“Then there’s no misunderstanding,” I said brightly. “As long as you’re here, I do have a few questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“With so many passengers aboard, I imagine you can’t know everyone on your cruise, but I was wondering if, when Kathy’s sister was on the ship, you had an opportunity to observe her.”
“Observe her?”
“Wilimena has a rather flamboyant personality. I’m assuming you must have seen her.”
“ ‘Seen her’? Yes, of course. Over the eight days of the cruise, I get to interact with many of the passengers. Well, let me qualify that. I only come in direct contact with passengers who experience a security problem.” Aware that he probably shouldn’t have acknowledged that such things occurred on his ship, he quickly added, “Of course, those instances are rare, few and far between.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” I said. “Was Wilimena one of those passengers—with security problems?”
He thought before replying. “Yes, she was.”
“What sort of security problems did she have?”
Kale stretched his neck, ran an index finger inside his collar, and swallowed audibly. “Um, she, um, complained of being stalked by other passengers.”
“Really?” Kathy said. “You didn’t tell me that the last time we spoke.”
“It never occurred to me,” said Kale.
Strange that it wouldn’t occur to a security officer, I thought.
“You said ‘passengers.’ Plural. Who were they?” I asked.
“There were accusations. Nothing was ever proven. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to reveal that.”
“Even if it might help find Ms. Copeland?”
“I’ve shared what I know with the authorities, Mrs. Fletcher. It’s their problem now.” He placed his hands flat on his knees and prepared to rise, clearly ready to end this conversation.
“Please, Officer Kale,” I said. “We won’t keep you much longer.”
He sank back into his seat, but his expression said he was not happy to continue.
“When you spoke with the authorities, did you share the names of those passengers, the ones Wilimena thought were stalking her?” I asked.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t believe I did.”
“May I ask why not?”
“Because it isn’t my role to besmirch the reputations of our passengers,” he said. “What Ms. Copeland was referring to was nothing more than harmless flirtations. Happens all the time on cruises.”
“But women don’t disappear‘all the time on cruises,’ ” I said, unsuccessful at masking my annoyance.
“I understand what you’re saying, Mrs. Fletcher, but try to appreciate our position. We’re in the business of providing a relaxing, fun-filled cruise to almost two thousand people every time we leave port. Unless something of a serious nature arises while a passenger is on board, we try to stay out of their lives. Ms. Copeland disappeared on a shore excursion. Our responsibility ends when passengers walk down the gangway, leave the ship, and set out on their own. Unless, of course, they’re part of a planned shore excursion with one of our partners at the ports of call. We checked Ms. Copeland’s itinerary, including those shore excursions she might have signed up for when booking the cruise. There were none.”
“She was last seen getting off the ship in Ketchikan,” Kathy said. “Maybe she signed up for a shore excursion after she left the ship.”
“I suggested that possibility to the police,” Kale said, obviously pleased to have something positive to offer. “They reported back that no one they questioned on the docks or in the travel kiosks remembered her.”
Kathy sighed, turned from him, and rubbed her eyes. I felt for her. Our initial contact wasn’t producing any useful information. We’d learned more from the shopkeepers in Seattle.
“Well, Officer Kale,” I said, “I do understand your position in all of this. But I’m also sure that you realize the seriousness of the situation. A woman who’d taken your ship to Alaska is missing.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, rising. This time he made it all the way out of his seat, and I knew our interview was concluding.
“Before you go—what was the outcome of Ms. Copeland’s complaints about male passengers stalking her? Did you investigate?”
He shrugged and tugged at his cuffs. “I personally approached one of the men, a very nice gentleman traveling alone. When I told him of what Ms. Copeland had alleged, he was flabbergasted.” Kale’s eyes darted to Kathy’s face and back to mine. “He said that she’d been making advances toward him ever since they met at the first night’s captain’s party.”
Given what we’d heard from the Seattle shopkeepers, Kale’s comment wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. I shouldered my bag and stood. Kathy did as well. As we escorted him to the door, Kale hesitated, then nodded sharply as if he’d just made a decision. “I don’t wish to speak out of turn,” he said, “but frankly, it was sometimes hard to assign much credibility to Ms. Copeland.”
