Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101) (17 page)

“No,” I said. My voice sounded very small. “We don't.”

“You don't?” Leila looked puzzled. “But I thought . . . When you came to tell us . . .”

“When he came to tell you what?” Todd Bowman asked.

“About Margaret. I just assumed he was with the FBI. I mean, he knew about the list and everything.”

Todd Bowman sighed. “Oh,” he said. “That's all right then. I'm sure he's working the list detail. First Officer Vincente told me there were other agents on board, but I didn't think we'd be running into each other like this.” He offered me his hand. “Glad to meet you, Beaumont. And since you've already made the official notification, then there's no need for me to do it.”

“Right,” I agreed. I stood up and sidled toward the door. “But now that you're here, I'll be going. It's probably best if I don't hang around.”

Bowman nodded. “You're right. I'll catch up with you later in case we need you.”

On my way down the corridor, I broke into a cold sweat. In my own mind, I hadn't been impersonating a federal officer, at least not intentionally. But I didn't see how I'd be able to convince a federal prosecutor that was the case. Not in a million years.

Back in my stateroom I went out onto the lanai and stood there. It was dark, and I could see the phosphorescent glow of water kicked up and disturbed by the ship's passing. Despite myself, I couldn't keep from imagining what that horrific plunge must have been like for Margaret Featherman. My cabin was on the Capri Deck. Hers had been on Aloha—three decks closer to the water. Still, even from Aloha, it was a very long fall into the sea—the same as falling off the top of a building that was four or five stories tall.

So who was responsible? Instinct told me that neither Leila Featherman nor her husband had anything to do with Margaret's fall or death, whichever it was. I regard myself as a fairly good judge of human behavior and character. The news had rocked them both. And they had both grasped eagerly at any suggestion that Margaret might still be alive. I had been only too glad to leave them with that small glimmer of hope. It was true, the Coast Guard might still find her, but in the privacy of my own mind a happy outcome didn't seem likely. I was pretty well convinced the only thing successful searchers would bring home with them would be Margaret Featherman's body-bagged mortal remains.

I considered Harrison's initial reaction, before he knew the bad news was about Margaret. His first concern had been that whatever had happened might have had to do with Marc Alley. And then, later on, even after he knew Margaret was the victim, he had wondered if perhaps Marc had been the killer's real target. As far as I was concerned, the duct tape pretty well ruled that out. This wasn't a case of mistaken identity. Whoever had wrapped Margaret's face in tape had known the person they were dealing with or at least the person they
thought
they were dealing with.

There was a possibility that with three separate parties named Featherman on board the ship, the hit man—I was convinced the person carrying the tray had been male—might have gotten the staterooms confused. He might have gone to Margaret's cabin thinking it was Harrison and Leila's cabin and had thrown the woman he found there into the water believing Margaret was Harrison's current wife rather than his first one.

How likely is that?
I wondered.

Well, cases of mistaken identity seemed to be running rampant on the
Starfire Breeze
. There was my current Bowman/Beaumont problem, for one thing. And then I remembered how, on that first night, a fax addressed to Margaret Featherman had mistakenly been delivered to Chloe, her daughter. If someone from the ship's crew could make that kind of error, couldn't a killer mix things up as well? Besides, anyone who still thinks crooks are smart hasn't spent the last twenty-odd years dealing with them.

If that was what had happened—if the Leave It To God folks had mixed up whose cabin was whose—Marc Alley was still in danger and still out of the loop. I tried calling Rachel Dulles' cabin to discuss the situation with her and see what she thought, but there was no answer, and I didn't feel comfortable leaving a message for her on voice mail.
I'll tell Marc at dinner
, I told myself.
That'll be soon enough
.

Later, when I was getting ready to go to dinner, Beverly called me. The sound of her voice reminded me that now, through their own kindness, they too were involved in something far more serious than simply being good Samaritans. The question was, should I let them go ahead and become involved, or should I warn them away? I felt I had a moral obligation to be straight with them. Besides, Lars had been at the meeting as well. He had heard Lucy's story at the same time I had.

“Lars and I are getting ready to go down and stay with Mike Conyers right now,” Beverly was saying cheerfully. “Lucy's about to leave for the second seating in the Regal Dining Room, so we need to be at their cabin as soon as possible.”

“Wait,” I said, making up my mind. “Let me come down and talk to you before you go.”

“I don't see why that's necessary—”

“Believe me, Beverly, it is. Just wait for me, please. I'll be there in a couple of minutes.”

The elevators were crowded with people going to dinner. I hustled down the stairway instead. “So what's this all about?” Lars asked when he opened the door to let me into their stateroom.

“If you're going to get involved in this, you should know that Mike Conyers wasn't making it up,” I told them. “He really did see someone fall in the water. Her name was Margaret Featherman, and it happened at five forty-seven yesterday afternoon, about the time everyone else on board was looking at that pod of whales. Her fall was captured on one of the ship's video cameras, but no one other than Mike actually saw what happened until today—this afternoon, when we reviewed the tape.”

“Why, forevermore!” Beverly breathed. “I can hardly believe it.”

“Where'd it happen?” Lars asked.

“In Chatham Strait,” I said. “Near Port Walter.”

“That's good, then,” Lars said at once. Suddenly he was all business and know-how. “The shipping lanes through there aren't all that far from shore. If she's a halfway decent swimmer, she might have made it to land. I remember there's an old cannery at Port Walter with a bunch of old buildings where she could have gone inside and dried off. And then there's the fish-and-game station. That's a year-round outfit. She could have gone there for help, too. Has anyone contacted them yet?”

