“My tendency to snoop. Isn’t that what you were about to say?”
He ignored my question and went on. “Maurice— Mr. Quarlé—was well-known to everyone on the Glacial Queen. He taught French on some cruises and also booked groups. Word of his murder in Juneau has already spread throughout the crew, and that means passengers are learning of it, too.”
“That can’t be helped.”
“They’ll be asking you questions about it.”
“That can’t be helped, either.”
“Since you were the one who found Mr. Quarlé’s body, maybe you can fill me in on what the police are doing.”
His abrupt change of topic caught me off guard for a moment. I said, “I really know nothing beyond having been unfortunate enough to, as you say, be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Ordinarily, when speaking with someone in Officer Kale’s position, I wouldn’t have hesitated in sharing what I’d learned—that we had found evidence in Quarlé’s room that he had, indeed, befriended Wilimena in order to get his hands on the gold, that John Smith had a photograph of Kathy and a copy of one of my books with my picture on it in his cabin, and that his passport was forged. But there was something about Kale’s demeanor and attitude that was off-putting to me, and I found myself not offering any information. I did say, however, “You are aware, are you not, that Mr. Quarlé was not considered by the Juneau police to be an upstanding citizen? In fact,” I continued, “he was considered a con man.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he said.
I found it hard to believe that Kale wasn’t aware of that.
“Believe what you will, Officer Kale. I do want you to understand that I am conscious of your need to avoid having any of this intrude upon your passengers. I assure you that is not my intent. At the same time, you might keep in mind that there have been two deaths since this ship left Seattle, one an obvious murder, the other a possible homicide. On top of that, there is still a question of one of your passengers disappearing, namely Wilimena Copeland.” I stood. “By the way, did you enjoy your time in Juneau? I saw that you had some time off there.”
“Just a little shopping,” he said. “Thanks for stopping in.”
I left his office and decided to do a mile around the promenade deck. The first leg was downwind. The wind blew briskly, its velocity enhanced by the ship’s movement, catching me in the back and threatening to propel me onto my face. The ship was under full steam toward Ketchikan, leaving a long, wide wake in its path. I reached the bow, crossed it, and started the upwind leg of my walk, the wind causing my rain slicker to billow out and my eyes to sting. There were only a few others out exercising at that moment, and an occasional passenger stood at the rail looking for whales and other sea life. I’d almost reached the stern of the ship when I saw Kathy and Bill leaning on the railing. I stopped not far from them and sensed that they were engaged in serious conversation. I considered turning around and retracing my steps so as not to disturb them, but decided to keep going. They were so engrossed in what they were talking about that they were oblivious to everything around them.
By the time I’d circumvented the deck once and was on my second trip, Kathy and Bill were gone. What had they been talking about? I wondered. I thought about what she’d shared with me earlier in the day and hoped that she’d meant what she’d said, to go slow and let things take their natural course. She barely knew Bill. I knew even less about him than she did, aside from the fact that he was handsome, polite, considerate, and a good listener. I had to smile. The adjectives I’d applied to him painted a very appealing picture.
By the time I was on my third trip around the deck— which constituted a mile—my thoughts turned to the reason I was on that cruise.
Originally, the trip was to be purely for pleasure, aside from the book signing in Seattle. Then searching for Wilimena had taken center stage. And now two murders had entered the picture. Although I had nothing tangible to base my opinion on, I was certain that the man who called himself John Smith had not accidentally fallen from the ship. He, like Maurice Quarlé, had been murdered. There was one other thing now beyond debate: Their deaths were connected with Willie’s disappearance.
I was happy to go to my cabin to take a hot shower and slip on my robe. It had been a long, physically active day, and a mentally fatiguing one, too. I considered a nap but decided against it, not wanting to wake up groggy before dinner. Instead, I sat at the desk and made notes of everything I had learned since coming aboard. Unlike Officer Kale, Trooper McQuesten was extremely forthcoming and willing to share with me what he knew. I was comfortable being around him and anticipated that once we met up again in Ketchikan, the mystery surrounding Willie’s disappearance would become less mysterious. At least I hoped it would.
I thought of the piece of paper McQuesten had shown me on which Quarlé had made a list of floatplane operators in the Ketchikan area and the prices they charged. Ironic, I thought, that I might end up flying on a floatplane after all.
Despite my determination not to give in to fatigue, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. I turned and looked at the bed. It was inviting, and I might have succumbed to the temptation to curl up on it had the phone not rung. It was Kathy.
