Gold Digger: A Klondike Mystery

by Vicki Delany

  Mr. Mann emerged from their bedroom, slipping his suspenders over his shoulders. His wife spoke to him in German, and he leaned up against the door.

  Angus’s heart pounded and suddenly he felt fear. Cold fear, deep in his heart. Like when he was a baby and had a bad dream, and his mother would be at the nursery door, pushing the nanny aside to get to him, to make the demons go away and to make everything all right once again. When he had left home to go to boarding school, he knew she still watched over him. Hadn’t she arrived, full of sweeping silk, bobbing feathers, and sheer indignation the morning after he’d sprained his ankle climbing down (in the middle of the night, mind you, and on a dare at that), the vines outside the younger boys’ dorm? She had been so terribly beautiful and so commanding that the weak-kneed, trembling headmaster decided that the boy was obviously sleepwalking. No punishment would be required.

  Fiona had tossed the headmaster a smile. She had taken her son by the arm, and they’d walked outside into the sundappled quadrangle. “I don’t want to come here again, dearest,” she said. “It was most inconvenient.”

  “Mother…”

  “No excuses.” She’d waved to her carriage. “Do what you must, but never let them catch you.” The carriage had pulled up; she kissed him on the cheek and accepted the driver’s hand to help her inside.

  Angus’s thoughts returned to Dawson and the year 1898, as Mr. Mann exchanged another look with his wife, worry etched in their lined faces.

  Mr. Mann called to the door. “Mrs. MacGillivray, me coming in. Yous tells me if not okay.”

  He looked at his wife again; she nodded slightly, and he opened the door.

  Angus ran into the room, hoping against hope to find his mother sitting up in bed, wild-eyed, clutching her nightgown to her chest and yelling at them for their impertinence.

  But the bed was undisturbed, and the room was empty.

  Angus stared at the neatly made bed. “Where’s my mother?”

  Mrs. Mann wrapped her arms around Angus’s shoulders, although he was taller than she. “Let’s have a cup of tea, dear.”

  “I go,” Mr. Mann said. “Fetch help.”

  Angus pulled away from his landlady’s loving embrace. “I’ll come with you. They know me at the fort.”

  “Make zee morning eats, Helga,” Mr. Mann said. “We be back soon. And be hungry.” He said something in German.

  Angus looked at Mrs. Mann. “If…when…my mother gets back, you’ll come and tell us, right?”

  “Of course, dear boy. Immediately.” Angus and Mr. Mann ran into the street. When they reached King Street, Angus continued on, Mr. Mann turned right.

  They stopped, turning to face each other. “We have to get the police,” Angus said. “Constable Sterling, he’ll know what to do.”

  “Yous go to police. I goes to wheres ze boats tied up. Boatmens, theys knows much.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thees Dawson, is ze good towns, Angus. Yours mama ze good woman. She be safe.”

  Angus looked at the face of his mother’s landlord. His own employer. For the first time, Angus saw empathy there, the memory of pain long past, and hope for the future, reflected in the flat cheekbones and heavy mouth.

  He managed a weak smile. “Sure, Mr. Mann. We’ll have Mother home before opening time at the Savoy. She loves Mrs. Mann’s biscuits. She won’t stay away for long.”

  Angus stood in the road, watching Mr. Mann’s broad back heading down to the waterfront. Which way to go? Fort Herchmer for Constable Sterling, as had been his first thought? But would it be better to head into town for Ray Walker? Or even Paradise Alley, looking for Graham Donohue? Angus would go there if he had to. And knock on the door of every crib on the street.

  Indecision was costing him precious seconds. If his mother was hurt somewhere, maybe lying in the dark, unconscious, unable to call for help….

  The Savoy. She might have gone to the Savoy to do an urgent bit of business and fallen down those rickety stairs. He should have thought of that first.

  Chapter Fifty

  My hair had fallen out of its pins, and at first I was able to whip the worst of the mosquitoes away by throwing my head back and forth to lash loose tendrils across my face. But it wasn’t long before my neck began to ache, and the mosquitoes grew emboldened. They ducked in around my flying hair, searching out juicy bits of flesh, and I could hear the disgusting bugs buzzing around the back of my neck.

