Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) (9 page)

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Authors: Jessica Fletcher

BOOK: Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote)
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“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.”
 
 
“I understand,” I said. “But—”
 
 
The doors slid open and we stepped inside.
 
 
“But she did act strange,” Kathy said, finishing my sentence. “I acknowledge that. But it doesn’t mean she’s crazy.”
 
 
“Of course it doesn’t. The problem, Kathy, is that we’re going to be speaking with a lot of people on the ship who might have that view of her. I’m afraid you’d better get used to it. What’s important is that we find out what happened to her.”
 
 
We had a little time left before our seating for dinner. Kathy retired to her cabin to do some reading, and I took a second tour around the
Glacial Queen
, taking in areas we’d not seen the first time. I ended up in the library, where a number of passengers had already settled in for some serious board games. My past experience suggested that they would be found there for the duration of the cruise, hunched over the boards, brows creased as they enjoyed their obsession. People on ships often gravitate to specific places, choosing one lounge over the others as their favorite or one pool they prefer, finding companions for their interests and returning each day to enjoy the experience.
 
 
I scanned books on a shelf and stopped at a slender, well-worn volume on the history of the Alaskan gold rush of the late 1800s. I pulled it down, sat in one of a pair of brown leather chairs separated by a small table, and started paging through it. I was reading about a fascinating woman known as Klondike Kate, a popular entertainer during the gold rush, when a short, slender woman in her seventies approached me, carrying a book. She had white hair, a deep tan, and blue eyes that sparkled radiantly.
 
 
“Would I be disturbing you if I sit here?” she asked, indicating the matching leather chair.
 
 
“No, of course not,” I said. “Please do.”
 
 
She took the chair, adjusted herself in it, and opened her book.
 
 
I went back to reading about Klondike Kate. After a few minutes, I glanced over at her. To my surprise, she was reading my latest novel. She sensed my interest, turned, and smiled sweetly. “I love your books, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said.
 
 
“Thank you,” I said, a little startled that she recognized me. Of course, my photograph on the back cover could explain that.
 
 
“I was told that you would be on board,” she said demurely.
 
 
“You were?”
 
 
“Yes. My cabin steward always informs me of any famous people on the ship.”
 
 
“You sound as though you take this cruise often,” I said.
 
 
Her laugh was small and tinkling. “I would say so, Mrs. Fletcher. I live on the
Glacial Queen
.”
 
 
At first, I thought she meant that she took a lot of cruises. On other ships, I’ve met people who pride themselves on how many cruises they’ve taken and how many ports they’ve visited. But then I realized that she meant what she’d said literally.
 
 
“How interesting. You
live
on board?” I said.
 
 
“Yes. I’ve been a resident for almost a year now. I lived on the
QE2
for almost two years. I loved that ship—so genteel and refined. But I decided it was time for a change—change is always good, don’t you agree?—so I did a little investigating and decided on this ship.”
 
 
I closed my book, shifted in my chair so that I faced her, and said, “I didn’t realize that anyone lived on this ship.”
 
 
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “I’m the only one here, but I was one of three on the
QE2
—myself, another woman, and a lovely gentleman. I’m pleased to report that they are now married.”
 
 
“Your two permanent shipmates?”
 
 
“Yes. I was her maid of honor.”
 
 
My curiosity antennae were now fully extended. “Isn’t it terribly expensive to live on a cruise ship?” I asked.
 
 
“I suppose it is, but not much more, if anything, than being in one of those homes for old people. And it’s so much more pleasant than an institution. The meals are wonderful and so nicely presented. I have entertainmentevery night, and I get to see so many interesting places—Alaska, the Caribbean, Asia, Europe. Besides, there are always new and interesting people to meet. Like you.”
 
 
“I see your point,” I said.
 
 
“When Maynard told me you were on the passenger list, I asked him to run right out in Seattle and buy me your latest book. Maynard is my cabin steward, a dear, sweet young man.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “I always make sure to give him a large bonus at the end of each trip. The young people on the ship work so hard, you know, and send their money back home. They’re all from other countries.”
 
 
“You must know everything that goes on aboard the ship,” I said.
 
 
“I imagine I do,” she said. “By the way, my name is Gladys, Gladys Montgomery.” She extended a bony hand with long fingers tipped by an expertly executed manicure.
 
 
“I’m Jessica,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Gladys? I assume you heard about the woman who disappeared from this ship a few weeks ago.”
 
 
“Wilimena.”
 
 
“That’s right.”
 
 
“Why do you ask? Are you going to write a book about her disappearance?”
 
 
“No. My interest is that—”
 
 
“Her sister is on this cruise, too.”
 
 
“I know.”
 
 
“You do? How did you find out?”
 
 
“She and I are good friends where we live, Cabot Cove, Maine. I’m traveling with her. We’re hoping that by retracing Wilimena’s tracks, we might be able to find out what happened to her.”
 
 
“My goodness, I really must scold Maynard. He missed that bit of information. He didn’t tell me that you and Wilimena’s sister were together.”
 
 
I had to laugh. Along with the other benefits she mentioned of living aboard a luxury cruise ship, there was being in on the daily gossip.
 
 
“Did you get to know Wilimena?” I asked, confident that she had.

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