“Why was that?” Kathy asked.
Kale smiled kindly. “Your sister was—is—well, she is a woman with—how shall I say it?—with a vivid imagination.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.
He sighed. “Well, some of her dinner companions became weary of hearing her talk about the gold she was about to inherit.”
“She spoke openly about that?” I asked, knowing the answer.
Another sigh. “She spoke about it—to everyone,” he said. “Please call on me if I can be of any further help. But as I said earlier, it would be very much appreciated if you conduct your shipboard investigation quietly and without disturbing other passengers.”
“We’ll do our best,” I said.
He’d already opened the door when I asked, “Were there any other ‘security issues’ involving Wilimena Copeland?”
He stepped into the corridor, saying nothing.
“Officer Kale?” I prompted.
“She claimed on two occasions that someone had broken into her cabin.”
“And?”
“I could find no evidence of it.”
“Thank you.”
When he was gone, Kathy threw up her hands and said, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, Jess.”
“Don’t lose faith so quickly, Kathy. We’ve just started. From what Officer Kale said, Willie let the entire ship know about the gold.”
“Yes, but all those people have gone home. We don’t even know who they are. This is hopeless, Jessica.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “There have to be plenty of crew members who spoke with her during the cruise. They’re still here. What we have to do is talk with as many of them as we can.”
Kathy’s glum expression didn’t change.
“I know, I know,” I said. “It’s a lot to contemplate, but Willie’s penchant for letting everyone she met in on the purpose of her trip might be behind her disappearance.”
“It might have gotten her in trouble, you mean.”
“Yes. It’s possible someone could have followed her or even offered to accompany her in the hope of striking pay dirt himself. Or herself.”
“How could she have been so foolish?” Kathy asked, tears filling her eyes.
“No sense in dwelling on that,” I said. “Her indiscretions are in the past. We have to move forward.” I took her arm. “How about taking a quick stroll around the ship before the captain’s party? I like to acclimate myself to new surroundings, and I think we can use a little exercise. It helps to clear the mind.”
Like all large, modern cruise ships, the Glacial Queen had numerous deck levels, eleven in all, with myriad function rooms spread throughout the ship. Our staterooms were on the navigation deck, four decks down from the topmost sports deck. We took the wide central staircase down five decks to the promenade deck, where we perused the shopping area, a few of the ship’s bars, the Internet center where passenge
rs could log on to the dozen available computers and receive computer instruction, the photo gallery where the photos taken of passengers as they boarded were displayed for sale, and the Upper Vista, one of two main dining rooms. We’d opted to dine at seven thirty, the later seating in the Upper Vista.
“It’s a beautiful ship,” Kathy said as we headed back up to the navigation deck to spruce up before the party. “And I’ve worked up an appetite from the walk.”
“Me, too,” I replied.
As we turned into the corridor where our cabins were located, we saw a man wearing white shorts, a white T-shirt, and sandals standing just outside Kathy’s room. He wasn’t aware of our presence until we were almost upon him.
“Good afternoon,” I said.
He was clearly startled, as though he’d been caught at something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He mumbled a few words and hurried away.
“I wonder what he was doing here,” Kathy said as we used our keys to open our doors.
“Probably has a cabin on this deck and wandered into the wrong hallway,” I said. “It’s easy to confuse them.”
“I suppose.”
“Meet up with you in fifteen minutes?”
Though I’d dismissed Kathy’s suspicions about the man, I had found his behavior a tad peculiar. He didn’t look familiar, yet I couldn’t get his face out of my mind. I’ve developed a fairly keen sense over the years of remembering people’s appearances, even after only momentary exposure to them. This gentleman was slender and no taller than five feet five inches. His face was extremely narrow, almost as though his head had been squeezed in a vise, causing his facial features to extend into sharp relief. His hair was thin, sandy and silky, worn almost shoulder length. I shook my head to erase his image. I needed to think about a change of clothes instead.
The cocktail party was held in the elegant Explorers’ Lounge, toward the rear of the lower promenade deck. A harp encased in a cover testified to the sort of music that would be played there later in the evening—classical and soothing.
