“Officer Kale?” I called as he neared me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Have a pleasant breakfast?”
“Oh, yes. Very pleasant.” I led him away from the others. “I was wondering if you would do me a large favor.”
“If I’m able.”
“One of the men that Wilimena Copeland complained about was a French gentleman named Maurice.”
I knew from his expression that he was aware of the man to whom I referred.
“I’d like to know his last name and where he can be reached.”
Now his expression said I’d asked for the impossible. “That would be inappropriate,” he said, verbally supporting the stern look on his face.
“I understand the restrictions you feel you’re under,” I said, “but I’m also certain you can appreciate that this is a highly unusual situation.”
“Of course. But—”
“I assure you that no one will ever know where I got my information. Please. There’s a woman missing, and her sister has come all the way from Maine in hopes of finding out what happened to her. Surely you can break a rule or two to help her. Help us.”
He sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
He returned a few minutes later with a computer printout containing the information I wanted. My eyebrows went up. “He lives in Alaska?” I said.
Kale nodded. “I’m trusting you, Mrs. Fletcher, to be discreet with what you choose to do with this information. Mr. Quarlé is a very good customer. He’s a frequent passenger on our Alaskan cruises.”
“I won’t betray your trust,” I said. “Thank you.”
I left the area and went up to the Ocean Bar. I was the only passenger there at that hour. I sat at a small table next to a window and studied more closely what Kale had given me. Maurice Quarlé’s address was listed in Juneau, Alaska. We were scheduled to arrive there at seven the following morning. The printout indicated that he was unmarried and owned a travel agency in Alaska’s capital. That would explain his status as a frequent guest on cruise ships like the Glacial Queen. My friend Susan Shevlin, who owns Cabot Cove’s leading travel agency, always seems to be off on some familiarization trip hosted by a resort, airline, or steamship company. I’ve even had the good fortune to accompany her when her husband, Jim, Cabot Cove’s mayor, was unable to find the time.
Had this Maurice Quarlé pursued Wilimena Copeland to the extent that she’d complained to the ship’s security officer? It was hard to come up with a definitive answer to that question, knowing as I did her reputation as an inveterate flirt. But there was a bigger question to be answered. According to everything we’d learned to date, Willie had confided in everyone she met about inheriting gold from her aunt, Dolly Arthur. It was only natural to assume that she’d done the same with Mr. Quarlé.
Gladys Montgomery didn’t have much use for him, even termed him “smarmy.” Did she use the word to indicate a lack of morals and ethics, or was it purely her read of his personality? If it was the former, he was the wrong sort of person for Wilimena to have confided in about her pending gold strike. I made him number one on my priority list of things to do when we reached Juneau.
A waiter approached and I ordered a cup of tea. As I waited for it, David Johansen passed by. “Enjoying a little solitude?” he asked.
“Yes. You can usually find quiet time in a bar in the morning,” I said.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
My tea was delivered, and Johansen ordered coffee.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “but I hear through the grapevine that you’re on a mission.”
“Mission? How so?”
“To find a missing woman. Someone told me that Ms. Copeland is her sister.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “The ubiquitous grapevine at work,” I said. “Even on a ship hundreds of miles from shore.”
“Especially on a ship,” he said. “We’re a captive audience. Have you made any progress in finding Kathy’s sister?”
“No,” I said, “but we’ve just started. Tell me, David, what does the grapevine have to say about it? Maybe there’s something in the rumor mill that would be helpful.”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, she was on her way to Alaska to claim gold left to her by her aunt, a famous brothel madam named Dolly Arthur.”
“I’m impressed,” I said. “The grapevine has it right so far.”
“Dolly Arthur’s real name was Thelma Copeland.”
My eyebrows went up. “How do you know that?” I asked.
“The Alaskan gold rush is of particular interest to me. I teach it as part of a course back at the college. I’ve done a lot of reading about Dolly Arthur and others like her. Women who came to Alaska during that period were a hardy breed, tough as nails. They had to be to survive.”
I sat back and nodded. “How coincidental,” I said, “that you would end up at our table.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Know what I’d like to do?”
“Tell me.”
