“It’s probably not a good idea, me joining you,” Kathy said.
“Oh, no, it’s a—it’s a good idea, Kathy. I just wasn’t planning on traveling with anyone.”
“I’d stay out of your hair, Jess,” she said, “go my own way and try to find out what’s happened to Willie.” She laughed. “Chances are she met up with some handsome Mountie and decided to spend some time with him in Alaska.”
“Or marry him?” Seth said.
Kathy sighed deeply.
“How many times has your sister been married?” Charlene asked.
“Let me see,” Kathy said, counting on her fingers. “Four, I think. No—five!”
Everyone had an opinion and a comment to make about Wilimena’s penchant for tying the knot, but we stifled the temptation to express them. Wilimena’s multiple marriages obviously satisfied a need of hers, and who were we to judge?
“Lovely dinner, as usual, Jessica,” Seth said as they prepared to leave.
“Simple,” I said.
“Always the best kind,” Seth opined.
I saw them to the door and waved good-bye as they got into their vehicles. I locked up behind them, then went to the kitchen and tidied up before undressing for bed and slipping into a fresh pair of pajamas, a robe, and slippers. I’d become sleepy during the latter part of the evening, but now found myself wide-awake. I added a log to the fireplace and sat in front of the yellow-orange flames, which cast pleasant shafts of light and shadow over the room. What consumed my thinking was, of course, Kathy Copeland’s story about her sister’s disappearance in Alaska. Had I been rude in not responding with enthusiasm to her suggestion that she accompany me on my Alaskan trip? I was certainly sympathetic to her worries and her determination to do what she could to find Wilimena.
I suppose a sense of urgency was lacking in my mind because of Wilimena’s history. I’d met her on a number of occasions when she’d come to Cabot Cove to visit her sister. Wilimena was a bigger-than-life character, flamboyant and glamorous, so unlike Kathy, who was the salt of the earth and dressed and acted like it. My friend wore flannel shirts, jeans, and workman’s boots most of the time. She was a master gardener and an excellent cook, and enjoyed the simple pleasures of a good book, a hike in the woods, or a fish fry down on the beach. She’d never married, which surprised me. Somewhere out there was a man who was missing out on a first-rate wife.
Wilimena, on the other hand, was flashy in a big-city sort of way, fond of glittery dresses that showed off her splendid figure, lots of jewelry, elaborate hair-dos of varying hues, and a heavy albeit effective use of makeup. Wilimena was, Kathy once told me, the younger of the sisters, but by only a few years. Despite Wilimena’s over-the-top personality, which could quickly wear you down, she was personable and likable, which her numerous husbands had obviously recognized, too.
I was pondering the events of the evening when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Jessica? It’s Kathy.”
“Oh, I’m glad you’re home safe.”
“Seth’s a careful driver. He was a dear to offer to bring me.”
“He’s a dear about so many things.”
“That he is, Jessica. Listen, I’m calling because I feel terrible about having suggested I go with you to Alaska.”
“Why would you feel terrible?” I asked. “It was a sound suggestion. It’s just that—”
“It was pushy of me, Jessica, and I apologize.”
“No apologies needed, Kathy. As a matter of fact—”
“Yes?”
“I was just sitting here thinking about that very thing.”
“You were?”
“Yes, and I think an apology is due from my end, too.”
“For heaven’s sake, why, Jessica?”
“Because you’re obviously in need of some answers to Wilimena’s disappearance, and taking the same cruise that she took might provide them. And, as Mike Cunniff said, I do seem to have a knack for getting to the bottom of things. Besides, having company would be good for me. So, Kathy, I would be pleased to have you join me on the cruise.”
“You would?”
“Yes, I would. I think you’d better call Susan Shevlin and see if she can get you space on the ship. It is, after all, very last-minute.”
“I’ll do it first thing in the morning. You’re sure, Jessica?”
I laughed. “Yes, I’m sure, Kathy. Get a booking in the morning, and let’s meet for lunch to discuss the trip.”
“Wonderful! Thanks so much, Jessica.”
“My pleasure, Kathy. Now, it’s time for this lady to get to bed. See you tomorrow at Mara’s. Twelve thirty okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
The conversation with Kathy, and the decision I’d made, lifted the veil of ambivalence I’d been feeling, allowing fatigue once again to settle in. There’s nothing like taking action when something unresolved is hanging over your head. I fell asleep quickly, a smile on my face.
