Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant (20 page)

Kate spoke. “Why, they’re with Hiram.”

“Hiram?”

“Our driver.”

“And where is Hiram?”

“He’s in Ottawa. He and the children are in a safe house.”

“A safe house?”

“It belongs to friends of ours. From Daddy’s days in the diplomatic corps,” said Kate.

“He was a spy,” Louise added.

“So,” Brisbois began, seeking to make sense of what he’d learned, “Hiram drove the kids to the safe house in Ottawa…”

“No,” Kate responded. “Hiram took them in his boat. After the children told us their story, we called him. He waited until the inn was dark, then picked them up at the dock.”

“In his boat?”

“Yes,” said Kate, “Hiram owns an island on the lake.”

“Ladies, if Hiram owns an island on the lake why is he still employed as your chauffeur?”

The sisters looked surprised, as if they’d never considered the question before.

“He always has been, Detective,” Emma replied. “I can’t imagine he can do anything else.”

“Who do you think sent the ransom note?” said Louise.

“Probably the children,” said Emma. “Perhaps to add veracity to their plight.” She gave Brisbois an apologetic look. “We gave the children their pictures in a Chantilly Lace envelope. We told a fib about that because we didn’t want to betray the children.”

“Ladies, if you wanted to make sure the kids were protected, why didn’t you call social services?”

Emma gave him a disdainful look. “Nobody pays any attention to what children say.”

“Or old people,” said Louise.

Brisbois took out his pen, jabbed at his notebook. “We’re going to need that address, ladies.”

·

Brisbois faced Ned and Nora across the table. He and Creighton had driven to Ottawa through heavy traffic and managed to get lost in the neighbourhood, looking for the safe house. Brisbois was in a foul mood when they arrived to find the kids glued to a television set.

“And you did this why?”

“Because we were bored,” Nora said without a trace of remorse.

“Because we were bored,” Brisbois repeated tonelessly. “You were in a great place on the lake with boating, fishing, hiking and you were bored.”

They shrugged. “They didn’t have the Internet.”

“They didn’t have the Internet,” Brisbois echoed, suppressing his fury with difficulty. “Do you have any idea how much this prank of yours cost?”

“It’s your job, isn’t it?” Ned regarded Brisbois boldly, folding his arms over his chest. “What else do you have to do out there in the sticks?”

“Plenty,” Brisbois said. “We had officers working overtime, coming in on their days off, harassing innocent civilians — all because they were worried about two missing kids. We had Interpol scouring the Alps for your parents. If that isn’t bad enough, you worried your grandparents.”

“Those old farts aren’t worried about anything but their bowels.” Ned sneered. “They wouldn’t have noticed us gone if someone hadn’t told them.”

“Do your grandparents have any other grandchildren?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” Brisbois jotted in his notebook. “On top of everything else, you took advantage of the kindness of three old ladies. They believed you,” he growled in response to their flippant shrugs. “And they broke the law to help you.”

“They’re just crazy,” Nora yawned.

“No, they have great imaginations. Maybe they were a little bored, too, but they’re not crazy.”

“Are you going to lock them up?” Nora asked.

“None of your business.”

“We didn’t mean to make it such a big deal,” Ned backtracked. “It was just for fun.”

“Yeah,” Brisbois murmured as he scribbled in his notebook, “just for fun.”

“Can we go now?” Nora asked.

He glanced up. “Are you kidding? We’re waiting for social services. They’ll be in charge of you until we can locate your parents.”

“But grandma and grandpa are responsible for us,” Nora whined.

“Didn’t one of you say your grandparents aren’t concerned about anything but their bowels? I’m afraid you’re out of their hands at present.”

Nora slumped in her chair. “The story was just supposed to be for fun. We didn’t think those old bats were going to call somebody to take us to a safe house.”

“We just thought we’d get to stay with them and watch movies and play games for a couple of days,” Ned groused. He paused, then asked hopefully, “when Mom and Dad get back, I guess we’ll be going home with them, right?”

“That,” he told the twins with a smile, “is up to the judge.”

“Rudley, what time is it?”

“Early,” Rudley murmured.

Margaret unzipped her sleeping bag and fumbled about for her watch. She held it up, her eyes widening. “Rudley, it’s going on six o’clock.”

