Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) (12 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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“Sounds nice.”
 
 
“It was. He’s a very interesting man, Jess. He was a jet pilot in the air force before becoming a financial advisor.”
 
 
“Quite the combination,” I said, “flying military jets and advising people on their financial futures.”
 
 
“He has so many interests. Cooking. Gardening. He volunteers at a Seattle soup kitchen, too.”
 
 
“Sounds like you have a lot in common. He missed breakfast.”
 
 
“He said he was going to meet someone for breakfast in the Lido.”
 
 
Like most cruise ships, the
Glacial Queen
has a buffet restaurant for those who don’t wish to have meals in the main dining rooms. In this case, it’s the Lido Café.
 
 
“I’m glad it was such a pleasant evening,” I said. “Now, let’s plan what we’re going to do today. I want to see whether we can find out more about that passenger, Maurice. And the dining room staff that served at Willie’s table during her cruise might have something to offer.”
 
 
“All right,” Kathy said.
 
 
“But let’s leave time later today to enjoy the glaciers.”
 
 
“Absolutely. Jess, about that man we saw in our hallway. Why are you interested in him?”
 
 
I told her about my run-in with him on the deck the previous night.
 
 
“You think he’s following you?”
 
 
“It appears that way. Of course, it could just be coincidence. And I have to admit that I was the one doing the following in the casino.”
 
 
She turned to peer out the window. Everything was gray outside, sea and sky. I saw her reflection in the pane. Her expression, so ebullient earlier, was now serious.
 
 
“Kathy?”
 
 
“What? Oh, sorry, Jess. I was thinking about that man. Do you think he might have known Willie?”
 
 
“I have no idea, Kathy, but I intend to find out who he is. Tell you what. I’ll head down to the administrative offices and see if they’ll tell me anything about this Maurice character. Why don’t you see if you can find out which table Willie sat at in the dining room. We’ll meet up in the library in an hour.”
 
 
The ship’s administrative offices, more commonly called the front office, was amidships on the main deck. There was a line of passengers waiting to transact business with the staff behind the counter, and I joined them. I was almost to the desk when I spotted First Officer Kale passing through the area.
 
 
“Officer Kale?” I called as he neared me.
 
 
“Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Have a pleasant breakfast?”
 
 
“Oh, yes. Very pleasant.” I led him away from the others. “I was wondering if you would do me a large favor.”
 
 
“If I’m able.”
 
 
“One of the men that Wilimena Copeland complained about was a French gentleman named Maurice.”
 
 
I knew from his expression that he was aware of the man to whom I referred.
 
 
“I’d like to know his last name and where he can be reached.”
 
 
Now his expression said I’d asked for the impossible. “That would be inappropriate,” he said, verbally supporting the stern look on his face.
 
 
“I understand the restrictions you feel you’re under,” I said, “but I’m also certain you can appreciate that this is a highly unusual situation.”
 
 
“Of course. But—”
 
 
“I assure you that no one will ever know where I got my information. Please. There’s a woman missing, and her sister has come all the way from Maine in hopes of finding out what happened to her. Surely you can break a rule or two to help her. Help
us
.”
 
 
He sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
 
 
He returned a few minutes later with a computer printout containing the information I wanted. My eyebrows went up. “He
lives
in Alaska?” I said.
 
 
Kale nodded. “I’m trusting you, Mrs. Fletcher, to be discreet with what you choose to do with this information. Mr. Quarlé is a very good customer. He’s a frequent passenger on our Alaskan cruises.”
 
 
“I won’t betray your trust,” I said. “Thank you.”
 
 
I left the area and went up to the Ocean Bar. I was the only passenger there at that hour. I sat at a small table next to a window and studied more closely what Kale had given me. Maurice Quarlé’s address was listed in Juneau, Alaska. We were scheduled to arrive there at seven the following morning. The printout indicated that he was unmarried and owned a travel agency in Alaska’s capital. That would explain his status as a frequent guest on cruise ships like the
Glacial Queen.
My friend Susan Shevlin, who owns Cabot Cove’s leading travel agency, always seems to be off on some familiarization trip hosted by a resort, airline, or steamship company. I’ve even had the good fortune to accompany her when her husband, Jim, Cabot Cove’s mayor, was unable to find the time.
 
 
Had this Maurice Quarlé pursued Wilimena Copeland to the extent that she’d complained to the ship’s security officer? It was hard to come up with a definitive answer to that question, knowing as I did her reputation as an inveterate flirt. But there was a bigger question to be answered. According to everything we’d learned to date, Willie had confided in everyone she met about inheriting gold from her aunt, Dolly Arthur. It was only natural to assume that she’d done the same with Mr. Quarlé.
 
