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

‘visitors.’”
    “Oh, that’s all right. You can move it to its assigned space later.”
    “Fine.”
    “Do you happen to know the plate number?”
    He recited it. “I’ll move the car now.”
    “Why don’t you leave it where it is for now? If you leave your keys, the staff can move it, if needed, while we’re away.”
    “I’m taking the car with me.”
    Margaret hesitated. “You can, of course. But we’ve rented a large van. There’ll be plenty of room.”
    “I get sick on buses and vans.”
    Rudley crossed his eyes. Margaret said, “I understand completely. I had that problem when I was a child.”
    Peters didn’t respond; he just stared at the key in his hand.
    “Would you like some help with your luggage?” Margaret continued.
    Before he could answer, Turnbull came out of the dining room, carrying a large piece of cake. “No rule against taking food out of the dining room?” he asked as they glanced his way.
    “Not at all,” Margaret responded. “Mr. Turnbull, this is Mr. Peters. He’ll be with us on our adventure.”
    Turnbull smiled. “Sure. Eric Turnbull.”
    Peters nodded vaguely.
    “Lunch is being served in the dining room,” Rudley said to Peters whose eyes sought the floor.
    “Oh?” Peters seemed to come out of his trance. He looked at his key and headed up the stairs.
    Turnbull took a bite of his cake. “Now that is one seriously weird dude. He looks as if he escaped from a freak show. You could drive a train through those nostrils.”
    “Well…” Rudley began.
    “Mr. Turnbull,” Margaret broke in, “why don’t you finish your cake on the veranda?”
    Turnbull shrugged and ambled out as suggested.
    “Mr. Turnbull’s remarks were uncalled for,” Margaret said when the man was out of earshot.
    “You have to admit, Margaret, Peters does have large nostrils.”
    “He has a slightly upturned nose.”
    “And his ears, they’re almost at the same level as his mouth.”
    “Nonsense, Rudley, it’s an illusion. He has a high forehead.”
    “Yes, it does go on and on. If he had any hair it would help.”
    “Rudley,” Margaret said impatiently, “he has hair. It’s just very fine and pale.”
    “And thin. Perhaps he could grow a beard. It would even things out.”
    “It’s cruel to make fun of someone’s appearance.”
    “You’re right, Margaret, it is.” Rudley gestured toward the veranda. “I don’t think we’ve ever had two such disparate types check in on the same day.”
    “It was bound to happen, Rudley. Statistically speaking.” Margaret smiled. “I think it’s a good omen for our adventure.”
    “How so?”
    “A variety of personalities creates a stimulating environment.”
    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