Rudley crossed his eyes. “Yes, that’s what I was hoping for.”
Margaret paused in thought. “That cake looks so good I think I’ll have a piece after all.” She took off toward the kitchen, humming.
Chapter Nine
Mrs. Millotte looked up as Tiffany approached the desk, her chin set. She was clutching a roll of toilet paper.
“What’s the matter?”
Tiffany shook her head, suppressing a sob.
Mrs. Millotte regarded her over the top of her glasses. “Want to talk about it?”
Tiffany’s jaw trembled. She nodded and after a moment squeaked out, “Yes.”
“I’m not used to getting a ‘yes’ to that question,” said Mrs. Millotte. “But then I’m usually talking to Russ or the boys.”
“Mr. Bostock insulted me,” Tiffany managed. “He called me a snoop.”
“Why on earth would he call you a snoop?”
Tiffany pressed her lips together, gathering her thoughts. “I was cleaning his bathroom sink when he returned to his cabin. I heard him come in. It was quiet for a minute, then he slammed the door and charged into the bathroom, screaming, ‘What are you doing in my cabin?’ I explained that he hadn’t left out a DND sign so I assumed he wanted his cabin cleaned. He blustered and blundered about, then said that he had put the sign out and accused me of taking it in. I had no way of proving I hadn’t. Then he ordered me out of the cabin. I didn’t even get a chance to restock his toilet tissue.”
“I hope he needs it right away.”
“I tried to apologize for any misunderstanding, but he continued to scream at me. ‘Out, out, out,’ he yelled, then he grabbed me by the arm and practically threw me out the door.”
Mrs. Millotte centred her pen on the ink blotter. “Tiffany, if you would watch the desk, I’ll have a word with Mr. Bostock.”
Mrs. Millotte took the roll of toilet paper from Tiffany and proceeded toward the Pines. She didn’t march, she didn’t rush forward, bellowing and throwing rocks, although that is what she fantasized. She travelled at a brisk, purposeful pace, and when she reached the Pines, she knocked firmly but politely.
After a minute, Mr. Bostock answered. “Yes?”
“I’m Mrs. Millotte. I’m in charge of the inn while Mr. and Mrs. Rudley are away.”
He stared at her.
“Let me get to the point. I hear you were rude to Tiffany, our housekeeper. I won’t have that.”
He blinked. “So what?”
“Tiffany entered your cabin to perform her usual duties. She did not see a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. She’s been doing her job for quite some time and is always careful to look for the sign. But even if on this rare occasion she did make a mistake, there was no reason to get nasty with her. It’s not as if she caught you in a compromising situation.”
He frowned.
“There was no reason to abuse the girl, Mr. Bostock. She works hard and, frankly, you had no right to grab her and throw her out of the cabin.”
“I just took her arm to escort her out.”
“I don’t believe you had any reason to touch her at all. Not without her consent. I believe that could be construed as an assault.”
His jaw dropped. “Now, see here, that’s ridiculous. She was in my cabin, uninvited. I don’t like people going through my things.”
Mrs. Millotte gave him a stern look. “She was cleaning your bathroom.”
He continued to regard her with suspicious eyes. “I don’t want her in here when I’m not here. I don’t want anybody in my cabin when I’m not here.”
“Then perhaps you should leave your DND sign out at all times.”
“Then how do I get my cabin cleaned?”
“Call the desk when you want your cabin attended to and we’ll work out a time.”
He considered a moment. “I guess that’s okay, as long as you stick to it.”
“And I’ll let Tiffany know you regret your outburst.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were going to.” Mrs. Millotte thrust the roll of toilet paper at him and turned back to the inn.