“Hi, Jess. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Another few minutes and you would have. What’s up?”
“Join Bill and me for a drink? I’m dying to hear what Officer Kale wanted to talk to you about.”
“Sure,” I said.
“The Ocean Bar in fifteen,” she said.
I dressed for dinner and joined them in a semicircle banquette, directly across from the bar. If the conversation I’d seen them having on the deck earlier had been as serious as it appeared to be, they had obviously resolved whatever issue was at the root of it. They were in a happy, expansive mood.
“We missed you today,” I said to Bill.
“I was under the weather,” he said. “It must’ve been something I ate. I decided to lay low and take it easy. I’m feeling better now.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said. A waitress took my order for a glass of white wine. “We had an interesting day,” I said. “The whales put on quite a show for us, and the Raptor Center was fascinating. I’ve been donating money to it for the past few years and was happy to actually see it in operation. The birds they care for are magnificent, and the dedicated staff of young volunteers is inspirational. I’m glad we had a chance to see it.”
“Yes, Kathy told me. Sorry I missed it. She also said you met with the cop. What’s his name, McPherson?”
“McQuesten,” I said. “Joseph McQuesten.”
“Kathy said he didn’t have much to say, and that there hasn’t been any progress in finding her sister.”
“I’m afraid that’s true,” I said.
“What did Officer Kale want to speak with you about?” Kathy asked me.
“He’s anxious that we not bother other passengers on the ship while we try to get answers about Willie. I understand his concern.”
“Kathy has told me about all the other stuff you’ve learned,” Bill said. “It sounds like the fellow who went overboard and the French guy might have had something to do with Willie’s disappearance.”
I wasn’t particularly pleased that Kathy had shared so much information with Bill, but I didn’t express it. There probably was no harm in it, although my instincts told me that the fewer people who knew at this juncture, the better.
The conversation turned to less-serious subjects, and we chatted about myriad things until it was time to go to dinner.
“I understand you and Kathy had a dancing lesson last night,” I said as we made our way to the dining room.
Bill and Kathy glanced at each other, tiny smiles on their faces. Bill said, “Yes, we cut quite a rug last night.”
“I haven’t heard that expression in a long time,” I said.
“I’ll bet you cut a few rugs in your day, Jessica,” Bill said, laughing
pleasantly.
“Come to think of it, I did,” I said. “I’m sure Mrs. Montgomery did, too.”
The Johansens didn’t join us for dinner that night. They’d made reservations at the Bistro, a small, intimate restaurant that passengers could enjoy for an additional fee. The conversation among the four of us flowed easily and touched upon many subjects. Gladys, who seemed to have an unending wardrobe of elegant dinner dresses, regaled us with tales of when she and her husband had been globe-trotters. They’d been friends with many powerful business and political leaders, and their travels had taken them around the world many times. One thing was certain: She was not a woman who allowed life to pass her by.
As usual, we parted company just outside the restaurant. Gladys headed for her evening concert. To my surprise, Bill begged off on extending the evening with Kathy. “I thought I was over whatever bothered me today, but I’m still not feeling right,” he said. “Maybe it was all that dancing last night.” He laughed and gave Kathy a hug. “Not as young as I used to be. I hope you’ll excuse me if I make it an early night. I want to feel tip-top tomorrow in Ketchikan.”
“Bill is going to spend the day with us, Jess,” Kathy said.
“That’s—that’s fine,” I said. “But I’m afraid we’re going to be spending it trying to find out what’s happened to Kathy’s sister. It won’t be much fun.”
“I’m not looking for fun, Jessica,” Bill said. “Kathy has filled me in on everything, and I want to help in any way I can. Don’t worry about me having fun. There’ll be lots of time for fun when we celebrate with Willie.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said. “You enjoy an early night, Bill.”
To Kathy I said, “I think you and I should have a nightcap.”
We found a relatively empty lounge, and I ordered a club soda with lime, Kathy a snifter of cognac.
“Are you angry with me, Jess?” she asked after we’d been served.
“Of course not,” I replied. “But I’m not especially happy that you’ve asked Bill to join us tomorrow.”
“Why? It was nice having him with us in Juneau when we found the body. Having a man along makes me feel more secure.”
“I can understand that,” I said, “but it isn’t as though we won’t be with men. Trooper McQuesten is meeting us in Ketchikan, and Detective Flowers will be there, too.”
Her expression told me she wasn’t happy with my reaction, and I decided that I was probably making more of it than was warranted.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll have Bill join us.”
