Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) (17 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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It was the final paragraph about Dolly’s relationship with Lefty that had special meaning for me. According to legend, Lefty struck it rich in a creek north of town and gave the gold he panned to Dolly for safekeeping. Shortly after that, Lefty left town for a few days, promising that he would be back within a week. He didn’t return. Rumor had it that he’d been killed by another miner in a dispute over the ownership of the stake Lefty had claimed. His body was never discovered. That left Dolly with riches far beyond whatever money she made by running her house of ill repute. The few people who knew of the gold Lefty had given her assumed she would shut down her business and move to a less harsh place in which to live out her final years. But that didn’t happen. She continued to run the brothel until legal prostitution was finally ended in 1954, and she lived there until her death in July 1975.
 
 
I closed the book, sat back, and tried to envision what life must have been like during those rough-and-tumble days in Ketchikan. It was a wide-open town, with its legal red-light district along Creek Street and with an equally thriving industry in rum running to get around Alaska’s Bone Dry Law, which preceded America’s Prohibition act by three years. Dolly Arthur, and other women like her, must have been a special breed to have ventured into the wilds of Alaska, a rugged, lawless frontier.
 
 
I replaced the book on the shelf and chose another, a history of the various towns and cities we would be visiting on the cruise. I was on my way out of the library when Officer Kale stopped me.
 
 
“Enjoying your evening, Mrs. Fletcher?” he asked.
 
 
“Very much,” I replied. “The classical music concert was lovely. I’ve been doing some reading and thought I would take a book back to my cabin.”
 
 
“I understand you’ve been questioning some of the crew about Ms. Copeland’s disappearance.”
 
 
“That’s right,” I said. “Ms. Copeland’s sister and I spoke with some of the staff in the dining room.”
 
 
“So I’ve been told,” he said. “I thought we had an understanding that you wouldn’t interfere in shipboard activities.”
 
 
“I hardly consider the few minutes we spent with them to constitute interfering in anything,” I said.
 
 
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said. “As I told you and Ms. Copeland, I stand ready to help you in any way I can. I’m well aware of how upsetting the disappearance of Ms. Copeland’s sister must be, and I share your desire to come to some conclusion and achieve closure. At the same time, I have an obligation to the other passengers on the ship.”
 
 
“I think we understand each other perfectly,” I said.
 
 
“Yes, I’m sure we do. As long as we’re discussing this, would you mind telling me what the dining room staff had to say?”
 
 
“Not at all. They tried to be helpful but really had little to offer. It does seem that Wilimena Copeland openly discussed the purpose of her trip with everyone, including your dining room staff.”
 
 
“You’re talking about the gold she claimed was hers.”
 
 
“Yes. It wasn’t very prudent of her.”
 
 
“My sentiments exactly.”
 
 
“Well,” I said, “Ms. Copeland and I appreciate your concern, Officer Kale. If you’ll excuse me.”
 
 
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mrs. Fletcher.”
 
 
As I watched him walk away, I experienced an unexpected negative reaction. While he was certainly pleasant enough, and seemed to carry out his duties professionally, there was something unsettling about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I quietly reminded myself that I was probably reacting to something that had nothing to do with him. Still, I’ve learned over the years to put some credence in such vague feelings and not to summarily dismiss them.
 
 
I was filled with a torrent of thoughts as I slowly made my way in the direction of my cabin. Naturally, I thought of the man—allegedly John Smith—who’d met such a cold, cruel death in the icy waters of Glacier Bay. Where on the ship had he gone over the side? Had he slipped? Had he deliberately flung himself over the rail? Or had someone helped him end his life?
 
 
I thought of Kathy, too, who was off enjoying the evening with Bill Henderson. It was good that she was finding some happiness during the cruise. Traveling all this way in search of a missing sister, and anticipating an unhappy ending, must be weighing heavily on her. The one hope for optimism had to do with Willie’s personality and past behavior. Disappearing for months at a time was not unusual for her, according to Kathy, and the hope was that this was simply another one of those whimsical flights from reality.
 
 
I took a detour and went down to the main deck, where Officer Kale had said John Smith’s cabin was located. I passed by the front office and shore excursion areas and proceeded toward the stern of the ship. There was no doubt which cabin had been his. Crime scene tape, red instead of the usual yellow, was draped across the door, and a young man in uniform stood watch.
 
 
“Good evening,” I said.
 
 
“Good evening, ma’am.”
 
 
“There must be something unusually interesting in that cabin,” I said, adding a large smile to mitigate my obvious curiosity.
 
 
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the stern expression never leaving his youthful face.
 
 
“Mind if I ask what’s in there?” I said.
 
 
“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am,” he said, maintaining his erect posture.
 
 
“Now you really have me wondering,” I said pleasantly.
 
 
He said nothing.
 
 
“Well,” I said, “I was just passing by and was curious. Have a nice evening.”
 