“The captain's been in touch with the Coast Guard on that,” I said.

Lars nodded. “Good, good,” he said. “What was she, drunk? Had a few too many and fell off her balcony?”

I took a deep breath. Not only had I impersonated an officer, here I was about to divulge supposedly confidential pieces of a homicide investigation. “It wasn't an accident,” I said.

“You're saying it's murder then?” Beverly asked.

I nodded. “I saw her fall,” I said. “Someone had covered her mouth with duct tape.”

“Ya, sure,” Lars said. “Sounds like murder all right.”

“And here's my concern,” I added. “There were a lot of people in that meeting this afternoon, Lars. Eventually word is bound to get out that someone really did go overboard about the time Mike said he saw it. Once that happens, someone else may make the same connection I did. What if word gets back to the killer that there's a witness? They'll have no way of knowing all Mike saw was someone falling past the camera.”

“I get it,” Lar's said. “You're thinking the killer may think Mike Conyers saw all of what happened and come after him as well.”

“You mean Mike Conyers could be in danger as well?” Beverly asked. “But I've talked to his wife. The poor man's not even all there. He couldn't possibly testify, could he?”

“No. But the killer may not be aware of that.”

“Should we warn Lucy?” Lars asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “She's already got a whole lot on her plate. How much more do you think the woman can stand?”

“Women are a whole lot tougher than men realize,” Beverly interjected. “She needs to know exactly what she's up against. If one of you men won't tell her, then I will.”

Lars nodded. “Beverly's right,” he said. “We should tell her.”

“Go ahead then. Except for the duct tape. I'm sure the FBI is going to want that as a holdback.”

“A what?” Beverly asked.

“It's a detail of the crime known only to the investigators and to the killer. I probably shouldn't have told you, either. But I have.”

“We'll keep it quiet,” Lars said grimly. “Won't we, honey bun.”

Beverly smiled at him and nodded. I noticed she was wearing a different dress, but she was once again wearing her new peace-offering brooch.

“I'll let you get going, then,” I said, backing toward the door. “But wait a minute. You called me a few minutes ago. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, that's right,” Beverly said. “A bunch of us are going to go on that narrow-gauge White Pass train ride in Skagway tomorrow. We were wondering if you'd want to go along.”

I didn't know there was a narrow-gauge train ride in Skagway. “I hadn't really given it much thought,” I admitted.

“Lars wants to do that, and so do the girls . . .”

“The girls?” I asked.

“You know, the Wakefield girls, Claire and Florence. We're going to see if Lucy and Mike would like to go, too. I know she's worried about Mike being a problem, but if we're all along to lend a hand, we should be able to handle whatever comes up.”

I glanced at Lars, who nodded. “Might be a good idea,” he agreed. “Just in case.”

With both of them asking, there wasn't much chance of my turning them down. “Sure,” I said cheerfully. “That's what I'm here for—the just-in-cases.”

“Good,” she said. “Once we talk to Lucy, I'll go right up to the tour desk and purchase the tickets so we won't have to worry about that in the morning. I'll leave a message about departure times. I understand the train runs several times a day. I'll try to get us on one of the earlier ones.”

No surprises there
. “Good,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

“But wait,” Beverly said, before I managed to make it out the door. “What about that nice woman who was with you this morning in Juneau. What was her name again?”

“Naomi Pepper.”

“Right,” Beverly said. “Will Naomi be joining us? She's more than welcome to, you know.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “I imagine she's already made other plans.”

I went back up to the Promenade Deck and wandered once again through the photo gallery, picking up copies of Lars and Beverly's formal-dinner pictures as well as a copy of the one taken at Margaret Featherman's table, the one where Margaret wasn't there.

Sitting in the Sea Breeze Bar and waiting for the dining-room doors to open, I studied the picture closely. By the time the photographer had shown up, dinner was over and we were all about to enjoy our specially ordered raspberry soufflés. By then Margaret Featherman had long since taken her terrible plunge into the drink, and somehow, knowing that made me feel incredibly sad. Treating us all to those soufflés had been Margaret Featherman's one last chance to show off. Too bad she hadn't been there to enjoy it.

Marc and I both looked uncomfortable and stupid. The three women all looked great. Beverly was right when she said women were tough. Less than four hours had elapsed since Naomi's awful confrontation with Margaret. According to her, she had fled Margaret's room in tears, but here she was smiling for the camera and looking completely at ease. I looked up and glanced around the room, hoping to catch sight of Naomi or Virginia and Sharon and wondering how they had all fared after Naomi's afternoon revelation.

Slipping the pictures back in the plastic bag, I sat and thought about Naomi Pepper some more. I remembered how upset she had been when I had first mentioned the presence of the security cameras. And I remembered, too, her pause just outside Margaret Featherman's door before she had retreated down the hall.

She hadn't pulled the door all the way shut, and that open door had allowed the man waiting across the hall to have unannounced access into Margaret's cabin. Had that been a deliberate act on Naomi's part, or was it simply an oversight? I wondered. It was possible that she had been so upset that she had simply failed to notice that the door hadn't closed and that had turned out to be a waiting killer's lucky break. Or had she known someone was lying in wait just across the corridor and left the door open on purpose?

Much as I didn't like it, I had to admit that was a possibility. And by the time they finally opened the doors to the Crystal Dining Room, I went in along with everyone else, but I wasn't the least bit hungry.