What a queer lot people were, she thought as she walked along. She had worked at the Pleasant since Mr. Bostock was a mere glimmer in his father’s eye and had never known a staff member to pilfer from a guest. Aunt Pearl had a penchant for borrowing small shiny items but only if she were on the owner’s premises at their invitation, and only if the item was in full view. She was like a crow, fascinated by baubles and trinkets. Even then no harm was done. Everyone knew where to look if something went missing. In fact, “lost and found” had become a euphemism for Aunt Pearl’s quarters. Mrs. Millotte told herself to be charitable. Mr. Bostock was probably either naturally mistrustful — which he couldn’t help — or had been taken advantage of once too often. Of course, too, he didn’t know the staff as well as the regular guests did.
Tiffany was sweeping the lobby when Mrs. Millotte returned. She stopped, clutching the broom handle expectantly.
“Mr. Bostock offers his apologies,” said Mrs. Millotte. “He was contrite. He didn’t understand the rules here. He wishes, however, to be in his cabin when any staff are there working. We agreed he would let us know when he wants his room cleaned. Then the two of you can work out whatever’s convenient.” She paused. “I think the man is paranoid.”
“What a terrible way to be.”
“Yes, it’s a pain in the butt. Fortunately, he’s just signed in for two weeks and, if we’re lucky, he’ll never come back.”
Tiffany beamed. “Mrs. Millotte, it was so good of you to stand up for me.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Mrs. Millotte responded briskly. She slipped in behind the desk before Tiffany could hug her.
Displays of gratitude made Mrs. Millotte uncomfortable. And she didn’t expect gratitude anyway. Her parents had taught her to speak up if she saw anyone being bullied or treated unfairly, no matter what the consequences. Even if it meant losing her job. She knew Rudley would back her up. He had no patience with anyone being rude to the staff, except himself.
·
“I’m not surprised Peters elected to drive his own car,” Rudley remarked.
They were on a two-lane highway headed north, bobbing along in a sea of cars, vans, and RVs towing boats and piled high with luggage, bicycles, canoes, and kayaks.
“Nonsense, Rudley, he’s missing the fun.” Margaret cast a bright eye out the window of their van. “Isn’t it exciting? You can sense the anticipation from every seat.”
“I’m anticipating running up the rear end of one of those ludicrous RVs with the bicycles on top and the car in tow if Miss Miller continues to dart in and out of traffic. It’s not as if she were driving a Jag.”
“If she were driving a Jag, we’d be there by now,” Norman piped up.
Miss Miller smiled into the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry. I have excellent vision and reflexes.”
“I thought you couldn’t see a thing without your glasses,” Geraldine ventured.
Miss Miller tapped the rim of her eyeglasses in reply.
“Elizabeth was a Girl Scout,” said Edward. He winced as Elizabeth surged past an eighteen-wheeler and popped back into the driving lane with barely ten feet to spare.
“Got your badge in demolition derby, eh?” Turnbull remarked from the back of the van. He tipped his hat over his eyes.
“You seem very calm,” said Geraldine.
Turnbull smiled. “That’s because I can’t see.”
“That’s probably for the best,” said Rudley.
“No need to worry,” said Miss Miller.
“Elizabeth has excellent eye-hand coordination,” Edward explained.
“I think Miss Miller manages a van as well as she manages a motorboat,” said Norman. “I’ve always admired the way you flirt wit
h the shoal markers.”
“You wouldn’t if you held the insurance,” said Rudley.
Margaret patted his shoulder. “Be nice, Rudley.”
Rudley slumped in his seat. If Miss Miller was going to kill everyone, crashing into an eighteen-wheeler, he could at least take comfort knowing he had left Mrs. Millotte in charge of the Pleasant. She would take news of their demise in a measured way — grieve in the traditional manner, take a half-day to attend the funeral, dress properly in black, then return to the inn and resume her efforts toward its smooth functioning. Though he could trust the others to hold the fort and do their best, he suspected they would close the inn down for at least three days, not only out of propriety, but out of fear they couldn’t maintain the reputation of the Pleasant in their grief.