  My skirt was bunched up almost to my knees, but fortunately my stockings presented an impregnable barrier to the horrid insects. I hadn’t been wearing gloves, and my arms were bound so tightly in front of me that I could only watch as an army of the monsters settled in to feast on my hands and wrists.

  I had heard of a child killed by a hive of angry bees.

  Could a person die of mosquito bites?

  I eyed the hairpins that had come loose and fallen to the ground. Even if I could reach them, they’d be of no use in cutting the ropes that tied me to this ghastly tree. Now, if I’d been dealing with a nice thick lock, the pins would come in handy as lockpicks. That’s a skill I haven’t entirely forgotten.

  I pulled and squirmed and battled against the ropes holding me to the tree. But my hands were bound in front of me, and as much as I stretched my fingers, they couldn’t reach the knots.

  There had to be a way out of this. Surely Margaret wouldn’t leave me here to die? What had I ever done to her? Other than expose her for the mad, cold-blooded killer she was?

  I tore at the ropes holding my hands until the blood ran (how pleasant for the mosquitoes—all the feasting and none of the work). I spat and coughed at the handkerchief in my mouth to no avail.

  The sun had almost disappeared below the small rise to the right of me, and the brief Yukon night had descended, when I finally gave up the struggle.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Helen Saunderson was behind the bar, wiping dust off the nude hanging to the right of Her Majesty. She took one look at his face. “Angus, what’s the matter?”

  “Is my ma here?”

  “No. It’s early for her to come in yet.”

  “Have you been upstairs?”

  “No. Angus, what is it?”

  He sprinted for the stairs. “Check the back rooms. Check everywhere. I’ll look upstairs.”

  Mrs. Saunderson dropped her dust rag. She ran as fast as her arthritic knees could carry her into the gambling hall, while Angus’s high-pitched, fear-filled voice rang in her ears. “Mother, Mother. I’m here. Say something, Mother.”

  They met in the dance hall a few minutes later as Mrs. Saunderson came out of the ladies’ dressing room, her face red with fear and unexpected exertion.

  “Angus, tell me what’s going on.” She held her hand to her chest to catch her breath.

  “My mother didn’t come home.”

  “Since when?”

  “I haven’t seen her since yesterday around lunchtime. She sent me away while she washed her hair.”

  Like Mrs. Mann, Mrs. Saunderson was about to tell the boy that his mother might have reasons for spending the night away from her own bed, but then she remembered what had been found last Sunday, in the dance hall of the Savoy. And that Mrs. Mac loved Angus above all else. She would never willingly cause the boy worry.

  “Where else have you looked?”

  “I came straight here. Mr. Mann’s gone down to the docks to question the men there.”

  “I’ll go for the police. You fetch Mr. Walker.”

  “I can get the police.”

  “I don’t know where Mr. Walker lives. Don’t argue, Angus. Hurry. Send Mr. Walker here and then fetch Mr. Mann and come back. We can’t be running off every which way. That’s no way to conduct a search. Hurry, now.”

  They dashed towards the door. Angus, with his long legs and young body, was far ahead when Mrs. Saunderson called out to him.

  “Don’t worry, Angus,” she puffed. “I’m sure she’s perfectly fine.”

  He
didn’t bother to look back. He didn’t believe it, and judging by the tone in Mrs. Saunderson’s voice, neither did she.

  Angus ran through the streets, which were slowly coming back to life on a Monday morning. He took the steps of Ray’s boarding house three at a time.

  He hammered on the door. An icy finger crawled up his spine as he remembered why he’d been here the last time.

  “Mr. Walker, open up!”

  “Shut up, kid.” A man stuck his head out of the door across the hall, stuffing his tattered, sweat-stained shirt into his pants. “There’s men still sleeping here.”

  Angus ignored him. Ray Walker threw his door open so fast, Angus almost hit him with the fist he’d raised to knock again.

  “What the hell’s the matter, Angus?”

  “Ma, Mr. Walker. My ma. She’s gone.”

  “What d’ye mean gone?”

  “I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. Mrs. Saunderson’s gone for the police, and Mr. Mann’s asking the men down at the docks.”

