Death Takes Passage #4

by Sue Henry

  “You slippery sidewinder. You jumped my Eldorado claim. Yer a cheat and a damned snake. I’ll not let you get the better of me yet. I’ll set the constable on you. We was partners! You miserable …”

  “So you say,” a second, similarly dressed man replied. “I don’t recall any agreement to partnerin’.”

  Heads raised, dessert forks and coffee cups suspended in air, passengers craned their necks to see what was going on in the center of the dining room to justify the loud, angry voices that had interrupted the leisurely completion of an excellent meal.

  As the first furious miner stepped forward to take a swing at the other with the firewood, a third voice halted the action.

  “Hey, you two knuckleheads. That will do, unless you’d like to spend a week cutting wood for the Northwest Mounted. What’s going on here?”

  Jensen, sitting with Jessie at a table for eight that included Dallas and Rozetta, the Berrys, and the Lovegrens, recognized the tall, red-coated policeman moving into the room as Jim Beal, the riverboat gambler from the parade grounds in Haines, now playing another role. This was evidently the beginning of the drama they had been promised.

  “He stole my claim,” the first miner shouted.

  “I never.”

  “You lousy skunk.”

  “Enough,” the red-coat demanded. “We’ll get Ogilvie up here to survey and verify your claims, both of you.”

  A fourth voice, this time a woman’s, added itself to the discussion.

  “He’s right. Johnson is a claim-jumper and a thief as well. My gold nugget necklace disappeared yesterday, and he’s the only one who could have taken it. I want it back, you hear?”

  Laurie Trevino, transformed into a gaudy dance-hall girl, advanced into the room from Soapy’s Parlour, the bar in the stem of the ship. Once again she was clad, appropriately, in red, this time a shade closer to that of a fire engine. The dress was an adaptation of 1890s risqué: bodice held up by tiny shoulder straps, allowing a daring display of décolletage; a full, flounced skirt swinging provocatively over frothy, lace-trimmed petticoats; old-fashioned black boots laced halfway up her calves; a headband supporting a fluffy ostrich plume, red to match the dress.

  Swinging a beaded purse by its strings, she sashayed closer to the center of the room and paused, hip-shot, swaying slightly, as if to music only she could hear.

  Jessie grinned to herself, reminded of Lou Stanley, but what caught Jensen’s attention was the mention of a gold nugget necklace. Quite a coincidence. Could this somehow be related? Could the thief have been one of the players? The immediate mental image was that of Jim Beal and his riverboat gambler costume. Well … he returned his attention to what was going on between the players.

  “Think you can call me a thief?” the miner yelled at Laurie. “There’s a dozen other men could have stolen your baubles, Alice, you tramp.”

  “Hey,” Alex whispered to Jessie, in sudden recognition. “That’s Jeff Brady, Skagway chairman of the Reenactment Committee.”

  The rest of the diners, now realizing that a drama, not an actual altercation, was taking place, had settled back to enjoy it. A few hisses at the supposed villain signaled their growing involvement.

  “I’m no tramp, you weasel. I work hard singing and dancing at the Palace for every ounce of dust I get. That chain of nuggets and charms was a birthday present from several good friends of mine. Search him, please, constable.” Alice from the Palace turned indignantly to the red-coated policeman. “I’m sure you’ll find my property.”

  “Search him. Search him,” called someone from the back of the audience, followed by laughter and applause from the rest.

  The miner-suspect snatched the piece of firewood from the first prospector and waved it threateningly toward the constable, who had unexpectedly drawn a handgun and was closing in, along with the other miner, who had also pulled a firearm from somewhere inside the blanket coat.

  Lifting her skirt, Alice retrieved, from a fancy, beribboned garter, the miniature pistol she had shown Alex and Jessie in Haines. Stepping toward the other three, she took careful aim.

  Abruptly, and without warning, all the lights in the room went off, and the sound of a shot rang out in the gloom. A scramble … a shout … the crash of a chair falling over … running feet.