“I’d like to interview Kathy. I’m sure she can add to what I already know about her aunt Dolly.”
“It’s more likely that she’ll learn from you, David. But I think getting the two of you together is a splendid idea.”
He finished his coffee and stood. “I promised to meet Kimberly in the shops. Always presents to buy for the folks back home. Enjoy the rest of the day, Jessica. The glaciers are breathtaking.” He pointed out the window. “Looks like the rain is stopping. As long as it stays overcast, we’re in luck. The incredible blue colors within the glaciers are best seen in overcast conditions. Catch up with you later.”
Kathy was already in the library when I arrived.
“Any luck?” she asked.
“I’d say so,” I said, handing her the printout about Maurice Quarlé.
“How did you get this, Jess?”
“First Officer Kale. He did me a favor.”
“I’m glad he cooperated,” Kathy said. “I was beginning to think that no one involved with the ship would.”
“How about you?” I asked. “Did you come up with anyone in the dining room who remembers serving Willie?”
“I sure did,” she said proudly.
“Good for you.”
“I spoke with a maître d’ who remembered Willie. The lead waiter, too.”
“Great! What did they have to say?”
She looked at me sheepishly. “I didn’t ask them much, Jess. I thought you’d be better at that.”
“All right. Who are they?”
She’d written their names on a slip of paper.
“They’ll be too busy at lunch to talk with us,” I said. “Maybe they have a break between lunch and dinner when we can corral them. Have you seen your Bill Henderson?”
“Yes, I bumped into him on my way here from the dining room. He said he’d be joining us for lunch.”
“Good. I think what we might do next is—”
I saw him out of the corner of my eye, standing at the door to the library.
“Excuse me,” I said.
I got up and headed for the door. The man with the thin face and flaxen hair—he’d changed into blue shorts and a pale yellow T-shirt—saw me coming and took off. I walked faster until I reached the hallway, where I saw him disappear around a corner. I went after him, walking fast at first and picking up the pace as he began to run.
“Hello,” I called in a voice just below a shout. “Excuse me!”
He took a left turn, which brought him to a bank of elevators and the center staircase. He went down the stairs two at a time.
“I want to talk to you!” I shouted and started down after him. But I tripped on the carpeted top step. Fortunately, I grabbed the brass banister before starting my descent and was able to keep myself from falling headfirst. But the force of my body hurtling forward and spinning around wrenched my arm and shoulder. I came to rest a few steps below where I�
��d started, on my rear end.
“Mrs. Fletcher! Are you all right?”
It was Bill Henderson, who was on his way up the stairs. He reached down and offered his hand to me.
“I think I’d better sit here a minute,” I said, wincing against the stabbing pain in my shoulder.
“Of course. I’ll get a doctor.”
“No, no, please,” I said. “That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. Did you see that man?”
“What man?”
“The man running down the stairs. In the blue shorts and yellow T-shirt.”
“No, I didn’t. I saw you start to fall and—”
“That’s all right,” I said, taking his outstretched hand and slowly pulling myself to my feet.
“Did the man do something to you?” he asked as I leaned against the railing.
“No. It’s just that—I think he’s been following me.”
“Following you? Why?”
“That’s what I intend to ask him.”
“Do you know who he is?”
I shook my head. “That’s question number two. Thank you for your help, Bill. I feel like a clumsy fool.”
“These stairs can be tricky,” he said. “And with the ship’s movement, taking a misstep is easy. I’ve done it myself.”
“You make me feel less oafish,” I said.
“Good. Come on. Let’s find a quiet place for you to sit down.”
“I left Kathy in the library.”
“Then we’ll go there.”
Before we could take a step, Kathy appeared. “Are you all right, Jess?” she asked.
“I think so. Just a little sore.”
“Why did you rush out of the library like that?”
“I saw the man who’d been following me.”
“You did? Where is he?”
“I don’t know. When he saw me, he bolted down these stairs.”
“Strange behavior,” Henderson said.
“Yes, I’d say so,” I replied.
“We should report him to the ship’s security people,” Kathy said. “The man might be dangerous.”
