Pleasantly Dead Read Free Page B

Apologize, Rudley. ”
    “ When hell freezes over. ”
    That frosty image depressed him.
    He reached under the counter and took out a battered package of Benson & Hedges. He turned his back to the sign that said “No Smoking, Maximum Penalty, $2,000,” and lit up. He was standing there, trailing smoke through his nostrils when Tiffany reappeared. She stared at him, chin quivering.
    “Now,” he said, “I suppose you’re going to tell me there’s a dead body down there.”

Chapter Four
    As it turned out, it wouldn’t have mattered if Rudley had killed the spider. A tornado could have picked up the Pleasant and deposited it in Oz. Once the police arrived, all hope for a normal day was lost.
    Gregoire had planned a to-die-for linguini with a crisp Caesar salad for lunch. With all the fuss, no one could tell him when he would be allowed to serve the meal. He fumed. In such matters, timing was everything.
    The uniformed officers arrived first, followed by the crime scene van. The forensics team had barely unloaded their gear before Detectives Michel Brisbois and Chester Creighton pulled up in their dusty unmarked Ford. Brisbois had the round, rumpled look of a mid-career high-school teacher. Creighton was a tall, thin man with a Dick Tracy sharpness.
    Brisbois went over the scene with forensics, then directed Creighton to assemble the guests and staff in the lounge. After posting Officer Stan Ruskay at the entrance with strict orders to detain anyone who set foot on the property, he entered the lounge and closed the door.
    He took a picture from his pocket. “I’m going to pass this picture around,” he said, indicating a Polaroid of the victim. “I’m hoping somebody will recognize this guy.” He paused. “This is a murder investigation. I expect your cooperation.”
    He passed the photograph to Creighton, who handed it to Geraldine Phipps-Walker.
    Mrs. Phipps-Walker took out her reading glasses, brought the photograph close to her nose, and shook her head. “He looks rather startled, doesn’t he?”
    Brisbois rocked back on his heels. “This isn’t a movie set. That isn’t Tom Hanks. That man is dead. He isn’t an actor. He isn’t a mannequin. He isn’t a pencil salesman who wandered in here and had a heart attack. He’s a human being and someone killed him. He deserves our respect. A little regret wouldn’t be out of order either.”
    Mrs. Phipps-Walker shrugged and passed the photograph to Thomas. Thomas studied it for a moment, frowned, and handed it to Mr. Phipps-Walker. “No.”
    “Sorry, Detective,” Mr. Phipps-Walker said.
    “Nothing to be sorry about. If you don’t recognize him, that’s that.”
    Simpson took the photograph, studied it solemnly. “I’m afraid not, Detective.” He passed the picture to Miss Miller.
    “He’s quite ordinary looking, isn’t he?”
    The Sawchucks held the picture together, shaking their heads and tut-tutting. “We can’t help you, sir,” Mr. Sawchuck said at last.
    Rudley looked at the photograph and then handed it to Tiffany.
    “Nothing to say, Rudley?”
    “No.”
    Tiffany shuddered.
    “Does he look familiar, miss?”
    “No, but with a murder happening directly beneath us, are we safe?”
    Brisbois’ expression softened. “I suspect he was murdered for a particular reason. There’s nothing to indicate the murder was random or frenzied. I think the risk to everyone here is low. We will be keeping a uniformed officer at the door. And Detective Creighton and I will be spending a lot of time here over the next few days.”
    Rudley rolled his eyes. “Surely, you don’t believe anyone here killed that man. The murderer is probably long gone.”
    Brisbois took the picture from Tiffany and glanced at the skinny young man lurking in the doorway. “Who’s that?” he whispered to Creighton.
    “Lloyd Brawly. Maintenance,” Creighton mouthed.
    Brisbois turned back to Rudley. “I haven’t ruled out anyone — not a single member of your staff, not