  “What!” Ray’s neighbour crossed the hall. “You must be Mrs. MacGillivray’s son. Spitting image of her you are. You say she’s missing?”

  “Hurry,” Angus said to Ray, “we have to find her.”

  “Angus, it’s only been one night. No need to get too worked up yet.”

  “Are you crazy, man?” the neighbour shouted. “Didn’t you hear him? Mrs. MacGillivray’s in trouble. Is there a search party, boy?”

  “Meeting at the Savoy.”

  “Good.” The man dashed off, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders as he ran.

  “Ray, please, I…”

  The neighbour came back, looking sheepish. “Forgot my shoes.”

  Angus looked down at two feet as furry as a bear’s and ten huge, naked pink toes.

  “I’m coming, Angus,” Ray said. “Seeing as to how you’ve got half the town in an uproar.” He opened the door fully. “Come in and wait while I get dressed.”

  Angus let out a long breath, relieved that Ray was alone and he wouldn’t have to confront the half-naked Betsy. “No time. I’m off to get Mr. Mann. Everyone’s meeting up at the Savoy.”

  Ray’s neighbour, struggling to tie his boots as he alternately skipped and hopped and ran, followed Angus as far as the street.

  Angus headed west, towards the waterfront. As he crossed Front Street, he ran into Mr. Mann coming back into town, his head down and his face grim. A small group of men marched behind him.

  “They not see Mrs. MacGillivray. Theys been working since midnight, when one steamboat leave. All people looking for she now.”

  “We’ll find your ma, boy, don’t you worry,” a deep voice shouted. The men growled in agreement.

  Angus swallowed. “The search party’s meeting at the Savoy. I was coming to get you. It’s after eight, Mr. Mann. Shouldn’t you be opening the store?”

  “The hell with ze stores. We find Mrs. MacGillivray. Then ze stores open.” Mr. Mann placed a hand on Angus’s shoulder, and they hurried the short distance back to the Savoy.

  They arrived at the same time as Constable Sterling.

  Angus’s heart lifted when he saw that Sterling had brought Mrs. Miller. The white dog’s bushy tail wagged in recognition, and she strained at her leash. Sterling gave Angus a long look but said nothing. The constable wasn’t his normal stifflydressed self: his hat was askew, his shirttail hung out, and two of the buttons on his jacket weren’t fastened. Inspector McKnight followed, and in the far distance, the sturdy frame of Helen Saunderson struggled to catch up.

  Quickly, but not quick enough for Angus, the search party gathered in the saloon. The dockworkers, Ray Walker and his across-the-hall neighbour, Constable Sterling and Inspector McKnight, Mr. Mann and Mrs. Saunderson.

  Also present were the Vanderhaege sisters, one of them with bandages still covering her burns. They’d asked passersby what was going on and insisted on helping. A handful of men from the streets had gathered, either concerned at the rising sense of panic generated as Angus and the others ran through town, or looking for some excitement. A few permanent drunks openly eyed the bottles behind the bar. Ray told them that the Savoy was closed for the remainder of the morning and escorted them to the door.

  Inspector McKnight stood on a chair and shouted for quiet. “It’s early yet to start a search for a missing person,” he said. “But in light of what transpired here only last week—I’m referring, of course, to the death of Jack Ireland—we can assume that the disappearance of Mrs. MacGillivray, as reported by her son, is a matter of some urgency. Angus, what was your mother wearing when you last saw her?”

  Angus flushed as everyone turned to look at him. “I don’t remember, sir. A dress, I guess.”

  Two of the dockworkers tittered. Sterling threw them a glance that had them lowering their eyes and shifting their feet like schoolboys caught spitting in the cemetery.

  “A blue dress, I think, sir. With a pretty blue hat.”

  “Thank you, Angus.” McKnight took off his eyeglasses and rubbed at the lenses with the corner of his handkerchief. “Perhaps you could ask one of your mother’s friends to describe her outfit. It would help us a great deal.”

  “I don’t see why, sir. Everyone in Dawson knows my mother. They don’t have to be told what she’s wearing.”

  McKnight rubbed harder at his spectacles. “It would be helpful, in case…”

  “She’s lost her hat,” Sterling shouted. “Or perhaps she removed her coat ’cause of the afternoon heat and left it where we can find it.”

