Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101) (29 page)

“Did I hear you say twelve or thirteen million is Margaret Featherman's share?”

“That's right. At the moment.”

“And what the hell is Genesis?”

“It's one of Seattle's booming bio-tech genetic-engineering firms,” Ralph replied. “What else would it be?”

What else indeed
. “And what exactly do they engineer?”

“From what I've read, they believe they've designed a patch—a genetic patch—that can be downloaded into a damaged fetus in utero to correct Down syndrome.”

“In utero. They correct the problem before the baby is born?”

“Right. And before the fetus is that badly damaged.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“I read it in this morning's paper—
The Times
—front page, right alongside the article about Margaret's disappearance.”

“It sure as hell isn't front-page news in the
Starfire Courier
,” I grumbled. “Could you fax me the articles, Ralph? I need to see them—all of them. The main article and all the little sidebars as well.”

“Sure,” Ralph said. “I'll have my secretary do it right away. But other than that, everything is fine? How are your grandparents doing?”

“They were more than a little blue about what happened on the train yesterday. Mike and Lucy Conyers had become friends of theirs. They took Mike's death pretty hard. Lars thinks he should have kept hold of Mike and prevented him from falling. If Beverly's discovered that they've put Lucy under arrest, I'd imagine she's on the warpath this morning.”

“Tell Beverly that Carol will do a good job.”

“I'll try,” I said. “But so far as I can tell, nobody's ever had much luck
telling
Beverly Jenssen anything.”

“No,” Ralph agreed with a laugh. “I suppose not. All right. If you want that fax, I'd better make arrangements to send it before I disappear into my meeting.”

The bathroom door was closed. I hadn't heard any sounds coming from inside, but that didn't mean Naomi wasn't there. As soon as I got off the phone, I went over and tapped lightly on the door. When there was no answer, I eased it open. Evidence in the bathroom was consistent with her having already showered before leaving the stateroom. Concerned that Naomi might return and catch me half dressed, I locked myself in the bathroom and showered as well.

As the hot water cascaded over my body I was stunned by what Ralph had told me. The whole time I had been under the impression that Margaret Featherman was living off the proceeds of her divorce settlement from her ex-husband. From things Naomi had said about her, it sounded as though her friends had believed much the same thing—that if she had worked, it was because she wanted to do something with her time rather than because she needed a paycheck. Now, though, it sounded as though there was more to Margaret Featherman and her job than any of us—her good friends included—had suspected.

By the time I finished showering, dressing, and shoving my complaining toe into a too-tight shoe, there was still no sign of Naomi. That was just as well. I may have mentioned the late-night phone call to Ralph, but his reaction convinced me I had been right in not discussing it with Naomi. And, without seeing her, it was easy not to say anything about the possibility that Margaret Featherman might still be alive.

I paused by the phone and considered calling Lars and Beverly to see how they were doing. I went so far as to pick up the receiver, but I put it back down without dialing. If I talked to them, they would want to know what, if anything, I had heard about Lucy Conyers. I wasn't at all eager to tell them that the woman had been arrested. No, that was another conversation I was better off dodging for as long as possible.

When I stepped into the hall, Hector and his omnipresent cart were both there. It made me wonder if
Starfire Breeze
room attendants ever had any time off or if they worked round the clock, seven days a week.

“Good morning, Mr. Beaumont,” he said as I walked past his cart. “Madame said to tell you she was going up to the buffet.”

“Thanks, Hector,” I returned, but instead of taking the hint and heading for the Lido Deck and Naomi, I went straight to the purser's desk and asked if they had a fax for me.

“That was fast, Mr. Beaumont,” the young woman told me as she handed over a fat envelope with my name typed on the outside. “I only just now finished leaving you a message about this.”

I went to the Sea Breeze Bar and ordered a cup of coffee. I tore open the envelope and pulled out a stack of faxed pages. Unfortunately, the resolution on the paper wasn't very good. I could read the headlines fine, but I found myself scowling and squinting as I tried to decipher the text of the articles.