  Then, as suddenly as they had gone off, the lights were on again. All four players in the scene had vanished, leaving only the up-ended chair in the center of the room to show they had been there. A rush of excited conversation and laughter filled the room. Several diners stood up to look, but resumed their seats as the cruise coordinator plugged in her microphone and stepped forward.

  “Please, ladies and gentlemen. May ! have your attention, please.”

  The passengers settled back to listen.

  “As you have probably guessed, this has been the first of several scenes from an ongoing mystery, which will reach its conclusion on Thursday night in the upper lounge. Pay close attention, as you will be invited to submit your solutions to the puzzle, in writing, at the end of the drama.

  “Here are the rules. You must decide whodunit, a motive, and how the crime was accomplished. You may ask questions of any of the cost members if you find them in costume, but please refrain from asking if they are not in costume. They need a little time off once in a while. Be aware that all of the characters must answer your questions truthfully, except for the villain, who may lie at any time. Prizes will be presented when judging of your solutions is completed on Thursday night. Good luck.”

  Enthusiastic conversation resumed as soon as the announcements were finished. Who was shot? Who shot whom? What would come next? And when?

  Alex chuckled. “Wish I had this much assistance in some of my cases.”

  “Well … who do you think fired the shot?” Jessie asked. “Got any early leads?”

  “You shouldn’t ask me,” he grinned. “Remember what you always tell me, when I …”

  “Yeah … I know. Do it—whatever it is—yourself. Guess it has to backfire on me sometimes, huh? Okay.”

  “One hint. Were you so engrossed in the action that you missed that shadowy figure with the shotgun in the door to the galley?”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. It’s not actually fair for me to work on this. I’m trained to see the whole scene, not just the pieces.”

  “Was it a man or woman?”

  Jensen grinned as answer.

  “Rats! Well … I’ll look more carefully at the next scene. Shall we go to the lounge?”

  “You go ahead. I need to see the captain … and find Judy Raymond. She’s never in her cabin—I’ve tried three times already, and she disappears whenever I get her in sight outside of it.”

  “Okay. I’ll catch up with Dallas and Rozie. If you’re sure you don’t need me to take notes.”

  “I can handle it for once. I’ll join you in not too long, or see you in the cabin.”

  He was thoughtful; the necklace mentioned in the play reminded him of his responsibility to find out who had made free with the staterooms and stolen the items belonging to the occupants. He suddenly found the whole thing an imposition. The trip was supposed to be an official appearance for the troopers, himself the representative, not a case to be solved. He frowned in irritation, then sighed. After all, it was his job, though at times he wished it would stop long enough to draw breath. He had imagined this cruise as a breathing space. The problem, however, seemed so petty, small-time theft, really … only the value of the necklace and the cash made it more important.

  The dining room was almost empty, as people moved slowly in the direction of the hallway and stairs, still conjecturing about the mystery. The wait-staff members of the crew were working steadily at clearing the tables.

  “Great meal,” Alex told one of them, a tall, red-haired young woman near the door, as they went past her on the way out.

  “Thanks. That’s Eric, our new chef—the company lured him away from a classy Seattle restaurant. Our
cooks are always good, but he’s the best, with Carta, the assistant’s, help. Even the crew’s meals are super.”

  “Give him my congratulations, but if this kind of food continues, I’m going to need some serious exercise soon.”

  She laughed as they exited the room, but Jensen had no idea how little effort he would need to expend on an exercise program in the next few days.

  11

  11:00 P.M.

  Monday, July 14, 1997

  Spirit of ‘98

  Return through Peril Strait

  Inside Passage, Alaska

  AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK THE SPIRIT OF ‘98 WAS ONCE AGAIN cruising smoothly, returning through the dark eastern waters of Peril Strait, heading for Stephens Passage and, across it, a side trip next morning up Tracy Arm with its two huge glaciers. The decks, lounges—even the bridge—were quiet and peaceful. Captain Kay was on duty and the first mate was catching a few hours’ sleep before she was to take over the watch.

