Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) (15 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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“I think a carefully worded announcement over the PA from Captain Rasmussen might go a long way in calming nerves.”
 
 
“I’ll suggest it.”
 
 
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the suggestion. Before I leave, I’d be interested in knowing the identity of the man who died.”
 
 
“I’m not at liberty to reveal that.”
 
 
“I understand your reticence. But you should know that the man in question had been following me ever since we boarded.”
 
 
His expression exuded skepticism.
 
 
“I know what you’re thinking, Officer Kale, but I’m not claiming that he was stalking me as a woman in whom he was interested. He had another, less sanguine reason, and it wasn’t romantic. I’m determined to know what it was.”
 
 
“I wish I could help.”
 
 
“You can. Surely you know his name and where he’s from. That’s all I need to know, and I promise that I will be the only passenger with that information.”
 
 
“Including your friend Ms. Copeland?”
 
 
“Yes, including her—unless it turns out that he had something to do with her sister’s disappearance.”
 
 
He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I trust you. Maybe you can do something for me in return.”
 
 
“If I possibly can, I will.”
 
 
“What if you write and deliver that reassuring speech you suggested the captain make? You’re a famous writer. I’ve heard people talking about you being on the ship. Maybe a soothing message from you would do the trick.”
 
 
“I’m willing,” I said.
 
 
“Good. I’ll tell Captain Rasmussen what I’ve asked you to do. I’m sure he’ll agree. Now, about the unfortunate incident today. The only identification the man had on his person was his shipboard ID card.”
 
 
“That’s it? Not even a wallet?”
 
 
“Nothing other than the card. His name is John Smith.”
 
 
“You aren’t being serious.”
 
 
“Oh, I’m very serious, Mrs. Fletcher. I checked the records. He boarded using a driver’s license. His name and photo on that card matched up with who he claimed to be.”
 
 
“Where was his cabin?”
 
 
“K-one-one-two-three, our lowest-priced accommodation, an inside cabin on the main deck, near the stern.”
 
 
“Had you had any interaction with him?” I asked.
 
 
“No, none at all. I saw him once up at the Lido buffet and recall thinking he was acting strange—nervous, ill at ease.”
 
 
“Are you aware of any contact he might have had with other passengers?”
 
 
“No. I checked with the dining room maître d’, who informed me that Mr. Smith had not come to his assigned table once since leaving Seattle. Evidently he preferred to take his meals in the Lido.”
 
 
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
 
 
“Yes, but not unheard-of. There are always a few passengers who avoid group dining and would rather eat alone. The Lido gives them the opportunity to do that.”
 
 
“Where was he from?” I asked.
 
 
“New York City.”
 
 
“That’s a long way to come to take a cruise to Alaska in the least expensive cabin and to not enjoy shipboard meals served in the dining room.”
 
 
Kale managed a pained smile. “I’m paid to ensure security on the ship, Mrs. Fletcher, not to psychoanalyze passengers.”
 
 
“Is there a next of kin?”
 
 
“None listed.”
 
 
“What’s the process with the body once we reach Juneau?”
 
 
“Authorities there have been alerted. They’ll take possession of the deceased, perform an autopsy, and do whatever else is legally appropriate.”
 
 
“I suppose I’d be overstepping my bounds by asking to see his cabin.”
 
 
“I’m afraid you’re right. It’s been sealed and will remain that way until the authorities in Juneau have conducted their investigation.”
 
 
“I understand. You’ve been most helpful, Officer Kale. I appreciate it.”
 
 
“About that message?”
 
 
“Yes, of course. I’ll write up something immediately and give it to you for your approval.”
 
 
“Good. Now, I really must get back to what I was doing.”
 
 
“You’ve been more than generous with your time.”
 
 
I got up to leave, but paused at the door. “Can you think of any reason why this Mr. John Smith, from New York City, would want to follow me?” I asked Kale.
 
 
He shook his head. “Haven’t a clue,” he said.
 
 
Bill Henderson had chosen a good place for us to rendezvous. The Crow’s Nest was virtually empty. Bill and Kathy had ordered drinks, and he offered to get me one, which I declined.
 
 
“Did you have any luck with Officer Kale?” Kathy asked.
 
 
“Yes, but I’d rather wait to fill you in. Right now I have to write a message to broadcast over the ship’s PA system.”
 
 
Their expressions asked the obvious question, and I explained what I’d agreed to do.
 
 
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’d do better writing this message back in the cabin. I could also use a nap after I deliver it to Officer Kale. Let’s separate and meet for dinner.”
 
 
I left the bar and went to my cabin, where I wrote what I thought would allay the fears of my fellow passengers. But before I delivered it to Kale, I used the phone in the cabin to call Cabot Cove.
 
 
“Mort,” I said when he answered, “it’s Jessica.”
 
 
“Hey, Mrs. F. How are things in sunny Alaska?”
 
 
“Cold,” I said, “in more ways than one.”
 
