Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101) (9 page)

“You're wrong there,” Naomi told me. “Virginia's a ten-year survivor. During chemo, she got used to wearing her hair short and never let it grow back. Dick probably had something to do with that.”

“Who's Dick?”

“Her husband. He left her two weeks after she had her mastectomy. Told her he couldn't handle the stress.”

Hearing that, I couldn't help thinking about Dave Livingston, my first wife's second husband. He had cared for Karen with unstinting devotion and patient loving kindness all during her ultimately fatal battle with breast cancer. It was no coincidence that although Kayla Cartwright, my three-year-old granddaughter, has no grandmother on her mother's side, she does have the benefit of two doting grandfathers—Grandpa (me) and Papa Dave. Obviously Dick Metz didn't play in the same league as Kayla's Papa Dave.

“Sounds like a hell of a nice guy,” I said. “And what about Sharon? Did she fare any better than the rest of you as far as men are concerned?”

Naomi shook her head. “Not much. She had one of those husbands you hear about from time to time, the ones who think they're wired for two-twenty. In fact, Leonard Carson is on his second twenty-something right now. Sharon lasted until she was forty before he traded her in. The second Mrs. Carson only made it to thirty-five. He's on number three at the moment, but now she's getting a little long in the tooth as well, so I doubt she'll be around much longer, either.”

I shook my head. “You ladies sure do know how to pick 'em,” I said with an uneasy laugh.

Naomi nodded. “That's why we all stick together. We encourage meaningless relationships whenever possible in hopes of keeping the others from making any more stupid mistakes.” She glanced around the room. “Speaking of which, I'm surprised we haven't seen them yet.”

“Seen who?” I asked.

She laughed. “Margaret and her current man of the hour. Make that man of the moment. She loves to brag. Gloating in solitary splendor isn't her style. I'd think she would have let her current hunk out of bed long enough to bring him around so the rest of us could get a look at him. That's what she would have done back in the old days.”

“Maybe they're having too much fun,” I suggested.

“Maybe,” Naomi agreed, but her dubious tone made it sound as though she didn't really believe it.

Ever since we'd come into the lounge, I had been toying with a plan. Considering the way the conversation had gone for the last little while, there didn't seem to be much point in mentioning it. But finally, about the time the orchestra took a break, I worked up enough courage to ask, “Are you going into Juneau tomorrow?”

“I guess so,” Naomi said.

“Would you care for some company?”

She looked at me and smiled. “I think I'd like that. We're supposed to dock around seven-thirty. Want to disembark with the early birds?”

I was so surprised by how easy that was that I almost forgot to answer. “Sure,” I replied. “Why don't we meet upstairs at the buffet about six-thirty or so, grab some breakfast, and then be ready to go ashore with the first wave of shore-bound passengers?”

Naomi nodded. “Sounds good to me.” After a pause she added, “What about your grandparents?”

“What about them?”

“Will they be going ashore, too?”

“Probably.”

“Wouldn't it be a good idea if we took them along so we could more or less keep an eye on them?”

That didn't seem like an especially good idea to me, but I could see resistance was futile—like being assimilated by the Borg on that “Star Trek Voyager” series.

“Beverly and Lars are a couple of early birds,” I told her. “I'll check with them first thing in the morning and see what they say.”

Since we hadn't finished eating dinner until after ten, it didn't take long for the remainder of the evening to turn into a late night. Not only that, thanks to Lars' previous early-morning wake-up call, I was running on empty while everybody else in the group was acting as though the night were still young. Finally, around midnight—about the time the rest of the group was heading for the buffet and the all-you-can-eat chocolate fest—I opted out of the party in favor of getting some sleep.

In my stateroom, with its dimmed lights and turned-down bedding, I could hardly wait to strip off my tie and peel out of my tux. Then, donning my robe, I went outside onto my private balcony. I was close enough to the back of the ship that I could see the glow of phosphorescence churned up in our wake. I stood there for some time, smelling the sea and listening as the ship's bow cut through the water.

For a time I could barely believe that I had done it—that I had actually asked someone out on a date. Finally, it got too cold to be standing barefoot on an outside lanai in nothing but a robe and a pair of briefs. I went inside, where I called the purser's desk and asked them to leave a message for Lars and Beverly Jenssen to call me first thing in the morning if they were interested in having company on a day trip to Juneau.

After that, I crawled into bed. Gradually water and wind got the best of me and I drifted into a sense of peace—the first real peace I had felt in months. Lying in bed, I could easily imagine that I had left the world of murder and mayhem far behind. In actual fact, that couldn't have been further from the truth. Murder was alive and well two decks down, in a mini-suite at the end of the corridor where, although nobody knew it yet, Mrs. Margaret Featherman had gone missing and would soon be presumed dead.

B
EVERLY AND LARS JENSSEN
must have been up and taken their phone message at the crack of dawn, since they returned it shortly thereafter. They were upstairs in the buffet and finished with breakfast by the time I showed up. Naomi appeared a few minutes later, and I made introductions all around. Once Naomi and I brought our coffee and food to the table, Beverly had her daily planner opened and laid out on the table. She was ready to roll.

Beverly had taken the whole idea of this cruise as a serious challenge. She wanted to see as much as possible without wearing Lars or herself out. She had pored over the shore-excursion options, narrowing down the choices to what she thought the two of them couldn't afford to miss and what they could do without. In Juneau she wanted to take the cable-car ride up the side of a mountain overlooking the city. For someone who lives in downtown Seattle, calling Juneau a city is using the term loosely.

