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Authors: Jessica Fletcher

Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) (24 page)

BOOK: Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote)
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We’d no sooner moved back into open water than the first whale sighting was announced over the PA. We headed in the direction of the “blow,” a stream of water dozens of feet high exhaled by the whale. By the time we reached where it had last been seen, a whole pod of humpback whales suddenly was visible, displaying their flukes, or tails, before diving after having surfaced for air. There was palpable excitement as everyone spilled out onto the rear deck. Kathy and I, like everyone else, had brought binoculars and used them to get close-up views of the humpbacks as they cavorted only a hundred feet from the boat. A few children on the boat were giddy with glee, and their parents had to remind them of what the captain had said about keeping voices low.
 
 
Moments later, the naturalist announced that a pod of orcas—or killer whales—could be seen on the opposite side of the ship. “You can recognize the orca becauseof its prominent dorsal fins and distinctive black and white markings,” she said. “Orcas have teeth and are very efficient hunters. They can bring down large prey, even gray whales. The humpbacks, on the other hand, feed by straining water through baleen, which acts like the teeth of a comb. The baleen traps krill and other small fish.”
 
 
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” one woman said excitedly to her husband. “There are dozens of them.”
 
 
Her enthusiasm was shared by everyone.
 
 
The captain announced that it was time to turn around and head back to the dock, then asked if anyone wished to visit the bridge. Naturally, the children wanted to, and their parents obliged. I started a conversation with one of the young crew members, who’d made me a cup of tea. By this time, I’d reached the conclusion that showing Wilimena’s photo around while in Sitka wouldn’t accomplish anything. But I pulled it out of my shoulder bag anyway and showed it to the young man. “Do you recognize her from a previous whale watch?” I asked.
 
 
His response was totally unexpected. He laughed loudly.
 
 
“What’s funny?” I asked.
 
 
“I think you’d better go up and talk to the captain about it, ma’am.”
 
 
“I just may do that,” I said, and headed for a flight of narrow iron stairs leading to the bridge. A family with children was just leaving, and I took their place alongside the captain, a strikingly handsome, bearded man who I judged was in his late forties or early fifties.
 
 
“Enjoying yourself so far?” he asked.
 
 
“It’s been wonderful,” I said. “I’m from Maine. I’ve been on whale watches there, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
 
 
“We always know we’ll see some whales,” he said. “In fact, we guarantee it. But this was a particularly successful run. The humpbacks and orcas are out in droves today.”
 
 
“My friend and I are in Alaska looking for someone who has disappeared.”
 
 
“Is that so? Disappeared?
Really
disappeared?”
 
 
“I’m afraid so,” I said, reaching for Wilimena Copeland’s photograph. “I showed this to the young man downstairs and he had an unusual reaction. He laughed and said I should show it to you.”
 
 
He took the photo from me, turned, and said through a big smile, “So you know the gold digger, too.”
 
 
“Gold digger?” I said.
 
 
“Just a nickname I gave her,” he said, handing me back the picture. “No offense.”
 
 
“None taken. Obviously, you got to know her.”
 
 
“I guess I did, sort of. She’s quite a character. I mean that in a nice way. After the trip she was on, I met up with her in town. We had a drink and a quick bite to eat before she got back on the ship. That’s the last I saw of her. Say, did she ever get the gold she was going after? It was left to her by some distant relative.”
 
 
“I don’t know,” I replied. “You see—”
 
 
“Hey, wait a minute. Is she the person you said was missing?”
 
 
“Yes.”
 
 
“I’m sorry,” he said.
 
 
“Her sister and I are trying to find her. Did she say anything to you that might help us accomplish that?”
 
 
“I don’t think so. I mean, she told me about this aunt of hers who used to own a brothel in Ketchikan, Dolly Arthur. We all know about Dolly Arthur here in Alaska. She’s our most famous and colorful madam. According to your friend, as I remember it, some boyfriend of Dolly’s stashed a bunch of gold with her, took off, and never came back. Willie—that’s the name she liked to be called—Willie said she had found out where Dolly hid the gold and was going to collect it.”
 
 
“Did she indicate where that was?” I asked.
 
 
He answered with a knowing laugh. “I’ve never in my life met a person who talked as much as your friend,” he said, “but she was smart enough not to share
that
information with me. For all she knew, I would’ve raced down to Ketchikan and grabbed the gold for myself. Not that I would, mind you. Let me ask you a question.”
 
 
“Go ahead.”
 
 
“Do you think she told a lot of people about this gold she claimed she was going to collect? If so, that might explain why she went missing.”
 
 
That analysis certainly didn’t elicit any disagreement from me.
 
 
“Did she come on the whale watch alone?” I asked.
 
 
Another laugh from him. “If she didn’t, she sure dumped whoever was with her. I never saw her with anyone else. If I had, I wouldn’t have asked her out.”
 
 
“Well, Captain, I really appreciate your taking the time to talk to me. And thank you for a wonderful experience.”
 
 
I recounted for Kathy the conversation I’d just had with the captain. “What is it about your sister that makes her so incredibly attractive to every man she meets?” I asked.
 
 
“Her attitude, I suppose,” Kathy said. “Not that Willie isn’t a beautiful woman. She’s always worked hard on her looks and her figure. But it’s more than that. She makes sure every man she meets knows that she’s interested in him. Call it constant flirtation, I suppose.”
 
 
“Well,” I said, “whatever it is, she certainly has never wanted for male companionship. I just hope that need of hers didn’t lead her into a situation that she couldn’t find her way out of.”
 
 
Kathy nodded. “I know,” she said, turning to the large window splattered by the boat’s spray.
 
 
She said nothing all the way back to the dock.
 
 
Chapter Twelve
 
 
We got back to the ship barely in time for its four o’clock departure for Ketchikan. Security Officer Kale looked on disapprovingly as we ran up the gangway and handed our shipboard ID cards to the crew member scanning them into a computer.
 
 
“You just made it,” Kale said.
 
 
“But we did make it,” I said pleasantly. “We spent more time at the Raptor Center than we’d planned.”
 
 
He walked with us to the elevator.
 
 
“I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said.
 
 
“Of course.”
 
 
“Come to my office?”
 
 
“Now?”
 
 
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
 
 
“You go ahead,” Kathy said. “I’ll see if I can find Bill.”
 
 
At his office, Kale closed the door and indicated the chair I should take.
 
 
“What’s this about?” I asked.
 
 
“It’s about Maurice Quarlé.”
 
 
“What about him?”
 
 
“I understand that it was you who discovered his body.”
 
 
“Where did you hear that?”
 
 
“It doesn’t matter. What
does
matter is that since you came aboard in Seattle, there have been two violent deaths—the passenger who went overboard in Glacier Bay and now Maurice.”
 
 
I almost laughed, but caught myself. “Are you saying that my being a passenger had anything to do with those deaths, Officer Kale?”
 
 
“Did you cause them? No, of course not.”
 
 
“I’ve jinxed the ship?”
 
 
“No. But as I told you on your first day here, I don’t want the other passengers to be disturbed or upset because of your—”
 
 
“Because of my
what
?”
 
 
“Because of your tendency to ask too many questions, and to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
 
 
“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.
BOOK: Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote)
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