Except perhaps Lloyd. He would continue to tend the garden while speculating about body parts strewn over the road and sticking to trees and the McDonalds, Next Exit sign. Looking like an axe murderer and fascinated with the macabre, Lloyd seemed ill equipped to run an establishment as sophisticated as the Pleasant. On the other hand, Rudley thought, Lloyd took in everything that went on around the inn, including the intricacies of running the front desk. Still, he preferred Melba as the front man. So he could relax in the knowledge he had left the Pleasant in good hands.
“Rudley, it’s so good to see you enjoying yourself. I knew you would warm up to the adventure.”
“Yes, Margaret.”
A sign for a fast food restaurant and gas station loomed ahead. Miss Miller bounced off the highway and into the parking lot to a collective sigh of relief.
Miss Miller parked the van and pulled out her map. “Eighty kilometres from here, we board the train at Trillium Station,” she announced. “We leave the train here.” She indicated the location on the map.
“At the spot marked X,” Simpson murmured.
“We walk approximately three miles to the confluence of the Swine and Little Beaver, where we meet our guide, who should be there ahead of us with the canoes, tents, etcetera.”
Miss Miller folded the map and handed it to Simpson, who returned it to the glove compartment. She checked her watch. “We’re forty minutes ahead of schedule. Would anyone care for a cup of coffee?”
“We could have some of the scones Gregoire packed for us,” said Margaret.
Turnbull scanned the road and grinned. “I guess we lost Peters. Good move.”
“He knows where we were turning off. He knows what time we’ll be leaving here.”
“If he were travelling the speed limit, he should be along in about twenty minutes,” said Rudley.
Miss Miller smiled sweetly. “Coffee or tea?”
·
Gregoire took the soufflé from the counter and placed it carefully at the centre of the oven, closing the door with a sigh of satisfaction. He turned back to the counter, took out his cutting board, and began to slice an English cucumber. Mr. Bole was performing Lady Chatterley’s Lover with finger puppets for the Benson sisters. The cucumber and watercress sandwiches were meant to set the mood, with a tray of Stilton cheese and crackers, strawberry scones with Devon cream, and Earl Grey tea to enhance it.
The back porch door slammed to the tune of pounding feet. Ned raced into the kitchen followed by Nora with a water pistol.
Gregoire turned white. “My soufflé!”
Ned ducked into the pantry just as Nora let loose with a spray of water, which hit Gregoire. Water dripping off his wilted cap, he turned just as Ned ducked out of the pantry and aimed his gun at Nora. Once again, Gregoire got caught in the crossfire.
It was this scene Tim came upon, tripping lightly into the kitchen carrying a tray of glasses for the dishwasher. Nora turned her water pistol toward Tim.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tim warned.
Nora grinned, her finger on the trigger.
“I’d just like to remind you that I serve your food. A lot can happen to your food between the kitchen and your table.”
Nora’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare. We’ll tell Grandma and Grandpa on you.”
Tim shrugged. “Grandpa and Grandma love me. Now, get out of the kitchen. It’s against public health regulations to have little pigs in a place where food is prepared.”
Nora looked to Ned. “Let’s go.” She stroked the barrel of the gun. “We’ll get you later.”
“They’ll get us later,” Tim mimicked. He flipped a lock of hair off his forehead, then adjusted his tie. “No wonder their parents ran off to Europe with only the vaguest directions on how they might be located.” He took a new tray and placed four old-fashioned glasses on it. “They’re probably not coming back. They never intended to come back. They saw a chance to escape and they took it.”
Gregoire looked through the oven window. “They are lucky they didn’t make my soufflé lopsided. I would have killed them for that.”
Tim searched for a bottle of Glenlivet and a bottle of soda. “You know what will happen if their parents have taken a permanent vacation?”
“I suppose they would go to live with one of their aunts or uncles.” Gregoire opened a bin of flour.
“Wrong.” Tim filled a bowl with ice cubes. “The little dears would come to live with their grandparents — Walter and Doreen Sawchuck, the only relatives who can stand them and the only reason they can stand them is they are so good at ignoring what the kids are doing.”
Gregoire looked at him askance.
“The Sawchucks spend half their time here,” Tim prompted.