I have to say I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about the idea. I didn't see much point in riding up through trees and looking down on a bunch of ragtag buildings, but I didn't object. After all, my whole purpose for being there was to see that Beverly and Lars saw and did what
they
wanted. I did my best to go with the flow and keep my mouth shut. Naomi, on the other hand, gave every appearance of enjoying the outing.

In the process of standing in line for the cable car, Beverly and Naomi struck up a conversation with another pair of
Starfire Breeze
passengers. Beverly's new friends, Claire and Florence Wakefield, were a few years younger than my grandmother—somewhere in their seventies, I'd say. They were retired spinster schoolteachers who hailed from New York City. As they were happy to tell us, this was their first trip “out west.”

Despite my preconceived notions, the cable-car ride was actually a pleasant surprise. The sky overhead was a clear, limitless blue. The air was cool and surprisingly brisk. The few deciduous trees that were visible were already alive with beginning hues of fall color.

The line for tickets was relatively short at that early hour of the morning, and the trip up and down the mountain didn't take nearly as long as I had anticipated. As a consequence, we were finished with that and ready to return to the ship long before the
Starfire Breeze
's shuttle was due to come collect us. In the interest of preserving energy, our traveling companions were lobbying for a speedy return to the ship, so I flagged down a passing cab. Fortunately it was a lumbering old station wagon that's probably put into service only during cruise-ship season—and we all clambered into that. Lars and Beverly sat in front and the Wakefield sisters took the middle seat while Naomi and I scrambled into the far back.

“So,” Florence Wakefield said to me once we were settled. “You live in Seattle?”

I nodded. “That's right,” I said. “I live in a downtown condo.”

“We're planning on staying in the city for several days after the end of the cruise,” Florence continued. “Where would we have the best view of the pin?”

I had no idea what she was talking about. “The what?” I asked.

“You know,” she said impatiently. “The pin. Seattle's pin.”

“You mean the Needle?” Naomi asked, trying to suppress a smile. “You want a view of the Space Needle?”

“That's it,” Florence said. “Where's the hotel with the best view of the Space Needle?”

“Don't tell us,” Claire interrupted. “Once we get to town, we'll catch a cab and have the driver take us around until we find someplace that suits us.”

Juneau isn't all that big, and by then we were back at the cruise-ship dock. As we approached the gangplank, I was surprised to see Marc Alley down on the dock at the base of the gangplank. He was pacing back and forth. As soon as he caught sight of Naomi and me, he seemed overjoyed to see us.

“She's gone!” he announced.

“Who's gone?” I asked.

“Margaret Featherman. Dr. Featherman and the first officer came to my cabin early this morning. They pounded on the door so hard I thought there might be a fire or something. When I opened it, Dr. Featherman pushed his way inside, demanding to know where she was, since her room attendant had reported that Margaret hadn't been in her room at all overnight. I told them that I had no idea where she was. I told them I hadn't seen her since the night before last, when I walked her back to her room. I don't think they believed me. They said something about doing a room-to-room search of the entire ship. What should I do, Beau? Whatever's happened to her, they seem to think I had something to do with it.”

Naomi was standing beside me. I heard her sharp intake of breath when Marc first announced Margaret was gone. As for Marc, he looked so upset and agitated that I felt sorry for the guy. And all the while he spilled out his tale of woe, Beverly, Lars, and the two Wakefield sisters hung on every word. As tactfully as possible, Naomi and I herded the others up onto the ship, then we came back down to where Marc stood waiting.

By then Naomi seemed to have recovered somewhat from the distressing news that her friend was missing. “Did all this happen before or after the ship docked?” Naomi asked.

“After,” Marc replied. “At least by the time they came to my cabin and woke me up, we were docked.”

“So maybe it's all right then,” Naomi said reassuringly. “My guess is they're just pushing panic buttons. I know it says in the book that we're all supposed to swipe our room key cards as we get off and on the ship. But I can tell you Margaret Featherman has been breaking rules all her life. Or maybe they just missed hers somehow. She's probably off in Juneau spending an armload of money.”

“Have you seen either one of your dance partners from last night?” I asked.

Marc nodded. “I tracked down both Virginia and Sharon before they got off the ship to go into town. Dr. Featherman had been by to see them, too. They told him they hadn't seen Margaret since the night before last, either. In fact,” he added miserably, “it sounds as though I may have been the very last person who did see her.”

“Not true,” I told him, hoping to ease his worries. “Naomi and I both saw Margaret yesterday morning. We were upstairs in the buffet, and Margaret was on her way to the exercise room.”

Marc heaved a sigh. “Well, that's a relief anyway.”

“Don't worry,” Naomi said. “Just wait. Margaret will turn up at the last minute. Since she's always late, it'll probably be just before they raise the gangplank. My guess is she'll arrive with a new coat or some piece of artwork. The galleries around Juneau are supposed to be great, and Margaret wouldn't be above buying a new fur coat if she wanted one. She's been a fan of fur for as long as I've known her. I've always said that if any of those anti-fur protesters outside Benaroya Hall ever tried to take on Margaret Featherman, they'd end up getting far more of a fight than they bargained for.”

Smiling grimly, Marc Alley allowed himself to be led back up to the top of the gangplank, where we were all very careful to make sure our room key cards were properly swiped by the crewmen waiting there. Once on board, Marc said he was going back to his room. Naomi and I repaired to the Sea Breeze Bar for more of their dreadful coffee. We sat there without speaking for a fairly long time. And the longer we didn't speak, the lower Naomi's spirits seemed to go. She may have been able to lend Marc Alley some calming reassurance when he needed it, but she wasn't able to accept any of that comforting solace on her own behalf. She had successfully convinced Marc that Margaret Featherman was off enjoying herself on a shopping spree. Naomi herself didn't believe that for a moment.