Free Pleasantly Dead by Judith Alguire Page A

trial, could Rudley. She had long had the habit of spending a few days at the High Birches when she’d had enough of him. When she was feeling more kindly toward him, she would return.
    “I’m back, Rudley.”
    “Yes, Margaret.”
    He never harboured a grudge for her retreats. He never apologized for his role in precipitating them. He would never apologize to Frances Blount, although he would be civil next time they met — as civil as his nature allowed. The truth was he never harboured a grudge, never expected an apology and was puzzled when others did.
    She remembered, fondly, meeting him at Birdie’s party. She was attracted to him immediately. He was different from the arty crowd she had been chumming with. She felt secure with him, knew from the moment she laid eyes on him he would never lie, would never be unfaithful. He found infidelity, something many upper-class Brits took for granted, scandalous.
    Over the years, she had tried to imagine Rudley having an affair and always ended up laughing. Saw some young thing flirting with him only to hear him say: “That’s damned cheeky of you, miss. I’m married, you know.” He was a man impervious to the charms of a pretty face. That, she thought, made him extraordinary.
    She got up, hopped to the window, and peered through the pinhole in the decaying wood. She thought it was still daylight. Rudley would be searching for her if he knew she had gone missing. The problem was Rudley was frequently oblivious.
    She knew he would find her though — once he realized she was gone. Rudley was good at finding things. He was also good at losing things. And while he had trouble finding things he had lost, he had the uncanny ability to lay his hands on what someone else had lost.
    She hoped she fell into that category.
    The staff at the Pleasant was preparing for the evening meal. Tiffany had brought in fresh tea towels and was perched on a stool with a cup of coffee. Gregoire leaned against the prep table staring at the carving knives, his expression somber. Suddenly, he turned to her.
    “If Margaret had left voluntarily, wouldn’t she have told us?”
    Tim slid a hand along the counter and snatched a radish rosette. “She’s been staying at the High Birches.”
    “She would have told us if she had planned to be away overnight,” Tiffany said.
    “She must have told Rudley,” Gregoire said.
    They looked at each other and shook their heads.

Chapter Seven
    “It’s a bit cold to go into the water, don’t you think, Elizabeth?” Simpson stood on the platform inside the boathouse and stared into the water.
    “Nonsense, Edward, it’s bracing.”
    “Shouldn’t we wait until the sun is higher?”
    “Even if it were high noon, it would be cool in here. Hand me the flashlight.”
    “Are you sure you’re accustomed to this sort of diving?”
    “The water’s only six feet deep.”
    “Perhaps I should go in,” said Simpson and shivered.
    She smiled. “Your mission, Edward, is to stand by.”
    “I’m standing by.” He cleared his throat. “I must say, Elizabeth, I believe the reason you’ve embarked on this course is to thwart Brisbois.”
    “Why should he have all the fun?” She smiled and flipped into the water.
    Rudley went to the door, stared toward the lake. “You say they went for a swim?”
    “At 6:00 am,” Gregoire said.
    “Seems a little chilly.”
    Gregoire shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a romantic adventure.”
    Simpson leaned over the side of the platform. “Elizabeth, so far you’ve tossed up an anchor, several lures, a tackle box, an inner tube, and a pair of suspenders. I’m sure Detective Brisbois could get the equipment to do a proper dredging.”
    “I’m not finished, Edward.” Miss Miller smiled and disappeared below the surface.
    Thirty seconds later, she emerged gasping, holding up a brown oxford. “Edward, this is it.”
    “It looks rather ordinary,”
    “But I don’t think it’s been in the water long.”
    “Doesn’t look as