“I can live with that.”

“Well, I’ve slept in. I should be helping with the breakfast.” She wriggled into her clothes and took off down the rise to find Miss Miller at the campfire, emptying coffee grounds from the pot.

“I slept in,” Margaret greeted her. “I wanted to be getting breakfast on.”

“Edward and I got up just a few minutes ago,” Miss Miller said. “The coffee was already on, boiling furiously. The handle was so hot I had to get a towel to take the pot off the grill. The coffee had almost boiled away.”

“I’ll rinse out the pot and make some fresh.”

“It’s all right. I can do it. It just seems odd for Gil to put the coffee on, then wander off and leave us all asleep with the fire burning.”

“He’s usually such a stickler for safety,” Margaret agreed.

“Edward thought he might have gone fishing at the shore.” Miss Miller pointed toward Simpson who was looking up and down the lake with a pair of binoculars. “But his canoe’s gone.”

Geraldine and Norman joined them. “I’m afraid we slept in,” Norman said. “We’ve gotten used to Gil giving us a call.”

“We all slept in,” said Margaret. “Perhaps he thought we needed the rest.”

Geraldine scanned the shoreline. “Is Gil off getting us some fish?”

“He’s taken the canoe out,” said Miss Miller.

Norman’s face sagged in disappointment. “He told me whenever he took the canoe out fishing, he’d take me with him.”

“He must have forgotten, dear.”

Simpson came back up the rise, said good morning, and put his binoculars aside. “I didn’t see a sign of him, Elizabeth.”

“Nothing?”

“Perhaps he’s tucked in behind that ledge.”

The coffee was on and beginning to perk. Miss Miller opened one of the food containers. “Is everyone up for pan johnnycake?”

“We could have it with dried fruit and desiccated bacon,” said Geraldine, as Rudley joined them.

“Gil’s not back from wherever,” Margaret told him. “We’re going to be late getting underway.”

“Perhaps we could break down the tents and pack up our gear,” Simpson suggested. “That way we won’t be too much off schedule.”

Norman, Rudley, and Simpson went off to see about the tents. Norman stopped at Turnbull’s tent and tried a loon call to rouse him. After several avian variations, Turnbull stuck his head out the flap.

“You can cut it out anytime” he said.

Norman grinned. “I always think it’s nice to wake up to the birds.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Breakfast should be ready soon,” Norman continued. “We’re running a little late this morning. We’re getting our gear ready to travel.”

“What time is it?”

Norman looked at his watch. “Almost six-thirty. We’ve got to get the tents down, get our gear packed and ready for the canoes, and clean up the campsite.” He paused at Turnbull’s annoyed expression. “So if you could get your things together, Mr. Turnbull, we can have breakfast and be underway as soon as possible.”

“I think I’ll get dressed first, thanks.” Turnbull retreated into his tent.

“By all means,” Norman murmured. He went on to Peters’s tent. “Mr. Peters?” He tried his jay and cardinal calls to no avail. “If Mr. Peters doesn’t want to get up, he won’t get any breakfast,” he remarked to Rudley who came by lugging a tent and a duffel bag.

“I can’t see that happening,” said Rudley.

“I agree.” Norman quickened his pace to match Rudley’s longer strides. “Mrs. Rudley wouldn’t let anyone get away without breakfast.” He inhaled deeply. “I can smell the cornbread. That should have Peters up momentarily.”

They stashed the gear at the riverbank. Simpson had arrived ahead of them and was once again scanning the river.

“Any sign of Gil?” Norman asked.

Simpson shook his head.

“Let’s see how breakfast is progressing,” said Rudley.

Miss Miller was apportioning the cornbread when they returned to the campfire.

“No sign of Gil yet,” Simpson told her.

“Mr. Peters is still asleep,” said Norman. “I couldn’t rouse him.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, heading to Peters’s tent.

She returned in a minute. “He’s not there!”

·

The campers stood at the shore, gear packed and ready, scanning the terrain.

Finally, Turnbull broke the silence. “I don’t think they’re coming.”

“Something terrible must have happened to them,” said Margaret.

“Maybe they just got fed up and went home.”

“We need to go look for them.” Miss Miller ignored Turnbull’s remark. “We’ll divide into teams, two downstream and two upstream, one on each side.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ll meet back here in half an hour.”