Chapter One
“I feel uncomfortable flying first class, Kathy, and you being in coach.”
“Don’t be silly, Jessica,” she replied. “You’ve had your reservations for a long time. Mine are last-minute. Don’t even think about it.”
When I made my reservation to fly from Boston to Seattle, I’d used some of my accumulated frequent-flier miles to upgrade to a first-class seat. Kathy, who seldom travels, didn’t have that luxury and was booked in the coach section of the aircraft. I’d suggested changing my reservation to coach so that we could sit together, but she’d adamantly insisted that I not. “I’d feel terrible,” she said. “Besides, I’ve brought two good books with me. I wouldn’t be a talkative seat companion, anyway.”
I did, however, bring her as my guest into the airline’s first-class lounge, and we spent the two hours before our flight enjoying the club’s amenities.
“I can’t believe I’m going back to Alaska so soon,” she said as we sat by a window overlooking one of the airport’s active runways, from which a succession of aircraft landed and took off. “I was just there,” she added, “and me being such a coward when it comes to flying.”
“A lot safer than riding in a car to the airport,” I said. “Have you heard anything further from the Alaska police about your sister?”
“No. Well, they did call to report that they haven’t made any headway in their search for her. I just hope—”
“Hope what?”
“That she isn’t off on some jaunt and putting everyone to so much trouble, especially the police.”
“Frankly,” I said, “if that is what happened, you’ll be greatly relieved. It would mean that she’s alive and well.”
“I know,” she said, nodding earnestly, “and I pray Willie is all right. But it would be so embarrassing if she’s off having fun and the police have been knocking themselves out trying to find her.”
“Let’s wait and see,” I suggested. “More coffee or tea?”
I refilled our cups and returned to her.
“I did get a call,” she said, “from one of Willie’s ex-husbands.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“The next to last.” She laughed. “I used to joke with Willie that she should number her husbands, like baseball players. You know, like the old saying, you can’t tell the players without a scorecard.”
“Sounds like a sensible suggestion,” I said, laughing along with her.
“Willie thought it was funny, too.”
“What did this particular ex-husband have to say when he called?”
“He said he’d been trying to contact Willie without success. He wanted to know if I knew where she was.”
“Did you tell him that she’s missing?”
“Oh, sure. He was shocked, very concerned.”
“Had you met him?”
“No. I never met him—his name is Howard—or the husband who came after, her most recent. Both were very short marriages. I don’t think either one lasted a year.�
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I couldn’t help but shake my head. “Your sister has cut quite a swath, hasn’t she?”
“I’m afraid so, Jessica. Sometimes I’m embarrassed about how Willie has lived her life, but I always remind myself that it’s her life, not mine, and that she’s entitled to live it any way she chooses. Still—”
“They’ll be boarding our flight soon,” I said. “The airlines are closing the doors earlier these days to try and maintain a better on-time record.”
“Then we should go.”
We grabbed our carry-on bags and headed for the departure gate. A few minutes later, the call was made for first-class passengers to board. I gave Kathy a hug and said, “See you in Seattle.”
As I stood and gathered my belongings to join others in the line, Kathy said absently, as though talking to no one in particular, “It must be the gold.”
Her words caused me to stop and turn back to her. “What gold?”
“The gold Willie is convinced the brothel madam might have left us.”
“Brothel madam?”
“All first-class passengers should be on board,” the agent at the boarding desk announced, sounding as though she meant it.
“Go on, Jess,” Kathy said.
“Gold? Brothel madam?” I muttered to myself as I went to the gate, showed my boarding pass, and entered the plane to be seated in first class. “Gold?” I repeated aloud. “Brothel madam?”
“Pardon?” a flight attendant said.
“What? Oh, sorry,” I said. “Just talking to myself.”
She gave me a strange look but managed a smile as I settled into the large, comfortable seat. Gold? Brothel madam? It was virtually all I could think of for the duration of the six-hour flight to Seattle.
The weather was clear as we approached the Seattle-Tacoma airport, affording those of us on one side of the plane a splendid view of Mount Rainier. The thought of spending a few days in the city prior to departing on the cruise wiped away any fatigue I might have been experiencing. Seattle is less than 150 years old, and it’s known as the Emerald City, or Jewel of the Northwest, worthy of either label in my opinion. I’ve always enjoyed my time there: the easy mix of people and the spectacular views in virtually every direction are true spirit boosters.
