A Most Unpleasant Wedding by Judith Alguire Read Free Book Online

will give him a piece of my mind.”
    Tiffany shook her head.
    Tim cleared his throat. “He drinks too much.”
    â€œNo. He’s a veritable teetotaler.”
    â€œHe has struck you.” Gregoire balled the corners of his jacket into his fists. “I will tear him from limb to limb.”
    â€œNo. Officer Owens is a gentleman.”
    Tim took a turn around the kitchen, stopped in front of Tiffany. “Let’s see. He doesn’t use deodorant. He turns into a werewolf when the moon is full.”
    She closed her eyes. “He hunts.”
    Tim and Gregoire looked at one another.
    â€œHe’s the most perfect man I’ve ever met and he kills animals.” She began to wail.
    An owl hooted. Twigs snapped. Margaret sat bolt upright. “Rudley, what was that?”
    He responded without opening his eyes. “In my dreams, it was a Siberian yak.”
    She grabbed him by the shoulder. “No, really, there’s something thrashing about in the bushes.”
    Rudley crawled out of his sleeping bag, groped for the flashlight, fumbled to the tent flap on hands and knees. He thrust the flashlight through the slit, caught the tail end of a fleeing creature. He snapped the flashlight off.
    â€œWhat was it, Rudley?”
    â€œI think it was a deer.”
    â€œIt sounded too big to be a deer. Are you sure it wasn’t a bear?”
    â€œI don’t think so, Margaret.” He backed into his sleeping bag. “Even if it was, it was running away from us.”
    She sighed. “That’s a sensible way to look at it.”
    â€œI’m always sensible.”
    She let that go. “Good night, Rudley.”
    â€œGood night, Margaret.”

Chapter 4
    Gregoire woke at four, a few minutes before his alarm was set to go off, and headed for the shower. The early hours required by his job had never been a problem for him. His mother said he hadn’t slept more than four or five hours a night since he was born. He enjoyed a half-hour nap in the afternoon and always woke refreshed.
    Tim’s door was ajar. He paused, listened, chuckled. The elegant Tim snored.
    He climbed into the shower, turned the water to tepid.
    He considered Tiffany’s problem as he worked his hair into a lather. Officer Owens was a nice man, patient, respectful. But he shoots Bambi, he thought, and Booboo. He paused, clutching the bar of soap to his chest. The man was a philistine.
    He reviewed the menu for the day: prime rib, rack of lamb… Frowned. “You are as much of a murderer as he is,” he muttered.
    He turned off the shower and tumbled out, reaching for his towel. His dark curls sprang out like corkscrews. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, tried to smooth the disobedient curls with one hand. He pulled on his bathrobe, returned to his room, parted the curtains to check the weather.
    Dawn threw a sheet of silver over the lake. Rocks and trees lurked in the gloom along the shallows.
    He treasured this time of morning. Before the fishermen invaded his kitchen for their thermoses of coffee. Before Tim flitted through the dining room, bringing the full glare of the sun — Tim brought the sun even on cloudy days. Before the clatter of dishes broke the silence. Before the ovens diluted the subtlety of the natural fragrances. Before everyone started blundering around. He liked people, but this fragment of the day belonged to him. He put on his whites, captured his hair under his cap, and tiptoed into the hallway. He paused at Tim’s door. “You snore,” he whispered.
    Lloyd rolled out of his cot in the tool shed behind the inn. He had a room in the bunkhouse but he liked to sleep in the open, and the tool shed was almost as good as being outdoors. Mrs. Rudley didn’t mind him living in the tool shed but insisted that he move into the bunkhouse once it got cold. Mrs. Rudley worried about him. She worried about everybody, but he knew she worried about him