“Why don’t we just pack up our canoes and head downstream?’ Turnbull said. “Otherwise, we’re just wasting time.”

“Because they might have gone upstream,” said Miss Miller.

“I think he took Peters fishing,” said Norman.

They broke into teams, Norman and Geraldine going upstream with Miss Miller and Simpson, the others downstream.

“Well,” said Turnbull as he dipped his paddle in the water, “Here’s nothing.”

“I know something terrible has happened to the boys,” Margaret fretted as she and Rudley eased into their canoe.

“I’m sure they’re fine, Margaret. They probably swamped their canoe and are waiting for us to rescue them.”

“Oh, I hope so, Rudley.”

·

“What do you think that is, Norman?” Geraldine adjusted her binoculars. “I can’t seem to get a good fix on it from here.”

Norman raised his binoculars and stared off into the trees. “It’s an eastern kingbird.”

“No, no.” Geraldine pointed over his shoulder. “There, near that log.”

“Oh.” Norman squinted. “It’s a shoe.” He swept the binoculars to the left. “But if you look closely, Geraldine, in the shallows by that rock, you’ll see a nice pair of mallards.”

She focused on the shoe. “What do you think a shoe would be doing here, Norman?”

Norman had his binoculars fixed on the ducks. “Probably the same thing large quantities of plastic bags are doing in the Sargasso Sea. The detritus of the human animal is widespread.” He frowned. “There’s also a hat.”

·

“So,” said Brisbois, looking up from the paperwork on his desk, “do we know what we’re doing?”

“Don’t we always?”

“Sum it up for me just to make sure.”

Creighton rolled his shoulders. “Well, we have two very bad kids sending us on a wild goose chase. We have an incorrigible who’s really just a scared kid living off his wits — which, in his case, isn’t much to live off, if you ask me.”

“The waitress in Lowerton picked Johnny Adams out of the lineup right away,” Brisbois said. “So what are we left with?”

“Three old ladies and their driver who will probably get a stern talking to.”

“And well they should.” Brisbois picked up the latest stack of notes, slid half of it across the desk to Creighton, and picked up the phone. “So now we can get back to following up leads on our John Doe.”

·

Reconvened on shore, the campers examined Norman and Geraldine’s find.

“That’s Gil’s hat,” said Norman. “His name is on the sweat band.”

“And I’m sure this is his shoe,” Geraldine added.

“They must have had an accident,” said Norman.

“Perhaps the canoe capsized and they had to swim to shore,” said Geraldine. “You could lose a hat and shoe that way.”

“In that case, they should have made it back by now,” said Rudley. “Unless…”

“Unless they were injured and are wandering around in a daze,” Margaret worried.

“We need to get help.” Miss Miller surveyed the campsite. “Has anyone seen the satellite phone?”

“It should be with Gil’s belongings.” Simpson walked over and began to sort through their guide’s gear.

“He keeps it in that waterproof case.” Norman pointed to a padded bag.

Simpson opened it. “It’s not here.”

“Perhaps he took the phone with him,” said Norman.

“I guess,” Turnbull said, “if Gil sunk the canoe, we’re sunk too.”

“Well,” said Rudley after a moment’s silence, “you’ve realized your dream, Margaret. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, incommunicado.”

“The location of the hat and shoe would appear to confirm Gil and Peters went downstream,” Miss Miller said. “I think our only option is to continue downstream and keep looking.”

“That’s sensible,” said Norman.

“What if they make it back here and find us missing?” Margaret asked.

“We could leave a trail of breadcrumbs.” Turnbull caught their disapproving looks and said, “Look, they’re probably fine. That idiot Peters, probably tipped the canoe and…” He trailed off as Margaret frowned.

“We’ll leave a note,” she said. “We should leave most of our gear here.”

“Yes, we’ll need to travel light in case we find them,” added Geraldine.

“We’ll bring the essentials,” Miss Miller said. “Food, water treatment paraphernalia, matches, minimal fishing equipment, Swiss Army knives, first aid kit, binoculars. Edward and I will lead the way.”

Turnbull snickered. “What a shock.”

“Miss Miller is the logical choice,” said Margaret. “She’s the most accomplished canoeist and most likely to recognize hazards and alert the party.”