 
Gladys Montgomery didn’t have much use for him, even termed him “smarmy.” Did she use the word to indicate a lack of morals and ethics, or was it purely her read of his personality? If it was the former, he was the wrong sort of person for Wilimena to have confided in about her pending gold strike. I made him number one on my priority list of things to do when we reached Juneau.
 
 
A waiter approached and I ordered a cup of tea. As I waited for it, David Johansen passed by. “Enjoying a little solitude?” he asked.
 
 
“Yes. You can usually find quiet time in a bar in the morning,” I said.
 
 
“Mind if I join you?”
 
 
“Not at all.”
 
 
My tea was delivered, and Johansen ordered coffee.
 
 
“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “but I hear through the grapevine that you’re on a mission.”
 
 
“Mission? How so?”
 
 
“To find a missing woman. Someone told me that Ms. Copeland is her sister.”
 
 
I couldn’t help but laugh. “The ubiquitous grapevine at work,” I said. “Even on a ship hundreds of miles from shore.”
 
 
“Especially on a ship,” he said. “We’re a captive audience. Have you made any progress in finding Kathy’s sister?”
 
 
“No,” I said, “but we’ve just started. Tell me, David, what does the grapevine have to say about it? Maybe there’s something in the rumor mill that would be helpful.”
 
 
“Well, from what I’ve heard, she was on her way to Alaska to claim gold left to her by her aunt, a famous brothel madam named Dolly Arthur.”
 
 
“I’m impressed,” I said. “The grapevine has it right so far.”
 
 
“Dolly Arthur’s real name was Thelma Copeland.”
 
 
My eyebrows went up. “How do you know that?” I asked.
 
 
“The Alaskan gold rush is of particular interest to me. I teach it as part of a course back at the college. I’ve done a lot of reading about Dolly Arthur and others like her. Women who came to Alaska during that period were a hardy breed, tough as nails. They had to be to survive.”
 
 
I sat back and nodded. “How coincidental,” I said, “that you would end up at our table.”
 
 
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Know what I’d like to do?”
 
 
“Tell me.”
 
 
“I’d like to interview Kathy. I’m sure she can add to what I already know about her aunt Dolly.”
 
 
“It’s more likely that she’ll learn from you, David. But I think getting the two of you together is a splendid idea.”
 
 
He finished his coffee and stood. “I promised to meet Kimberly in the shops. Always presents to buy for the folks back home. Enjoy the rest of the day, Jessica. The glaciers are breathtaking.” He pointed out the window. “Looks like the rain is stopping. As long as it stays overcast, we’re in luck. The incredible blue colors within the glaciers are best seen in overcast conditions. Catch up with you later.”
 
 
Kathy was already in the library when I arrived.
 
 
“Any luck?” she asked.
 
 
“I’d say so,” I said, handing her the printout about Maurice Quarlé.
 
 
“How did you get this, Jess?”
 
 
“First Officer Kale. He did me a favor.”
 
 
“I’m glad he cooperated,” Kathy said. “I was beginning to think that no one involved with the ship would.”
 
 
“How about you?” I asked. “Did you come up with anyone in the dining room who remembers serving Willie?”
 
 
“I sure did,” she said proudly.
 
 
“Good for you.”
 
 
“I spoke with a maître d’ who remembered Willie. The lead waiter, too.”
 
 
“Great! What did they have to say?”
 
 
She looked at me sheepishly. “I didn’t ask them much, Jess. I thought you’d be better at that.”
 
 
“All right. Who are they?”
 
 
She’d written their names on a slip of paper.
 
 
“They’ll be too busy at lunch to talk with us,” I said. “Maybe they have a break between lunch and dinner when we can corral them. Have you seen your Bill Henderson?”
 
 
“Yes, I bumped into him on my way here from the dining room. He said he’d be joining us for lunch.”
 
 
“Good. I think what we might do next is—”
 
 
I saw
him
out of the corner of my eye, standing at the door to the library.
 
 
“Excuse me,” I said.
 
 
I got up and headed for the door. The man with the thin face and flaxen hair—he’d changed into blue shorts and a pale yellow T-shirt—saw me coming and took off. I walked faster until I reached the hallway, where I saw him disappear around a corner. I went after him, walking fast at first and picking up the pace as he began to run.
 
 
“Hello,” I called in a voice just below a shout. “Excuse me!”
 
 
He took a left turn, which brought him to a bank of elevators and the center staircase. He went down the stairs two at a time.
 
 
“I want to talk to you!” I shouted and started down after him. But I tripped on the carpeted top step. Fortunately, I grabbed the brass banister before starting my descent and was able to keep myself from falling headfirst. But the force of my body hurtling forward and spinning around wrenched my arm and shoulder. I came to rest a few steps below where I’d started, on my rear end.
 
 
“Mrs. Fletcher! Are you all right?”
 
 
It was Bill Henderson, who was on his way up the stairs. He reached down and offered his hand to me.

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