escort,” Rudley fretted. “Whoever murdered that man and kidnapped Margaret could still be lurking about.”
“You let Tiffany go out with the linen on her own,” Tim said.
Rudley’s eyes widened. “That’s it. That’s what’s been bothering me. Lloyd!” he bellowed. “Lloyd!”
“Do you think she’s dead?” Lloyd stood back as Rudley pressed his fingers against Tiffany’s throat.
“She’s not dead,” Rudley rasped. “Where in hell is that ambulance?”
Lloyd shrugged. “I didn’t think she was dead, seeing as how her chest is rising and falling.”
“Where are the damned police when you want them?”
“Don’t know.”
Rudley tapped Tiffany on the shoulder. “Tiffany, wake up.”
“Maybe she was poisoned.”
“How in hell would she be poisoned?”
“I’m just saying she looks like Snow White in the movie, and she was poisoned.”
“Then if we come across the wicked queen, we’ll have our answer.” Rudley sat back on his haunches. “She must have fainted. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. Are you sure you called the ambulance?”
“Did.”
“Her pulse is strong,” Rudley said. He continued to palpate her pulse with his right hand while his left made a rat’s nest of his hair.
“There’s the ambulance, boss.”
The siren rose, then swooned as the ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the inn. A few minutes later, the paramedics barged into the Low Birches followed by Ruskay.
“What’s going on here?” Ruskay demanded.
“We found her,” Rudley said. “Lying here like this.”
“She’s breathing,” Lloyd said.
“Do you know what happened?”
“No,” Rudley said, exasperated. “As I said, we found her like this.”
The paramedics hooked Tiffany up to the monitors, checked her vital signs, and did a blood glucose reading.
“Vitals okay,” one said. “Blood glucose 5.3.”
“Right on,” the other said. He checked for fractures, paused as he palpated the skull. “This could be your answer. She’s got a big lump on the back of her head.” He turned to his partner. “Let’s get an IV going and transport.”
Rudley blanched. “Is it serious?”
“Can’t tell until we get some X-rays.” The paramedic looked at Ruskay. “Could you check the bathroom? Maybe she mixed the wrong cleaners, got woozy, staggered out here, and fainted.”
One shoe fell off as the paramedics lifted Tiffany to the stretcher. Rudley picked it up, stared at it for a moment, then slid it onto her foot.
“She’s going to be all right,” the paramedic said.
“I’m going with her,” Rudley said.
Ruskay’s voice boomed from the bathroom. “What in hell is going on around here?”
“It’s Peter Leslie,” said Rudley.
“And this was his cottage?”
“Well, what in hell would he be doing in the bathtub in someone else’s cottage?”
Brisbois stared at him. “Anything seems possible around this damned place.” He looked around the bathroom, grimaced.
Leslie lay, head tilted back, in a tub of bloody water.
“When did you see him last?”
“Around seven. He was out for his run.”
“Does he do that every morning?”
“Every morning he’s been here.”
Brisbois eyed the clothing discarded by the bathroom door — a soggy singlet, running shorts, and socks. An athletic supporter perched on top of a pair of red and white Saucony trainers.
“Looks like he just dropped his clothes and climbed into the tub,” Creighton said.
“Partially shaven,” Brisbois noted. He turned to Rudley. “Does that door have a lock?”
“All the doors at the Pleasant have locks.”
“Keys?”
“Margaret and I. Tiffany has keys to the cottages and guest rooms.”
“Does she normally walk in on people in the bathroom?”
“If she does, no one’s ever complained about it.”
“What would she be doing here?”
“Dropping off fresh linen, making up the bed, tidying the bathroom.”
“Looks as if he already had fresh towels.”
“Guess
“You let Tiffany go out with the linen on her own,” Tim said.
Rudley’s eyes widened. “That’s it. That’s what’s been bothering me. Lloyd!” he bellowed. “Lloyd!”
“Do you think she’s dead?” Lloyd stood back as Rudley pressed his fingers against Tiffany’s throat.
“She’s not dead,” Rudley rasped. “Where in hell is that ambulance?”
Lloyd shrugged. “I didn’t think she was dead, seeing as how her chest is rising and falling.”
“Where are the damned police when you want them?”
“Don’t know.”
Rudley tapped Tiffany on the shoulder. “Tiffany, wake up.”
“Maybe she was poisoned.”
“How in hell would she be poisoned?”
“I’m just saying she looks like Snow White in the movie, and she was poisoned.”
“Then if we come across the wicked queen, we’ll have our answer.” Rudley sat back on his haunches. “She must have fainted. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. Are you sure you called the ambulance?”
“Did.”
“Her pulse is strong,” Rudley said. He continued to palpate her pulse with his right hand while his left made a rat’s nest of his hair.
“There’s the ambulance, boss.”
The siren rose, then swooned as the ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the inn. A few minutes later, the paramedics barged into the Low Birches followed by Ruskay.
“What’s going on here?” Ruskay demanded.
“We found her,” Rudley said. “Lying here like this.”
“She’s breathing,” Lloyd said.
“Do you know what happened?”
“No,” Rudley said, exasperated. “As I said, we found her like this.”
The paramedics hooked Tiffany up to the monitors, checked her vital signs, and did a blood glucose reading.
“Vitals okay,” one said. “Blood glucose 5.3.”
“Right on,” the other said. He checked for fractures, paused as he palpated the skull. “This could be your answer. She’s got a big lump on the back of her head.” He turned to his partner. “Let’s get an IV going and transport.”
Rudley blanched. “Is it serious?”
“Can’t tell until we get some X-rays.” The paramedic looked at Ruskay. “Could you check the bathroom? Maybe she mixed the wrong cleaners, got woozy, staggered out here, and fainted.”
One shoe fell off as the paramedics lifted Tiffany to the stretcher. Rudley picked it up, stared at it for a moment, then slid it onto her foot.
“She’s going to be all right,” the paramedic said.
“I’m going with her,” Rudley said.
Ruskay’s voice boomed from the bathroom. “What in hell is going on around here?”
“It’s Peter Leslie,” said Rudley.
“And this was his cottage?”
“Well, what in hell would he be doing in the bathtub in someone else’s cottage?”
Brisbois stared at him. “Anything seems possible around this damned place.” He looked around the bathroom, grimaced.
Leslie lay, head tilted back, in a tub of bloody water.
“When did you see him last?”
“Around seven. He was out for his run.”
“Does he do that every morning?”
“Every morning he’s been here.”
Brisbois eyed the clothing discarded by the bathroom door — a soggy singlet, running shorts, and socks. An athletic supporter perched on top of a pair of red and white Saucony trainers.
“Looks like he just dropped his clothes and climbed into the tub,” Creighton said.
“Partially shaven,” Brisbois noted. He turned to Rudley. “Does that door have a lock?”
“All the doors at the Pleasant have locks.”
“Keys?”
“Margaret and I. Tiffany has keys to the cottages and guest rooms.”
“Does she normally walk in on people in the bathroom?”
“If she does, no one’s ever complained about it.”
“What would she be doing here?”
“Dropping off fresh linen, making up the bed, tidying the bathroom.”
“Looks as if he already had fresh towels.”
“Guess
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