 
No one was at the small circular bar in the atrium portion of the deck, and I sat at one of the stools. “I’d like just a taste of brandy,” I told the bartender. After I’d been served, I looked down into the snifter and had the fanciful notion that the answer to Wilimena’s disappearance might be seen in the shimmering amber liquid, like a fortune-teller seeking wisdom and insight in tea leaves. I smiled at the thought. All I saw in the brandy was the reflection of the overhead lights.
 
 
“Excuse me,” I said to the bartender. “I was wondering whether you remember a woman who was on a previous Alaskan cruise.”
 
 
“I don’t know,” he responded. “Who was she?”
 
 
“Her name was Wilimena Copeland.”
 
 
I started to describe her, but the bartender’s easy laugh made that unnecessary. “Willie, you mean,” he said, his laugh louder now. “Everyone remembers her. She was—”
 
 
“A bit of a character,” I provided.
 
 
“If you say so, ma’am.”
 
 
“Did you serve her at this bar?” I asked.
 
 
“Oh, yes. I believe this was her favorite spot to end each evening.”
 
 
“I didn’t know that,” I said, tasting the brandy. “Did she usually come here with the same people?”
 
 
“Not really,” he said, polishing glassware as he spoke to me. “Well, she and Mr. Quarlé showed up together a few times.”
 
 
“I’m sure they did,” I said. “I know that Maurice was quite fond of her.”
 
 
“You know Maurice?”
 
 
“Oh, yes, I certainly do. Did Willie and Maurice say what they planned to do when they went ashore?”
 
 
He shook his head. “Not that I remember,” he said, laughing again. “Maybe look for the gold together.”
 
 
“Ah, yes, the gold,” I said.
 
 
“She said she would send me a gift after she found it,” the bartender said.
 
 
“I’m sure she did,” I said, taking a last sip of brandy. “I think I’ll call it a night. Thank you.”
 
 
I signed the check using my cabin number and got up to leave.
 
 
“Do you know what happened to her?” the bartender asked, not laughing this time. Word of her disappearance had obviously gotten around.
 
 
“No, I don’t, but if I find out I’ll let you know.”
 
 
I had a sinking feeling as I walked away that if I did find out what happened to Wilimena Copeland, any news that I might convey to this bartender would not be happy.
 
 
Chapter Eight
 
 
I realized something was different the moment I opened my eyes the following morning. It took me a few seconds to figure out exactly what it was. We were no longer moving.
 
 
I opened the drapes and looked down over the town of Juneau. I checked the small travel alarm I always bring with me on trips; it was a few minutes past seven. We must have just arrived.
 
 
I quickly showered and dressed for the day. I didn’t know what the weather would be like in Juneau, or how changeable it might be, so I chose clothing that could be layered and put on my most comfortable walking shoes. I was going to call Kathy’s cabin, but her knock on my door beat me to it. We decided to have breakfast at the Lido buffet instead of the dining room because it would be faster. I was anxious to get ashore and start the process of tracing Willie Copeland’s movements in Juneau.
 
 
After leaving the buffet line with our breakfast trays, we found a vacant table by a window.
 
 
“Did you bring Willie’s receipts from Juneau?” I asked.
 
 
“I have them right here,” she said and handed them to me.
 
 
I went through them and saw that, as with the receipts from Seattle, she had arranged them in chronological order. I put them in the pocket of my windbreaker and took a bite of my Western omelet. “When you went through Willie’s papers, Kathy, did you come across addresses of various staff members?”
 
 
“No. Why?”
 
 
“I just wonder where they might have gone. The staff in the dining room said she had promised to send them gifts and had collected their home addresses.”
 
 
“That’s right,” she said. “Someone must have taken them.”
 
 
“I would like to know who,” I replied. “How was the talent show last night?”
 
 
“Very, very funny, Jess. Some people are amazing in how they’ll get up in front of hundreds of strangers and think they can sing.”
 
 
“They probably sound wonderful at home in the shower. What’s Bill up to this morning?”
 
 
“He said he wanted to use the gym, and he’s entered in a Scrabble tournament. I made a date to meet him at noon at that kiosk back on the pier.” A sheepish grin came over her face. “I really like him, Jess. I really, really like him.”
 
 
“That’s wonderful. I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.”
 
 
We finished breakfast and headed to a lower deck, where passengers disembarked from the
Glacial Queen
. After having our ID cards scanned into a computer, we were allowed to leave the ship down a long gangway that brought us to the Juneau dock. Tourists were everywhere. I looked in both directions and saw that we weren’t the only cruise ship docked there that morning. Three other huge liners flanked the
Glacial Queen
, their passengers joining ours to create shoulder-to-shoulder people everywhere you looked.
 
 
“I can’t believe how crowded everything is,” Kathy said.
 
 
“The tourist season is in full swing,” I said. “The shopkeepers must love to see the ships come in. They have only this short season to make a profit.”

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