Gregoire’s eyes widened. “That will not happen. If the parents are not back as planned, I will go looking for them myself.” He took a pastry board, rolled out the dough he had set aside for his pinwheels, spread the dough with butter, then removed a container of fruit and nut filling from the refrigerator. Halfway through spreading the filling onto the dough, he stopped and peered at his handiwork. “What is that?”
Tim looked over his shoulder. “It looks like gravel.”
Gregoire balled up the mess and tossed it into the garbage. “If I hear one chuckle out of you, you will eat that!”
“Not as much as a smile.” Tim took his tray and backed out of the kitchen. He strode out onto the veranda, put the tray down on Aunt Pearl’s table, sank down in the chair beside her, and exploded in laughter.
Once he stopped laughing, he told her what had happened.
“I know it isn’t funny, but those kids put gravel into Gregoire’s fruit and nut filling. They ruined his pinwheels. But you should have seen the expression on his face!”
Aunt Pearl picked up one of the glasses from the tray and took a slug. “If I were him I would have served it up to them for supper. Anyone else would. Gregoire is too ethical to do that, too proud of his culinary accomplishments. If Mr. Cadeau were here, he would have taken them out to the garden and stood over them while they ate their fill.”
Tim nodded. “They’re brats. And there’s no point in complaining to the Sawchucks. They apologize for the kids and ask that the damages be added to their bill. I have the feeling they have a special fund set aside to pay off people the kids have offended.”
“There’s a lot to be said for not having children. Winnie and I had Margaret. We agreed that a niece was plenty and she has been just like a daughter. She was a spirited kid, but never like those two.”
“They’re sadistic,” Tim said, watching Pearl take a pack of cards from her purse. “Who are the unlucky marks this afternoon?”
“Whoever wanders by. My regulars all have other business to attend to at the moment.”
“Meaning they’re all tired of getting fleeced.”
Pearl smiled. “Fortunately, there’s always a few innocents.”
Tim gave her a long look. “Are you cheating again?”
“Not so you’d notice.” Pearl began to arrange the c
ards on the table. “I’ll just play a few hands of solitaire until someone shows up.”
“What about all this whisky?”
She gave him a smile. “Don’t worry, dear, I think I can handle that.”
“When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
Pearl patted her lips with a tissue, leaving a smear of Sweet Conquest. “Rudley is such a killjoy.”
“Has he figured out that when he dilutes the whisky you switch bottles on him?”
She patted his arm. “Not yet, dear.”
A sudden shriek turned their attention to the lawn where Ned was chasing Nora, waving a bullfrog. Tim jumped up and ran down the steps. He cut in front of Ned, sending him sprawling. The bullfrog flew off in the direction of the marsh.
Ned glared at Tim. “You knocked me down.”
“I didn’t lay a hand on you. You tripped.” Tim gestured toward Aunt Pearl on the veranda. “I have a witness.”
Ned screwed up his face. “That old bat couldn’t see an elephant if it sat on her.”
Tim hunkered down so he was eye to eye with Ned. “I don’t want to hear you refer to Miss Dutton that way again.”
“I’ll tell Grandpa you were rude to me.”
Tim lowered his voice. “You can tell Grandpa anything you want. One other thing, if I catch you pestering the frogs or any other living creature around here, you don’t want to know what could happen to you.”
Ned gave him an uncertain look.
“Any problem here?” Mr. Bole came down the path.
“No, Mr. Bole, everything is quite copacetic,” Tim replied, standing and straightening his vest. He marched back to the inn.
“He threatened me,” Ned said.
“Good for him.” Mr. Bole smiled and headed toward the dock.
Turnbull took the coffee Miss Miller passed around. “May I have the keys?” he said to her.
“Planning to leave?”
“No, I just want to catch the sports news. I have a running bet with one of my law school buddies: How many errors did the Blue Jays make last night.”
She handed him the keys. With his other hand, Mr. Turnbull took the scone Margaret offered and climbed into the van.
Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant Page 8
