Judith Alguire - Rudley 02 - The Pumpkin Murders Read Free

to his bedside table and took out a battered leather notebook. He headed for the kitchen with Adolph in tow, tucking the book under his chin while he dialed the number. “Could I speak to Gregoire, please?”

Chapter Three
     
    The phone rang. Margaret glanced at the clock. Five minutes to ten. She shrugged and picked up the phone. “Pleasant Inn. Yes? When would you be wanting it? Tomorrow? Oh, I understand. I often do things on impulse myself.” She turned the register to face her. “Let’s see. Chalet or main inn? Chalet? We have the Oaks. Yes, it’s available for a week. Oh.”
    Margaret ran a finger down the page. “Sorry, the Oaks is only available this week. Someone who especially wanted an unrestricted lake view reserved for next week. But we could start you at the Oaks and move you to the High Birches. It will be free by then and you could have it as long as you want.” She smiled. “It’s decided then. Oh, I mustn’t forget to take your name. Yes, thank you. We look forward to your arrival.” She hung up and wrote, Professor David Wyler: Oaks.
    Aunt Pearl was supposed to move back to the High Birches as soon as the newlyweds left but she wouldn’t mind staying in her room in the main inn a little longer. She was a good sport. Refusing a guest wouldn’t have been appropriate. It wasn’t the money. It just seemed wrong to turn someone away. She and Rudley had been known to camp out in the office to accommodate a guest during high season. The bunkhouse had a spare room. It was cheerful and homey. But she didn’t like to impose a guest on the staff. They were family, but they deserved their privacy.
    The family. She would be glad when Tim got back. It wasn’t that she minded waiting tables in his stead — she did that when the inn was hectic anyway — but she missed him. The Pleasant wasn’t the same without him.
    Rudley hammered down the steps and threw himself over the desk, exasperated.
    “Any luck, Rudley?”
    He glared past her at the wall. “It was not a mouse, Margaret. Mrs. Sawchuck needs to have her glasses checked. It was one of her hair curlers.”
    “Couldn’t her husband see it wasn’t a mouse?”
    “Walter could and he did, Margaret. Doreen thought he was just trying to reassure her. When I showed her the curler, she insisted the mouse must have scurried under the bed.”
    “Did you look under the bed?”
    “Under the bed, under the bureau, in the closet. If that cat of yours was worth her salt, it would give the guests confidence.”
    “It’s not her calling, Rudley.” Margaret gestured toward Albert, who lay sprawled across the rug, tongue lolling, legs bicycling. “No more than keeping watch is for Albert.”
    He gave the dog a mournful look. “It seemed a good idea at the time. I thought he might develop into the role.”
    “He’s a sweet dog, Rudley. Would you rather have him snapping at the guests?”
    “Depends on which of the guests you’re referring to.”
    “I’m sure if someone broke in during the night, he’d sound the alarm.”
    “Not unless the intruder tripped over him.” Rudley looked up as the door opened. “Officer Owens, what in hell are you doing here?”
    The young patrolman paused and glanced around. “I have a couple of tickets to the police banquet.”
    “That’s a strange thing to be doing at this time of night. Selling tickets.”
    “I’m not selling them. I was just going by…” Owens looked to Margaret.
    Margaret came to his rescue. “Were you looking for someone to accompany you?”
    He blushed. “Yes.”
    “When is the event?”
    “Next month. The twelfth.” He paused. “There’ll be a band.”
    She smiled. “Leave it with me, officer.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Rudley.” He backed away, narrowly missing Albert, who had chosen that moment to roll over.
    Rudley shook his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t volunteer me, Margaret.”
    She gave him an annoyed look. “Don’t be absurd, Rudley. Officer Owens was hoping