Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant by Judith Alguire Page A

handed her the key. “As always.”
    He sighed. Miss Miller and Mr. Simpson — a lovely young couple, he thought. Refreshing after the last two boobs who had signed in. He’d known them for three years, since they had arrived separately, he a graduate student at the University of Toronto, via London, England, and she a young librarian. They had been inseparable since. Miss Miller was brave, cool-headed, and imaginative. Mr. Simpson was a lovely, kind-hearted young man who had been besotted with Miss Miller at first sight. Having Miss Miller on the trip would ensure, at least, that any emergency would be well in hand.
    Miss Miller had developed into a freelance writer who travelled the world in search of unique stories for The Star . She had had some fascinating experiences — he reminded himself to ask her about her trip to Baja California. Mr. Simpson taught at the university and wrote learned tomes. In spite of their life of adventure, the couple continued to find their way back to the Pleasant on a regular basis. Of course, no experience could hold a candle to those at the Pleasant. More murders per square foot than any place on earth — a fact Rudley would prefer to ignore, but Miss Miller showed quite an instinct for solving homicide cases. Better than that twit of a detective, Brisbois, he considered, or that dandy, Detective Creighton, neither of whom could recognize a clue if they fell over one. He smiled. There was one bright spot about being away. He could be sure that for seven days he wouldn’t see either of them.
    “Wonderful young couple,” Rudley remarked to Margaret.
    “Yes,” she said. “I can’t wait to hear about their trip to Baja California. It looks so dusty on the maps.”
    “Indeed,” Rudley murmured.
    Margaret uttered a sigh of contentment. “Rudley, at four o’clock tomorrow morning we’ll be off. Our gear is packed. Our itinerary is set. The van is topped up and tuned up. Our guide has confirmed our meeting place, the canoes, and equipment. Mrs. Millotte will be here at the crack of dawn to relieve you. The extended forecast suggests we’ll have prefect conditions. Pleasant temperatures, minimal cloud cover, no precipitation.”
    “Sounds like a walk in the park, Margaret.”
    “The terrain will be sufficiently challenging for those who desire such and pleasant for those who prefer something more relaxing.”
    Like myself, he thought. He let Margaret rattle on about the preparations. Why did people feel they had to go out into the wilderness to be challenged? Life was challenging enough where you found it. It was a challenge, for instance, to hold reality together every day for a group of ninnies fighting to let go of it. He had no desire for a vacation; being on vacation always made him feel at loose ends. He loved the Pleasant — sixty acres of Eden, beautiful lake, splendid woods, thriving collection of anurans. He paused. Anurans. He’d have to remind Tim about the frogs.
    When he and Margaret took the key from Mr. MacIntyre almost thirty years ago, he felt as if he’d at last arrived, the way a nursery sapling might when finally tipped out of its pot and planted firmly in its permanent home. Like that sapling, his roots were now sunk deep in the soil and stretched out the width of the tree canopy.
    His reverie was broken by Miss Miller and Mr. Simpson coming back down the stairs and turning toward the dining room.
    Miss Miller waved to Rudley and Margaret. “Join us when you can,” she called out.
    Margaret was about to look for Tiffany to take the desk when the door opened and a young man with a bag and a backpack entered. He looked around uncertainly. Margaret smiled. “You must be Mr. Peters.”
    He approached the desk. “Yes, Vern Peters.”
    She offered him the register. “If you’ll sign here please. You’re in room 309.”
    He signed carefully and turned the register back toward her.
    “Do you have a car here?”
    He frowned. “I parked it where it said