“Try these,” someone said.

I looked up to see a smiling Naomi Pepper standing over me offering me the use of a pair of reading glasses. I don't consider myself vain, but I've always taken pride in the fact that I've never needed to wear glasses of any kind.

“Try them,” she urged again. “They won't bite.”

Reluctantly I put them on. To my dismay, the print resolution in the faxes improved immeasurably.

“Thanks,” I said. “Where do you get these things?”

“Any drugstore,” she said. “Those cost nine ninety-eight a pair at Bartell Drugs. What are you reading?”

For an answer, I returned the reading glasses along with the first article, a two-column piece topped by a glamorous photo of Margaret Featherman that discussed her disappearance from the
Starfire Breeze
and the fact that the FBI was investigating. It also detailed the progress of the so-far-unsuccessful search the Coast Guard was conducting in Alaska's Chatham Strait just off Port Walter. The article included the information that the loss of Ms. Featherman's considerable talent could possibly cast a cloud over the future of the long-awaited Genesis IPO. The offering had been met with unbridled enthusiasm, but there was concern that news of Margaret Featherman's death might scare away other potential investors.

Naomi Pepper read through the article with a deepening frown forming on her forehead. “Did you know anything about that?” I asked when she finished. “About Genesis, I mean.”

“I knew Genesis was the place where Margaret worked,” Naomi said. “Just like she knew I work for The Bon, Virginia works for Boeing, and Sharon for the City of Seattle. But I thought it was just a job. I had no idea about her being what it says here—a key researcher.”

“What was her training?” I asked. “What did she study in school?”

“Originally, she wanted to be a doctor, but you know how things were back then, when girls were supposed to be nurses, not doctors. Besides, Margaret was too much of a party animal. Her grades weren't good enough. She ended up with a degree in biology and eventually she got a teaching certificate. She could have taught high school biology, but as far as I know, she never did. Harrison didn't approve of having a working wife. Doctors' wives' careers were to be doctors' wives. It wasn't until after the divorce that she went back to school. First she got an advanced degree and then she went to work for this outfit. I know she worked long hours, but there was nothing to stop her since she didn't have to worry about taking care of Chloe.”

“Harrison got custody?” I asked. Naomi nodded.

“How long ago was it that Margaret went to work for Genesis?”

Naomi shrugged. “It must have been about the same time Frederick and Nelson closed down and I went to work for The Bon.”

The Bon Marché and F & N started out in Seattle as neighboring but competing department stores. The Bon was now the sole survivor of that mercantile rivalry. Frederick and Nelson's demise in the early 1990s was now ancient retail history. It surprised me to know that despite having been divorced that long, Margaret and Harrison Featherman were still caught up in each other's lives. But then I thought about Karen Beaumont Livingston and me and knew I shouldn't have been surprised at all.

“Which Bon?” I asked, returning to the conversation.

“Downtown,” Naomi replied. “I sell small household appliances. By the way, could I interest you in a coffee grinder or a blender?”

“I already own one of each, but I don't use them often,” I told her. “I'm not much of a cook.”

“Who is these days?”

“Let me have your glasses again,” I said. She handed them over, and I read the next several faxes before I passed them and the glasses back to Naomi. One of them was evidently from the Business section of the paper. In it Grant Tolliver, president and CEO of Genesis, offered reassurances that even if Margaret Featherman proved to be out of the picture permanently, her pioneering research had placed Genesis firmly in its position as leader of the pack.

“Twelve or thirteen million! I never would have imagined Margaret could end up being worth that much. When it comes right down to it, she's probably worth a lot more than Harrison is,” Naomi said thoughtfully. “And for her to be called a pioneering researcher, I feel like there was a whole side to Margaret that I never even suspected.”

I was polite enough not to point out that the reverse had been just as true.

“Did Margaret ever mention this Grant Tolliver to you?” I asked.