“Thanks.”
“Nothing to thank me for. What about you and Bill? I saw the two of you on the deck when I exercised this afternoon. It appeared to me that you were into a heavy-duty discussion.”
“I guess we were,” she said. “Bill wants to come back with us to Cabot Cove. He wants to move there.”
My eyebrows went up. “Can he do that?” I asked. “I mean, doesn’t he have a job in Seattle?”
“He said he can set up a one-man shop as a financial advisor just about anywhere.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, or ask, next.
“He’s asked me to marry him.”
“Oh, Kathy, that’s—”
“I know, I know. It’s all happening so fast.”
“Did you accept?”
“No. I said I had to have a few days to think about it.”
I breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief.
“Please don’t be judgmental, Jess. I’ve always been happy and satisfied living alone. You know that. But at the same time I’ve wondered what my life would be like as a married woman, wondered whether I’d ever meet a man who was perfect for me. I think I’ve found that man.”
“He certainly seems nice enough,” I said, aware of how weak and noncommittal my comment sounded.
“Jess?”
“Yes?”
“Are you jealous of me?”
“Jealous?” I sputtered. “Of course not. Why would I be jealous?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s just that you seem to have reservations about Bill.”
“That’s not true, Kathy. I don’t know him. Maybe that’s why I don’t share your enthusiasm, at least not yet. You don’t really know him, either.”
“I know him enough to think I want to marry him.”
I fell silent.
“What is it, Jess? What’s bothering you?”
“I’ve never known an impetuous financial advisor,” I said. “He says he’s been a financial advisor in Seattle for a long time, yet he’s willing to simply pull up stakes at the drop of a hat and move across the country. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said, a serious expression on her pretty face.
“When we were at dinner discussing favorite restaurants, you mispronounced the name of the restaurant we’d had dinner at in Seattle. Canlis.”
She laughed. “So? I’d never been there before, never heard of it until you took me there.”
“But Bill mispronounced it, too. You said ‘Chanlis’ and so did he. I would think that—”
“Jess, are you sure you aren’t thinking more like a writer of murder mysteries, looking for clues to plug into your books?”
“Maybe I am,” I said, smiling. “But he said something else that causes me to have questions about him.”
Her raised eyebrows said loud and clear that she wasn’t in the mood to hear more. I proceeded anyway. “He talked about it raining in Seattle every other day. But it doesn’t rain as often as people from out of town think. Everyone I’ve ever known in Seattle is quick to point out that misconception.”
“Well,” said Kathy, “I know you care about me and want only the best for me, but I think you’re grasping at straws to find something wrong with Bill.”
My face brightened, and I nodded with conviction. “And you are absolutely right, Kathy. I’m delighted for you whatever you decide to do. I mean that.”
“I know you are, Jess,” she said, reaching over to give me a squeeze.
She spent the next half hour extolling Bill Henderson’svirtues, his philosophy of life, his views on myriad subjects, and his aspirations for the future. This time, I restrained from playing devil’s advocate. The more she talked, the better Bill sounded, and I became caught up in her schoolgirlish enthusiasm. I was sincerely happy for her, and we spoke of planning a wedding back home, where it would take place, the sort of reception that would be held—“Small,” she said, “just my closest friends. You’ll be my matron of honor, of course.”
“You bet I will be,” I said, aware that not including Wilimena in the plans spoke volumes about Kathy’s expectations of finding her sister alive.
We eventually decided to emulate Bill and make it an early night. We agreed to meet at seven for breakfast and went to our respective cabins. I undressed for bed, turned on the TV, and flipped through the channels until coming upon an old black-and-white movie that looked interesting. The story and characters took my mind off what we might face tomorrow in Ketchikan. So far, we hadn’t gotten any closer to finding Wilimena than we’d been back in Seattle. Hopefully, being where she was last seen would prove more fruitful.
The movie ended. I turned off the lights, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes. They didn’t stay closed very long. Something—some thing—was rattling around in my brain. I couldn’t identify what it was, was unable to pin it down no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it was the grim expectation that if we did find Wilimena, she wouldn’t be alive. What had kept me going was her past history of disappearing now and then, sometimes for months at a time, and then happily resurfacing with a tale to tell. If that were the case now, we’d all be relieved—and lining up to give her a good spanking. If she was off on some adventure, she’d not only caused concern on the part of her loving sister, but she’d turned my pleasure cruise into a tense search for her, to say nothing of wasting countless ho
urs on the part of law enforcement.
Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) Page 18