  A few of the staterooms showed soft light around the edges of their window curtains, passengers still awake, but not for long. Sunday’s send-off celebrations and today’s outing in Sitka had been tiring for most. Adding to that time spent outside on the decks of the Spirit—more fresh air than many people were used to—meant everyone had eaten better and was sleeping earlier and sounder than usual.

  The air was not only fresh; it was so clear and clean that, short of rain or fog, the incredible scenery of the northern Inside Passage could be seen for miles in layer after layer of mountains that grew blue with distance, wide expanses of salt water altering their color with every shift in the weather. Rich with spruce and hemlock forests on the lower slopes, the peaks were laced with ice that had shrunk over the centuries from covering, to flowing between, the ridges in wide rivers that recorded their powerful passage in deeply scored walls of stone. The constantly changing panorama was captivating to out-of-state people who had seldom seen such relatively young, rugged mountains still in the slow process of rising.

  Plates of the earth’s crust are most dense under the oceans. Where these collide with less dense plates of continents, the land plates are shoved upward, growing mountains and additional land mass. Twelve million years ago, in southeast Alaska, one result of the collision of the Pacific Plate, which moves north, and the North American Plate, which moves south, was the long uplift of the St. Elias mountains, including Mt. Logan, tallest peak in Canada and second tallest in North America. Terranes carried by the Pacific Plate have been, and are still in the process of being, added to the land mass. Part of what is now Southeast Alaska was once within fifteen degrees of the equator and was added to the continent as another result of the ongoing collision of plates. Between and through terranes, among the islands of the Alaskan Inside Passage, run numerous underwater faults, one of which formed Peril Strait, through which the Spirit of ‘98 was now returning, on its way back to the sheltering Inside Passage.

  It had been late, almost ten, when the necessary warrant had arrived by fax from Sitka. Jensen and the captain had come to the reluctant decision that it would be more sensible to wait for morning to search Julie Morrison’s cabin. To disturb her two cabin mates, one of whom was the hardworking assistant chef who had to rise early to prepare breakfast, seemed like punishing the innocent. Besides, there were no stops, no way for Julie to leave the ship. If she had rid herself of evidence, it would undoubtedly have been done before now, anyway. Alex still did not think her a likely thief. She was hiding something, but what? Perhaps it was not associated with the thefts at all.

  In transit between the captain’s quarters and his own, Alex paused outside Judy Raymond’s dark cabin and knew his talk with her would also have to wait for morning, though he wondered if she was avoiding him. Letting it go, tired as the rest, he returned to his stateroom to find a light burning and Jesse asleep on his bed, curled up with her head at its foot. Still in the clothes she had worn to dinner, gray slacks and a green sweater, shoes on the floor beside the bed, she slept on her side, both hands under a pillow like a child. As he stood looking down at her, she stirred, turned over, and looked up at him, drowsily.

  “Hi,” she said, yawned, and sat up. “Get your warrant?”

  “Yes, but we decided to wait till morning to serve it.”

  He sat down beside her, pulled off his jacket, and, without untying them, pushed off his deck shoes with his toes. As he moved, something crackled under him, and he pulled out a sheet of paper with printing on it.

  “Oh, I meant to show that to you. Every night they leave one of these when they turn down the beds. It’s a newsletter that tells us what to expect the next day. Good idea, huh?”

  Jensen took a look at the single-page sheet of information. Called “Adventure Update,” it gave the schedule for the next day and some information about what they would be able to see.

  ADVENTURE UPDATE

  Itinerary:

  6:00 am Continental Breakfast available in the lounge.

  7:00 am Breakfast is served.

  9:00 am Sail into Tracy Arm.

  12:00 noon Lunch is served.

  1:00 pm Sail into Endicott Arm.

  6:00 pm Cocktail hour in the lounge.

  7:00 pm Dinner is served.

  8:30 pm Entertainment in the lounge.