“The CEO from Genesis?” Naomi shook her head. “No, never.”

“Remember that fax that Chloe delivered to the table that first night—the one that was first delivered to her by mistake?”

“Yes,” Naomi replied.

“That one came from Tolliver.”

“How do you know that?”

“Once a detective, always a detective,” I told her. “I have my sources. But how smart is Chloe? If she was aware of what was happening with the IPO, she might have guessed or hoped that her mother would end up being worth a fortune.”

“Wait a minute. You're thinking Chloe might somehow be responsible for Margaret's death?”

“With that much money at stake, sure. If you're a suspect, Chloe should be even more of one.”

“I don't think so,” Naomi declared. “Yes, she and Margaret didn't get along very well. Still, I can't imagine Chloe murdering anyone, least of all her mother. And it's so sad for Margaret, too,” she shook her head. “That day when she should have been anticipating a wonderful triumph at work; instead she ended up finding out about Harrison and me and Missy. I never meant for her to find out about that, Beau. You've got to believe me.”

“Does Missy know Harrison Featherman is her real father?”

“No. At least I never told her.”

“Well, you'd better say something soon,” I advised her. “Too many people know about it now. It won't be long before somebody spills the beans. Better you than having her end up reading about it in
The Times
or the
Seattle P-I
. That would be bad.”

“I know,” Naomi said. “I'm worried about that myself. I tried calling her at work yesterday when the ship was docked in Skagway. She knew Margaret was a friend of mine, and I wanted to let her know what was going on. I left a message, but of course she didn't return the call.”

“Missy has a job? I thought you said she's on the streets.”

“Was on the streets,” Naomi corrected. “She ended up at one of those shelters over in the University District, one for homeless street kids. I mean, I resent her being homeless or telling other people she is. Missy has a home; she just won't live there. Anyway, the shelter took her in and gave her a place to sleep. They helped her get back on track, too—better than I ever could. She had to be clean and sober, or they wouldn't let her stay. And they told her she had to get a job. With nothing but a GED and with nose rings and earrings out the kazoo and God knows what other kinds of tattoos and piercings, jobs didn't exactly fall into her lap. But she did finally land one at one of those copy places. She's been there a couple of months now, and she's supposed to be moving into her own apartment soon.”

“A copy place?” I asked. “Which one?”

“A Kinko's,” Naomi replied. “In downtown Seattle. I've never been there. I didn't think I'd be welcome.”

A Kinko's!
I remembered Rachel Dulles telling me that the fax containing the draft copy of Harrison Featherman's new will had been sent to Margaret Featherman from a Kinko's. Was Melissa Pepper the one who had sent it? I hoped my face didn't betray my consternation. If Missy had sent Margaret a draft copy of Harrison's new will, how had she come to be in possession of the document, and what was her motive for sending it? These were questions Todd Bowman would need to answer, but if I took him this new piece of information—that Melissa Pepper worked for Kinko's—he wasn't likely to view it kindly. Bowman already thought me an interfering doofus. I'd be better off routing this latest tip through Rachel Dulles. She had removed me from the Marc Alley detail, but she, at least, might be willing to listen to what I had to say.

“Would Harrison have talked to Missy?” I asked. “Would he have told her?”

“Why?” Naomi asked. “What would be the point?”

That was a question I was in no position to answer. Just then I heard my name being announced over the ship's paging system. “Mr. Beaumont, Mr. J. P. Beaumont, please call the purser's desk for a message.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I'll be right back.”

The nearest phone was the one next to the purser's desk, where there was a long line. I picked the phone up and dialed the message number. “This is J. P. Beaumont,” I said. “You have a message for me?”

“Yes, Mr. Beaumont. Beverly Jenssen would like you to report to the Infirmary as soon as possible.”

My heart went to my throat. The Infirmary! Something was definitely wrong. I slammed down the phone and ducked to the front of the line.

“Where's the Infirmary?” I demanded.