“Ah, good evening,” the ship’s chief officer, Captain Rasmussen, said as we reached him after proceeding along a reception line of four uniformed officers. He struck me as remarkably young to be in command of such a large vessel, but I suppose I was operating from a stereotype of what a ship’s captain should look like— silver-haired, and with a lined face from having stared into the sun too long. Also, as I get older, I’m surprised to find that everyone looks so young. It shouldn’t be a surprise, of course, but somehow it always is. Police officers all look like rookies to me, even those who’ve been on the force for years. Politicians are the age of my nephew Grady. And I could swear those television newscasters just graduated from journalism school. Some of this may be our culture’s obsession with youth and looking young, but I have to admit it also may be my advancing age. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I no longer see a young face, even though inside I feel the same as when my late husband, Frank, and I were courting. But the wrinkles and gray hairs in my reflection remind me that that was many years ago.
And here in front of me was another very young man in a position of authority. Captain Rasmussen took my hand in both of his and smiled warmly. “I must say, Mrs. Fletcher, that we are extremely honored to have such an important author on board.” His voice was low and well modulated, with the hint of a Dutch accent.
I was flattered that he had heard of me. “I’m very happy to be here,” I said. I turned and indicated Kathy. “This is my good friend Kathy Copeland. We’re traveling together.”
“Of course,” he said. “I had the pleasure of meeting with Ms. Copeland only last week. I didn’t expect I’d be repeating the pleasure so soon.”
“I didn’t, either,” Kathy said. “My decision to take this cruise was a very last-minute one.”
“Well,” Rasmussen said, “you’re obviously traveling in good company. Enjoy some champagne and canapés. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to chat more later.”
We settled in two chairs in a corner of the room where a member of the ship’s waitstaff brought us flutes of champagne and a tray of cold canapés.
“He’s charming,” I said.
“And handsome,” Kathy said, biting into one of the hors d’oeuvres. “Yum. Delicious.”
“I didn’t realize you’d actually met with the captain when you were here last week,” I said.
“I’d forgotten about it,” she said. “I only saw him for a few minutes. He basically told me how sorry he was to have learned about Willie’s disappearance.”
“Did he indicate that he, too, knew about the gold?”
“No. At least he didn’t mention it.”
“Do you think he’s married?” I said.
“Why? Are you interested in him, Jess?”
“No, of course not. I was just wondering whether Willie might have flirted with him.”
Kathy shook her head, smiled, and sipped her champagne. “It’s certainly possible,” she said. “Why should he be any different?”
As she said it, Captain Rasmussen, who’d greeted his final guest at the door, came to us and took a chair next to Kathy.
“Well, Ms. Copeland,” he said, “have the authorities given you any further news about your sister?”
“No, Captain. Nothing new at all.”
“Pity. She was a very nice woman.”
“Did you have a chance to get to know her?” I asked. “On a personal basis?”
His eyebrows went up. “ ‘Personal basis,’ Mrs. Fletcher?” He laughed easily. “I’m afraid my duties as captain of this ship preclude me from getting personal with my passengers. Did I get to speak with her? Of course. She attended this reception just as you are doing this evening. We had a pleasant chat.”
“Officer Kale said she’d complained of men making unwanted advances toward her,” I said, “and of break-ins to her cabin.”
“Yes. I received those reports from him. He assured me there was nothing to them.”
“I’m sure my sister didn’t make up those things,” Kathy said, a modicum of pique in her voice.
“I’m not suggesting that she did, Ms. Copeland. But Officer Kale didn’t find anything tangible to support her accusations. You must excuse me. I’m needed back on the bridge. Enjoy the rest of the party—and your cruise.”
“Did Wilimena tell you about the gold?” I asked as he started to walk away.
He stopped, turned, and came back to us. “As a matter of fact, she did,” he said. “To be perfectly honest with you, her constant reference to it all over the ship was not, in my opinion, a terribly prudent thing to do.”
“Did you suggest that to her?” I asked.
“No. It was not my place. Good evening, ladies.”
He gathered the other officers and they strode from the lounge.
Kathy finished her champagne and said, “I’m ready to go, Jess.”
As we waited for an elevator to take us up to the navigation deck, she said, “I’m getting a little tired of people portraying Willie as some sort of kook, some unbalanced woman who imagines things.”
Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) Page 6