Many Unpleasant Returns by Judith Alguire Page A

to be snowbound in a remote area though.” He took a sip of his drink. “Especially in a place with the reputation of the Pleasant.”
    Sheila Nesbitt took a drink from the tray Tim offered, gave him a dazzling smile, then turned her attention to Thornton. “Why do you say that, Mr. Thornton?”
    â€œThere have been a number of incidents here.”
    â€œThe brochures say the inn was built by the Mob,” Johnson said.
    â€œI’ve heard someone was murdered here once,” said Carla. “Shot, stabbed or something.”
    Thornton cast a smug look around the room. “Actually, there have been several murders here.”
    Sheila leaned toward him. “Really?”
    Her husband, Keith, frowned.
    â€œYes.” Thornton paused, as if reluctant to pursue the subject, then said, “Throat slashing, knifing, bashing, hanging…”
    â€œThat was an accident,” Tim broke in.
    Thornton gave him a look that suggested he didn’t think the help should interrupt his story.
    â€œAnd not on our property,” Tim added.
    â€œA guest of the Pleasant had an accident on the ski lift,” said Miss Miller.
    â€œThere were also a couple of drownings,” Thornton said, “at least one of them not accidental, and a couple of poisonings, one of them at least not accidental.”
    Franklin laughed. “Geez, sounds like that book about the ten little Indians. Weren’t the guests snowed in in that one and they kept dropping off one by one?”
    Mrs. Sawchuck gasped. “Do you think that could happen? Ten people?”
    â€œWe’ve never had more than two at once here,” Geraldine trilled. “Is that my Dubonnet, Tim? Thank you.”
    â€œEnough of this,” said Miss Miller. “Let’s have another game. Just for fun.”
    â€œLet’s do I Spy,” Simpson suggested with enthusiasm.
    Franklin uttered an exaggerated groan. Miss Miller gave him a withering look.
    â€œThat sounds like fun,” said Sheila. “I haven’t played I Spy since I was a kid.”
    Franklin gave her an appraising look. “I can’t believe you were ever a child, Sheila.”
    Keith Nesbitt glowered.
    â€œSo,” said Miss Miller, “who wants to start?”
    Sheila waved her hand. “I will.” She looked around. Her eyes narrowed, then brightened. “I spy something with my little eye and it’s black.”
    â€œI think she might be describing her husband’s mood,” Mr. Bole murmured to Simpson, who arched his eyebrows.
    Tim stopped by Mr. Morton’s chair and placed the whisky neat beside him. Startled, Mr. Morton’s head jerked up.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mr. Morton, were you asleep?”
    Mr. Morton rubbed his eyes. “I guess I was. Long day. And I have to get an early start tomorrow as well.”
    Tim took the last drink to the corner table. “Mrs. Gowling, one gin and tonic.”
    She smiled. “Lovely.”
    â€œWould you like to move closer to the fireplace?”
    â€œThank you, Tim. I’m fine right here.”
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    I feel right at home with this group. Because everyone assumes I might be a little hard of hearing, I pick up things. I cultivate this impression by seeming to be a little vague at times and tilting my head to one side. It’s fun.
    Tiffany, I’ve heard, is the housekeeper here, but on vacation at present. It seems Mr. Thornton is her beau. She seems a gentle, rather fanciful young woman.
    I love to watch people. People are fascinating, even the ones most people don’t find very interesting. Even boring people are interesting to watch if only to try to figure out how they manage to amuse themselves, how they make the beautiful commonplace, how they manage to avoid even a hint of intellectual curiosity.
    So far, I find the Sawchucks fit the bill. They seem to have much money and little charm. He’s especially banal. She’s at least amusing with