First-class passengers were the first to deplane. I waited until Kathy eventually came through the door.
“Nice flight,” she said. “I wasn’t nervous, except for all those strange noises before we landed.”
“All normal,” I said. “Landing gear being lowered and locked into place, flaps extended, routine things like that.”
“That’s right,” she said as we headed in the direction of baggage claim. “You know all about planes.”
“I know very little,” I said. “Just enough to get myself in potential trouble when I’m flying.”
A cab whisked us to the downtown area, where we checked into the lovely Fairmont Olympic Hotel. I’d stayed there a few times before. This princely hotel, located on the southern edge of the retail center, has been operating since the 1920s and has been luxuriously restored to its former splendor, with all the expected amenities befitting a four-star property. Our rooms, each a small suite, were adjoining.
It was midafternoon, and after unpacking we met up for a walk. The sun shone brightly, and there was a slight breeze off the water that surrounds the city. Seattle’s reputation for excessive, almost unrelenting rain, is a myth. Its annual rainfall is actually less than that of any major city on the East Coast. What fuels its wet reputation is a tendency for cloudy, misty weather— not rainfall, just a pervasive dampness. But there are plenty of fair days, too, and this was one of them.
“When is your book signing?” Kathy asked as we maintained a brisk pace to work out the kinks from having sat too long in the plane. Kathy is an inveterate walker, always seen around Cabot Cove in motion on her way someplace, arms swinging, legs moving in a regular rhythm, a determined expressionon her face. She’d changed into a sweat suit and sturdy sneakers. Kathy is a short, chunky woman, perhaps a shade over five feet, two inches, with a full, round face, expressive blue eyes, and brunette hair worn simply. She often complains about being overweight, although she isn’t. She’s simply one of those compact, physically fit people without an ounce of excess flesh.
“Tomorrow, at noon.”
“Is it all right if I come?”
“Of course it is. I’d love to have you there.”
“I always come to your signings in Cabot Cove, and I went to that one in Boston a few years ago,” she said as we paused to window-shop.
“Seattle is different,” I offered, setting off again. “Maybe it’s because of the generally overcast weather, but Seattle probably has more bookstores than any other comparable city in the country, and more book buyers per capita than anywhere else. They devour books here, which is good for us writers. By the way, I’ve made a dinner reservation for us tonight at Canlis. Hope you don’t mind my not conferring with you.”
“Why would I mind?” she said. “You know Seattle. Besides, I trust your palate, Jessica.”
“I think you’ll enjoy Canlis,” I said. “It’s set in the hills with wonderful views of the city and beyond.”
“Sounds yummy. I’m suddenly hungry.”
Canlis might possibly be the most beautiful restaurant in America. With stone columns soaring high above the dining room, and light and landscape flooding in through a translucent wall, the restaurant has an almost Zen-like atmosphere. We were seated at a prime table affording a fine view of the city as dusk began to settle. Because I’d raved about my last meal there, Kathy insisted that I order for us, which I did— Canlis chowder to start, rich with Dungeness crab, sea scallops, and prawns in a heavenly ginger-scented cream, and a sublime salad, followed by an entrée of wild Pacific king salmon with hazelnut-caper butter, and jumbo asparagus, all accompanied by a shared bottle of DeLille Cellars Chaleur Estate Blanc from Washington’s Columbia Valley, recommended by our sommelier.
“Kathy,” I said as we enjoyed our first sip of the wine, “you said at the airport that your sister’s disappearance might have to do with gold and a brothel madam?”
“Just thinking out loud,” she said.
“Thinking about gold and brothels?”
She nodded, laced her fingers around her glass, and stared down into it. “I’m embarrassed that I even brought it up.”
“But now that you have, you can’t keep me dangling like this. What gold? What brothel madam?”
She turned to look at me, exhaled loudly, and said, “Dolly Arthur.”
“Who’s she?”
“She’s—well, she was the most famous madam in Alaska’s history.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Kathy. But what does it have to do with Wilimena?”
“It’s a very long story.”
“We have all evening. Could it possibly have to do with Wilimena’s disappearance?”
“Maybe. How do I begin?”
“At the beginning, Kathy. At the very beginning.”
Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) Page 2