  McKnight gave Sterling a grateful look.

  “Meine Frau will know,” Mr. Mann said. “Angus, yous gos to ask her.”

  “I’m not leaving!”

  “I’ll go.” Ellie, the oldest of the dancers, stood in the doorway. She wore a plain brown woollen skirt and white blouse with a stiff collar. Like Sterling, she’d dressed without care—her blouse was buttoned incorrectly, and the top button was left without a matching buttonhole to lace through. Her face was scrubbed clean of paint and her hair scraped back into a tight bun. “I’ll get a better description than Angus will.”

  “Thank you,” McKnight said.

  “Bring an item of Mrs. MacGillivray’s clothing back,” Sterling said. “Something to show the dog.”

  McKnight and Sterling assigned various sections of town to the searchers, and the men and women headed out, McKnight leading. Sterling, Millie and Angus waited for Ellie to return. Ray waited for Rupert Malloy, one of the regulars. Lured out of the Monte Carlo by the fastspreading excitement, Malloy had been sent to get Sam, so they’d have someone to guard the booze.

  “Millie’s not much of a search dog,” Sterling said, patting the big animal on her head. “But she’ll try her best to do her bit.”

  “Where do you think my mother is, sir?”

  “I don’t know, Angus. Most missing persons show up within a day or so. Statistically speaking. There isn’t far for anyone to go in the Yukon.”

  “Not far. That’s what worries me.”

  “Me too, Angus.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  “What’s this I hear? The town is in an uproar.” Sergeant Lancaster burst through the doors of the Savoy. “They say Mrs. MacGillivray is missing. No one thought to alert me!”

  Richard Sterling and Ray Walker exchanged a questioning glance.

  “Now why would we do that?” Ray asked. “Inspector McKnight’s organizing the search, and Sterling’s waiting for some o’ Fee’s clothes to get here to show the dog.”

  “Mrs. MacGillivray and I have come to an understanding. I see she hasn’t told you, son. But in light of the circumstances, I’d better let you know: Your dear mother and I have reached an agreement.”

  “An agreement, sir?” Angus said.

  “About what?”

  “Why, about marriage, young man.” Angus gaped. Ray laughed. Sterling coughed.

  “That’s neither here nor there right now, sir. Inspector McKnight’
s gone down to the waterfront to start a search of the boats. He might need assistance.”

  “Assistance. Right. Don’t worry, young Angus. I’ll find your mother. And Constable, tuck in that shirt and fasten your uniform before the inspector sees you.”

  Once the Sergeant left, immersed in a bustling wave of self-importance, Angus turned to Sterling. “Do you know anything about this?”

  “I suspect, Angus, that this understanding exists more in Sergeant Lancaster’s head than in reality.” Sterling stuffed his shirt into his pants and refastened his jacket, leaving only one button undone. His hat remained tilted to the side. “But you’ll respect the fact that he’s chosen your mother as the object of his honourable attentions.”

  “I guess.”

  Ellie ran in, her face flushed from exertion and her chest heaving. She waved the red dressing gown, Angus’s mother’s favourite, the one with the rampant gold dragon streaming across the back.

  “Got something. Mrs. Mann says Mrs. MacGillivray wears this when she relaxes in her sitting room. When she left home yesterday, she was wearing a dark blue skirt with a white blouse with lace at the collar and overlarge sleeves and a blue bow and a black belt. With a straw-coloured spring hat with a large blue feather and a piece of fruit. She can’t remember what. What fruit, that is.”

  Sterling took the dressing gown out of Ellie’s hands and held it to Millie’s nose.

  The dog sniffed and looked at the circle of people, all of them staring intently at her. They wanted something from her; she wasn’t entirely sure what, but by the eagerness with which her favourite human held out the scrap of cloth, she knew she would make him happy if she sniffed at it a bit more.

  So she sniffed.

  The room was full of that smell. Every chair, every floorboard. Even the human who had gone with them on the journey into the wilderness smelled of it. The dog looked at the man. Now what?

  “Mrs. Miller isn’t a bloodhound,” Sterling said, “and I’m not a trained handler. I guess I hoped it might help.”