“I’m not exactly chopped liver,” said Turnbull.

Miss Miller studied him a moment. “You’re right,” she said finally. “Mr. Turnbull and I will take the lead.”

“Okay.” Turnbull grabbed his life jacket and headed toward the canoes.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Elizabeth?” Simpson frowned.

“I think it’s the best plan, Edward. Mr. Turnbull has proven to be an accomplished canoeist.”

“I’d feel better if I were with you.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I need you to look after the others.”

“Will do.” Simpson gestured to Turnbull, who was stowing his knapsack in the canoe. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, “do you trust that man?”

“Not entirely.” She smiled. “He’s a jackass, but I can handle him.”

·

The door to Brisbois’ office opened and an officer peeked in. “We’ve got something on your John Doe.” He handed Brisbois a slip of paper. “A lady called in. She wants you to contact her right away.”

Brisbois noted the number the officer had jotted down. “New Hampshire?”

“Vermont.”

“Thanks.” Brisbois picked up the phone. “We’ll get on it right away.”

·

The banks of the river grew higher the farther downstream they paddled. Five hundred yards along, the river narrowed and the current quickened. Leaves, twigs, strips of bark and dead reeds joined their canoe procession. Suddenly, Turnbull shouted, “Look, ahead to your right.”

Turning her head, Miss Miller caught sight of a bright orange object snagged on a tree root.

“It’s a lifejacket,” Turnbull said.

“Hold steady.” Miss Miller grabbed the binoculars, took a quick look, then scanned the horizon.

“I don’t see anything else.”

“We’ll have to go in.”

“Are you kidding? They got themselves into this mess. Are you going to risk all those old duffers trying to rescue them?” Turnbull gestured back of their canoe where the others lagged a hundred yards back.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “No, I’m not. We’re going to paddle back and set them out on their portage. Then we’ll go on by canoe.” She paused. “If you’re up to it.”

“You’re not the only one who can paddle a canoe. What’s up ahead is a piece of cake compared to what I’ve done.”

“Good. Paddle in the water, Mr. Turnbull.”

·

The others listened as Miss Miller laid out the plan. She and Turnbull would continue by canoe downstream through the rough water. The others would go back upstream, portage, and meet them downstream at the shallows past the rapids.

“You may need to go back three-quarters of a mile before you land the canoes,” Miss Miller said.

“That far?” Norman asked.

“Unless you want to climb the cliff with three canoes, Norman,” Rudley said.

“What if we get to the shallows first?”

“I think that will happen only if we leave the canoes and run like hell, Norman,” Rudley remarked.

“Or if Miss Miller and I end up smashed to little pieces on the rocks.” Turnbull grinned at Norman’s horrified expression. “Hey, that’s not going to happen. I can handle water like that in my sleep.”

After a silence, Edward said, “At the shallows, then.”

“At the shallows,” Miss Miller saluted her husband. “Paddle in the water, Mr. Turnbull.”

·

The river took a sharp bend around the scrubbed grey cliffs, narrowed further, and began to drop. As they navigated their canoe through the foaming waters and around jutting boulders, Miss Miller scanned the water and the shoreline. She half expected to find Peters slung over a limb of the one of the trees teetering toward the water, his eyes gouged out like a modern-day Percival, with Gil reduced to a frozen claw stretching out of the water.

Suddenly a bird swooped low in front of the canoe, treaded water, then shot high into the air. She followed its precipitous climb and caught sight of someone clinging to the cliff. “Look,” she called to Turnbull and pointed. “Up there!”

Turnbull grabbed his binoculars. “It’s Peters!” he shouted. “What did he do? Climb most of the way up before he realized he was afraid of heights?”

They paddled to shore as fast as the choppy water allowed. Jumping out onto a low ledge, Miss Miller quickly secured the canoe and assessed the cliff. “We can scale this easily enough,” she said, pointing. “It’s only about thirty feet high here and there are plenty of crevices.”

She started up the rock wall, Turnbull following and fussing as the gritty surface abraded his knees.

After several minutes of strenuous climbing, they reached Peters who lay pressed against the cliff, holding on for dear life.

“It’s going to be all right,” Miss Miller manoeuvered beside him. “We’ve got you.”

“My boot’s caught,” Peters groaned.