A Most Unpleasant Wedding Read Online Free PDF Page A

.”
    â€œSounds horrific.”
    Bonnie was still standing in front of the desk, clutching her handbag to her chest.
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Rudley. “He’s a fine driver and not dangerous in any way we know of.”
    Margaret arrived at the desk carrying a pile of magazines. “I found you six copies.” She plopped the bundle into Bonnie’s arms.
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Rudley,” Bonnie said in a small voice. “I think I’ll go now and freshen up for dinner.”
    â€œMrs. Lawrence seems upset,” said Margaret as she watched her walk down the front steps, shoulders hunched. “But I’m sure the magazines I found will do. None of them is more than a year old.”
    â€œShe’s a rather delicate little thing,” Rudley said.
    â€œHe doesn’t seem particularly sensitive to her.”
    â€œOpposites do attract, Margaret. Look at Miss Miller and Mr. Simpson.”
    â€œYes, Rudley, but Miss Miller and Mr. Simpson clearly respect each other. Mr. Lawrence seems almost condescending.”
    â€œSome men are beasts.”
    â€œPerhaps being here, with our example, meeting other exemplary couples, perhaps that will rub off on Mr. Lawrence.”
    â€œOr perhaps on both of them. He can stop being so condescending, and she can stop being such a ninnyhammer.”
    Tim cleared his throat. “Your camping trip?”
    â€œYour gear is waiting for you on the back porch,” said Gregoire.
    Margaret pried the pen from Rudley’s hand. “Time to go, Rudley.” She beamed. “I’m so looking forward to this experience.”
    Jack Arnold shoved his wallet into his pocket. He had his hand on the doorknob, then hesitated and turned back. He grabbed a bottle of Glenlivet, slopped two fingers into a tumbler, saluted the bottle, and downed the drink in one go. One for the road.
    He glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty. He was headed into town, hoping to catch some action at the hotel. The fact that he’d killed half the bottle that day didn’t worry him. He’d been drinking and driving for years. If the cops in Sarnia couldn’t detect he was DUI, the hicks out here wouldn’t. He’d just finished a big dinner and felt quite capable of steering several tons of metal along a winding country road.
    He put his glass down on the table by the door and left.
    Great evening, he thought. Warm. Half-moon. Water lapping against the dock. Not a soul in sight. He heard muted laughter as he passed the inn. They were having some kind of games night. He’d heard someone mention Snakes and Ladders. He hadn’t played that game since grade school and couldn’t imagine why the whole inn would crowd into the drawing room for that sort of entertainment. Of course, most of the guests were either infirm like the Sawchucks, or old nuts like the Phipps-Walkers, or just plain weird like that red-headed woman with the thick glasses. Educated woman. Saucy. He didn’t like saucy, educated women. The laughter faded as he approached the parking lot. Here it was just the frogs and crickets. He belched and climbed into his vintage Cadillac.
    The Caddy was old and a bit beat up, with dents and scratches here and there he’d never bothered fixing. He liked to think of the car as an extension of himself — getting along in years with the bumps and bruises from a life lived hard and a little recklessly but still with a charge in the engine.
    He pulled out of the driveway, paused to decide which road to take. The one to the left ran along the shore before curving to meet the main road. The one to the right led up through the woods, he believed, before meeting the highway a mile or so along. He glanced to his right, caught sight of a familiar figure hurrying up the road in the distance. Hell of a time to go for a walk, he thought. He turned the wheel to the left and set out along the shore road.
    Trevor Rudley reached down the back