 
“Any progress in finding Kathy’s sister?”
 
 
“Afraid not. At least not yet. Mort, you spoke with a police officer in Alaska on Kathy’s behalf, didn’t you?”
 
 
“Sure did. Spoke with two of them.”
 
 
“Can you give me their names?”
 
 
“Sure. They’re both with the Alaska State Troopers. As I understand it, only the biggest towns have their own police force—Anchorage, Fairbanks, places like that. The troopers take care of most serious crime. Let me see. Okay. I spoke with a Detective Flowers. Nice guy, was real helpful. Seems like he handles missing-person cases up there. But then I called a buddy of mine—well, not really a buddy, but I got to know him pretty well at a couple of law enforcement conferences. Joe McQuesten. Joe’s family goes way back in Alaska. Seems like his grandfather ran a store during the gold rush. Pretty important guy.”
 
 
“Is he involved in investigating Wilimena’s disappearance, too?”
 
 
“Not officially, but he said he’d keep tabs on it. He works pretty close with Flowers.”
 
 
“That’s good information, Mort. Thanks.”
 
 
“Anytime. Anything exciting happening on your cruise?”
 
 
I thought of the dead man in Glacier Bay, but decided not to get into it with Cabot Cove’s sheriff. “No, Mort,” I said, “nothing exciting. I’ll stay in touch.”
 
 
“Okay, Mrs. F. Oh, by the way, I was speaking with Doc Hazlitt today. He said that if I heard from you, I should remind you to be careful walking around on the decks. They get slippery, he says, and he wouldn’t want you to fall overboard.” He laughed. “That’s typical Doc, always worrying about you.”
 
 
“Tell him I’ll be careful, Mort. He needn’t worry. People don’t go falling off ships. Love to all.”
 
 
Chapter Six
 
 
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Rasmussen speaking from the bridge. Many of you know that noted mystery writer Jessica Fletcher is a passenger on this cruise. She has something of interest to say regarding the incident that occurred this afternoon. Mrs. Fletcher?”
 
 
I’d been escorted to the bridge after Officer Kale and Captain Rasmussen had approved what I’d written. Being on the bridge was a thrill for me. I’d enjoyed that privilege only once before. That was during a transatlantic voyage on the
QE2
. It’s a remarkable experience to stand up there and observe the smooth, seamless work of the young officers under the watchful eye of their captain. Of course, security is always tight; the door to a narrow staircase up to the bridge isn’t marked, and a uniformed security guard stands just inside it. A steamship’s bridge is akin to an airliner’s cockpit. In neither case would having an unwanted visitor be prudent.
 
 
Rasmussen handed me the microphone. I cleared my throat and looked down at the paper in my hand. I hadn’t expected him to introduce me, so I had to make an adjustment in my opening line.
 
 
“Thank you, Captain Rasmussen. Yes, this is Jessica Fletcher, a passenger on this wonderful Alaska cruise. Many of you were witnesses to an unfortunate accident this afternoon. Naturally, such a tragic event is upsetting for everyone. But some of you have allowed your imaginations and creative instincts to overrule reality.” I chuckled for effect. “That’s my job as a mystery writer. The fact is that no one knows what led to the accident that took the life of one of our fellow passengers, and we won’t know until the authorities in Juneau have conducted a proper investigation. Until that time, I think it would behoove all of us to avoid speculating. Until that investigation has been completed, we should all consider it an unfortunate accident— and nothing more. Let’s continue to enjoy this lovely cruise. Thank you.”
 
 
I handed over the mike.
 
 
“That was very nicely done, Mrs. Fletcher,” Rasmussen said after signing off.
 
 
“I hope it accomplishes what it’s intended to accomplish,” I said. “And thank you for allowing me up here on the bridge. What spectacular views you have from this vantage point.”
 
 
“I never tire of it.”
 
 
He motioned for me to join him away from the other officers. “Mrs. Fletcher, I understand from Officer Kale that you believe the gentleman who fell from the ship this afternoon had been following you.”
 
 
“That’s right.”
 
 
“Why?”
 
 
“I don’t have the answer to that, Captain Rasmussen, but I’m working on it.”
 
 
“Are you sure those creative instincts you spoke of aren’t at play here, too?”
 
 
“I think not, Captain. I’m sure I’ll be better able to answer that question once we learn more about the victim. Thank you again.”
 
 
“No, thank
you
, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m certain you’ve calmed any anxious passengers. Enjoy the rest of the cruise.”
 
 
One of the junior officers led me down from the bridge and wished me a good afternoon. I decided against a nap. Instead, I went to see whether the ship’s Greenhouse Spa and Salon had a last-minute opening. I was in luck. Someone had canceled and I was able to be served without a reservation. It was a beautiful shipboard spa; I felt more relaxed the moment I walked through the doors.
 
 
“I am glad you made that announcement,” the receptionist said after I’d given my name. “Passengers have been coming in here convinced there’s a madman killer loose on the ship.”

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