  Stephens Passage:

  Before me reach Tracy Arm this morning we will be traveling through Stephens Passage. Be on the lookout for humpback whales feeding in these planktonrich waters. If you would like to be awakened if we spot whales, be sure to sign up on the wake sheet in the lounge. (Wake up calls may start at first light, 5:30 a.m.) If we don’t see whales here, you can be sure we will when we reach Frederick Sound late today. Sometimes they move between these two areas, following the food supply.

  Tracy Arm:

  You will see harbor seals near the glacier in Tracy Arm. There is a page of information on these seals in the lounge. We will also tell you about them over the PA system when we arrive at the Sawyer Glacier.

  Tonight’s Entertainment:

  Jefferson Randolph “Jeff” Smith IV, Soapy Smith’s great-grandson, will give his version of his famous relative’s history from research he has done far a book, The True Story of Jefferson Randolph Smith. He will also entertain with demonstrations of sleight of hand, shell and card games, using the original equipment Soapy used in Skagway during the gold rush, and which he has inherited through his father, Soapy’s grandson, Jefferson Randolph Smith III.

  “It’s not so much the destination as the voyage itself that matters.”

  When he had finished reading the newsletter, he agreed with her that it was a good idea, but that if anyone woke him to look at whales at five-thirty the next morning, they would be in for real trouble. Jensen lay back on the bed with a weary sigh.

  “I was really hoping for a vacation on this trip, not an investigation.”

  She smiled sympathetically. “Maybe you’ll solve this one in a hurry. At least we’re getting to know some of the people on the ship.”

  “I can think of more pleasant ways to get acquainted.”

  “Anything new?”

  “No. We don’t know much more than we did this morning. It’s really hard to know where to start on this one.”

  “You don’t think Julie Morrison is responsible?”

  “I don’t know. She may be, but so far we have no proof of anything. It just doesn’t fit somehow.”

  Yawning, Jessie got up and went to retrieve the oversize T-shirt and crew socks in which she slept. Sitting on her own bed, she pulled the green sweater over her head, asking another question in the process.

  “You have … ugh … anyone else in mind at all?”

  Alex smiled as her light hair flew away from its usual neatness and fluffed out around her head. He never tired of looking at her.

  “That’s part of the problem. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else. Or it could be anyone, except for the fact that they were all ashore. I suppose any crew member who was
on the ship at the time could have done it. We’ll have to start with Morrison’s cabin first thing tomorrow, and go from there.”

  In the extra-large T-shirt and socks, Jessie stepped into the bathroom and began to brush her teeth. But, as soon as she had toothpaste on the brush and the brush in her mouth, she came out again.

  “A-ow bow mis-r-r ons-on?”

  “Right.” Alex dropped his shirt on a chair and turned to attempt a long-suffering look that he quickly lost to a grin. “And I understood every word of that?”

  “Sorry. I said, ‘How about Mr. Johnson?’”

  “Supposedly, he was alcoholically out for the count, but we’ll check it again.”

  She returned to the bathroom sink to spit out the mouthful of frothy paste.

  One of the things Alex liked most about Jessie was a decided lack of physical self-consciousness. At ease in her own body, strong and supple from practicing an active sport, she moved in whatever manner was most comfortable or efficient, seldom aware of her appearance. It lent her a certain grace that was appealing and direct. He paused, one leg still in his jeans, to admire the curve of her back and hips as she bent over the small, stainless steel sink, rinsing her mouth.

  She turned and smiled at him, suddenly mindful of his appreciation.

  He smiled back and returned to the task of getting ready for the night. “Let’s go to bed. I’m tired. You?”

  “Yeah, me, too.” But, sitting down on his bed again, she looked up at him with a grin. “Just how tired are you, trooper?”

  “Not that tired.”

  Half an hour later, they were both asleep, though Jessie had complained it wasn’t fair that they had both warmed his bed, while she had to warm hers alone.

  *

  Sometime in the middle of the dark, Alex slowly became aware of a soft but insistent knocking on the stateroom door, and the deep voice of the captain quietly calling his name.