Pleasantly Dead Read Free

Gumby,” said Tim.
    “Except he has that little pin of a head. Although, I suppose it’s ample to hold the brains he possesses.”
    “Maybe he’ll look better when he fills out.”
    “No, he won’t. He’ll always be an ugly snot. With any luck, he’ll fall off that damned thing and drown.”
    “We can only hope, boss.”
    “Yes.” The thought calmed Rudley. He returned to his work.
    The Sawchucks had been rowing out to join Phipps-Walker who was dozing in his rowboat, a pillow tucked behind his head, his fishing rod, loose in his hand, dipping in and out of the water with each breath. He was trying to ignore the sound of the jet ski that was threatening to destroy his nap.
    Garrett Thomas was thirty feet away, casting out with studied precision. He was a trim man with a neat moustache and eyes like blue marbles. The kid dashing about on his jet ski was getting on his nerves. It took a lot to do that. He was a lawyer by profession, a cool customer.
    He reeled his line in and took up his binoculars. He could see the Sawchucks cowering in their boat like two large frightened mice before a leering cat. “You have no manners, young man,” he muttered. “Precious little compassion either.” He took up an oar, manoeuvred himself closer to the Sawchucks, glancing at Phipps-Walker who had put his rod down and was holding the pillow over his ears.
    Jason Turner whipped past, turned for another assault. Thomas scowled and prepared his rod.
    The Mepps Comet lure caught Jason in the backside. Thomas set the line, pulling away a generous swatch of electric-blue wet suit. He reeled his catch in and dropped it into the bottom of the boat.
    Jason made a bare-bottomed run for home, shouting over the roar of the jet ski, “You old fool, you old bastard. My father will…”
    “If I have to pay for your wet suit, it will be worth it,” Thomas muttered. He checked his lure and cast out.
    The Sawchucks waved their thanks. Phipps-Walker gave him a thumbs up and relaxed back into his pillow.
    Rudley glared at the grandmother clock. “That damned clock has stopped.”
    “It has,” Tim said.
    “What in hell time…” Rudley peered at his watch. His eyes widened. “The laundry truck!” He stuck the laundry list into his back pocket and galloped out the front door and down the steps.
    He ran down the driveway, took a furtive look around, then began to search the driveway, bent at the waist, eyes riveted to the ground.
    “There you are.” He straightened, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ve told you time and time again not to come up here. It’s bloody dangerous.” He bent again, picked up the bullfrog, and headed for the reeds to the right of the dock. “I don’t know why you won’t stay here. It’s quite congenial for one of your type.” He looked up at the sound of a motor. “Now, if I’d left you up there, you’d have ended up a large unpleasant squish on that man’s tire.” He put the bullfrog down. “My feet are sloshing wet. I want you to stay here from now on.” He scampered back to the driveway to confront the truck driver.
    “I want a dozen extra towels this trip,” he shouted as the laundryman came down from the truck. He waved the crumpled laundry list. “You shorted me last time.”
    The laundryman peered at the paper. “It’s signed off, Rudley.”
    “I didn’t sign a damned thing.”
    “Mrs. Rudley signed it. Right there.”
    Rudley grabbed the paper back, stared hard. Sure enough, there were Margaret’s elegant initials on the lower right-hand corner.
    The laundryman smiled. “Relax, Rudley, the missus and I recognized the error when we counted out.” He took out a packet and showed Rudley the attached note. “I brought the extras today as promised. As we agreed, Mrs. Rudley and I.”
    “Why didn’t you say so before I made a fool of myself?”
    “It’s settled now.” The laundryman tittered. “You could say it all came out in the wash.”
    Rudley rolled his eyes.
    “If you