up and looked at it. “Polaroids. I wonder who took them.”

Creighton glanced over his shoulder. “The Benson sisters. See the pattern on the sofa? That’s in the Elm Pavilion.” He pointed to the lower left corner of the picture. “And that looks like Emma’s foot.”

“Huh?”

“She wears those old-fashioned lace-up shoes with perforations and an inch-and-a-half heel. Kate wears some kind of flat slip-ons and Louise wears sandals with a closed toe.”

“You notice what kind of shoes elderly ladies wear?” Brisbois said, brows elevated.

Creighton shrugged. “Shoes say a lot about a person.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure. Emma is no-nonsense and practical. Kate is sort of ordinary, casual. Louise is kind of giddy. She probably wore those little things — you know, the spike heels with the skinny straps — when she was younger. She tries to keep as much style as she can without falling and breaking her neck.”

“That’s very perceptive, Creighton.” He looked down at his feet. “What do my shoes say about me?”

Creighton grinned. “They say you’d probably shine up nice.”

“Hmm.” Brisbois picked up one of the photographs. “Look at these kids, sitting on the sofa, ankles crossed, hands in their laps. Those wholesome smiles — cherubic smiles. Why would everyone detest them so much?”

“I think it has to do with sabotaging the kitchen, teasing the frogs, running Tiffany’s drawers up the flagpole.”

“Kids will be kids,” Brisbois sighed, turning his attention back to the room. “Who knew the kids were here at the Pleasant?”

“A lot of people. They were all over the place, antagonizing everybody, except the Benson sisters, whose television seemed to bring out their better side. The kids were in town once. Highly visible from all accounts. Acting out. Everybody was talking about them. Maybe somebody assumed they had rich relatives.”

“You mean someone kidnapped them.”

“Yeah.” Creighton shrugged. “Maybe someone casually connected to the Pleasant — a delivery person, say, somebody from town who knew the setup.”

“So this person comes to the Pleasant, hides out until everyone’s gone to bed, goes upstairs, grabs the kids, and leaves with one under each arm.”

“No. Probably someone the kids had had some contact with earlier. Someone who enticed them, told them he was taking them to an arcade or something. According to the staff, they were disappointed Rudley didn’t have an arcade.”

Brisbois shifted uncomfortably. “Got another theory?”

“The kids sneaked out and got lost?”

“Well, they’ve either run away and gotten lost or they’ve run into a bad actor. They sound like pretty savvy kids. They weren’t around here long enough to establish a trust relationship with anybody.”

Creighton shrugged. “Hey, they’re just eight years old.”

Brisbois didn’t comment further. He didn’t want to voice the thought as it was too horrible: but if the kids had encountered a predator or someone like the guy who had left a trail of death across the country, they were probably dead. Instead, he said, “Anything new on the kids’ parents?”

Creighton shook his head. “The Swiss police thought they found them at a place in Switzerland called Wengen but they fell off the radar. The Danbys — Ned and Nora’s parents, that is — asked the post office to hold their mail.

“What does that suggest?” Brisbois muttered. “They’re on a side trip? Maybe a hiking expedition?”

Creighton shrugged. “How big is Switzerland anyway? You’d think they could cover the whole thing in a couple of days with a few patrol cars. Hell, you’d think everybody would know everybody else. You’d think they’d notice foreigners.”

Brisbois gave him a long look. “You’ve really got to see more of the world than a beach and a cold one.”

“You’ve been to Switzerland?”

“No, but with all those mountains, the surface area is huge. They’ve got thousands of foreigners around — lots of guest workers from Italy, tourists from elsewhere in Europe and North America — ”

Creighton snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, that’s where Tina Turner went!”

“I’m glad to see you’re up on current events.”

·

Mrs. Millotte was at the desk when the laundryman appeared. She peered at him over her glasses.