“Probably just some weirdo,” Henderson said. “There’s always a couple of them on a cruise. My suggestion? I think you should go to your cabin and rest. Taking a tumble like that can put a real strain on your entire body.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “But I want to be able to enjoy the glaciers.” I checked my watch. “We should almost be to Glacier Bay.”
“Won’t be long,” Henderson said. To Kathy, he said, “Take Mrs. Fletcher back to her cabin. I’ll stroll around the ship and see if I can spot this character. He was wearing—?”
“Blue shorts and a yellow T-shirt.”
“Right. If I spot him, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Bill.”
“My pleasure. Look forward to seeing you at lunch, provided you’re feeling up to it.”
He walked away, and Kathy and I headed for our cabins.
“You’re in pain,” she said, noticing the way I was walking and the grimace on my face.
“It could have been worse,” I said. “If I hadn’t had my hand around the banister, I would have gone all the way down.”
“You shouldn’t have chased him,” she said.
“Too late for that advice.”
Once inside my cabin, I decided not to lie down on the bed. I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up for a long time, and that would mean missing Glacier Bay. Instead, I went out onto the balcony, sat in a chair, with a blanket wrapped around me to ward off the chilly air, and watched as the ship slowly made its way into the bay and toward the major glaciers that would provide our sightseeing for the day.
I thought of many things while sitting there. Who was the man I’d so foolishly chased? There was no doubt any longer that he was showing a particular interest in me. If not, why would he have run away like that? I had to find out who he was and whether there was some connection between him and Wilimena’s disappearance.
I also thought of Bill Henderson. He could not have been more solicitous when coming to my aid. In the parlance of the man-woman mating game, he was undoubtedlya “catch.” Thinking that there was the possibility that he might continue to show a sincere interest in Kathy brought a smile to my lips. How wonderful it would be if they became a couple and married one day. My smile broadened further as I reminded myself that I was terribly premature in conjuring such scenarios. I was behaving like Dolly Levi, the matchmaker in Hello, Dolly!
I extended my arm and was pleased that the pain had subsided somewhat. I got up, went to the railing, and looked down into the cold bay. Pieces of ice, large and small, floated by. A person wouldn’t last more than a few minutes in that frigid water before hypothermia set in. Just the thought of it sent additional chills through me. I leaned over the railing a little to see ahead of the ship. In the distance was a gigantic wall of ice, its top obscured by lingering, low-hanging clouds. Even from that far away I could see the blue tint emanating from the ice. David Johansen had been right. The overcast skies would provide the perfect viewing situation, and I couldn’t wait to get closer.
Kathy knocked on my door a few minutes before noon to see if I wanted to join her for lunch. I was feeling considerably better and readily agreed. “Let’s make it a quick one,” I suggested.
Our waiter told us that Mrs. Montgomery had decided to have lunch served in her cabin. The Johansens weren’t there, either. That left Kathy, Bill Henderson, and me to enjoy a fast soup-and-salad meal.
“I didn’t have any luck finding the guy in the blue shorts and yellow shirt,” Bill said. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” I said. “The only time I ever see him is when he’s following me. Other than that, he seems to vanish into the ether.”
Bill laughed. “Maybe he’s a demented fan of your books, Jessica.”
Kathy joined in the laughter. “We’ve already encountered one of those,” she said. “Tell him, Jess, about the book signing in Seattle.”
I recounted the tale for him, and he listened intently, responding appropriately at times and asking an occasional question. When I finished, he shook his head and said, “It’s a miracle you lived to tell about it.”
“Actually,” I said, “I felt sorry for him. He was a poor soul with a very mixed-up mind.”
“Time to go glacier watching,” Kathy said.
“Join us, Bill?” I asked.
“I might drop by later. I have something else to tend to. I understand the captain will position the ship with one side facing the glaciers for about an hour, then turn it so passengers on the opposite side get a good view.”
“A sensible approach,” I said as we left the dining room.
Bill went off, leaving Kathy and me to decide on a vantage point from which to view the glaciers. We considered going to the Vista Lounge at the bow of the ship, a large, two-story area that accommodates hundreds of passengers. But it was bound to be crowded. Besides, it appeared that the ship was positioning itself to afford our side the first prolonged view. What better place than on one of our own balconies?
Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) Page 9