Murder on Location

by Cathy Pegau

  They exchanged looks, then Burrows patted Smith’s shoulder. “I’ll handle this, Jonas. Let’s meet back at your house in a couple of hours, give everyone a chance to have supper before the gathering at the theater later.”

  So they planned on attending the show. This was certainly becoming more of a story than Charlotte had assumed. Why hadn’t any of the AEC’s letters or protests been in the local paper?

  Smith nodded to the other man, shook his hand, and tipped his hat to Charlotte. “Miss Brody.”

  He moved off to talk to the others in their shared language. Though she couldn’t understand what he said, she noted his calming tone and the nominal reduction of the anger in the members’ eyes.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced,” Burrows said, removing his hat despite the chill in the air and offering his right hand. His black hair was fashionably cut, and his smile showed even, white teeth. “Caleb Burrows, at your service.”

  Charlotte shook his hand, appreciating that he held hers firmly, not as if she were too delicate to touch. “Charlotte Brody of the Cordova Daily Times. Tell me, Mr. Burrows, how did you get involved with this situation and the AEC?”

  Burrows set his hat on his head and clasped his hands behind his back when they released. “Jonas heard about the film being produced and was concerned when it described disturbing scenes of Alaska Natives perpetrating crimes for the sake of making us the villains, or worse, painting us as savages needing to be tamed. A mutual friend recommended Jonas contact me. Together, we drafted the first letter to Meade and Welsh.”

  “Did either of them respond?” Charlotte asked. She was taking notes as fast as her chilled hands allowed.

  “They did.” Burrows’s dark brows knit. “But it was typical of Meade’s roundabout way of saying a lot without saying much at all. Not unlike a lawyer,” he said with a grin.

  Charlotte smiled. “I understand Mr. Meade has held several positions and practiced a number of professions, but I don’t think lawyer is one of them. The double-talk must come naturally.”

  Burrows gave a boisterous laugh, drawing the attention of the few passersby. “I can’t deny the advantage of natural talent.”

  “So Meade and Welsh replied, but in effect did nothing to address Mr. Smith’s and the AEC’s concerns?” Charlotte said.

  “No, they did not, as far as we could tell.” Burrows shook his head as if disappointed in the Californians. “I traveled here, and with the input of the AEC, we drafted a second letter three weeks ago.”

  Charlotte recalled what Meade and Welsh had said in the car on the way to town. There was no mention of a second letter by them. “That second letter was more than a request to change the Native representation of North to Fortune?”

  Burrows nodded once. “It was. Defamation is a serious matter. We want the film to show the Native people in a more realistic light. If they didn’t agree to that stipulation, we indicated we’d take legal action and make any and every effort to stop the filming.”

  “What sort of efforts?” Charlotte asked. How far would Burrows and the AEC go?

  The attorney smiled again, but it was a predatory expression. “As I said, Miss Brody, whatever it takes.”

  Charlotte held her notebook and pencil a little higher. “Can I quote you on that?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

  “Why wasn’t any of this in the Times, Mr. Burrows?” There had been nothing but eager anticipation of the film company’s arrival for several weeks and not a word about the AEC’s displeasure.

  Burrows lifted his hat and slicked back his hair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Part of the reason was the fear of backlash from folks here if the film people decided not to come up. In case you hadn’t noticed, Miss Brody, there have been some awful things done to and said about Native people in these parts.”

  Though most white Cordovans seemed to get along with their Native neighbors, there were still conflicts. Charlotte had heard the all-too-casual remarks demeaning Native, Filipino, and Black members of the community. She’d also learned of incidents through conversations with Andrew Toliver, Deputy James Eddington, and her brother Michael’s new assistant Mary Weaver, who was an Eyak. Michael had treated several of the participants after fights. The altercations had been physical, with injuries or sometimes vandalism occurring on both sides, but none had been fatal. So far.

  “The AEC isn’t against the filming itself,” Burrows continued, “and there is some economic potential for all of Cordova. We just want fair treatment. If achieving that could be accomplished quietly, then there was no reason to make a spectacle of it.”

  “You don’t think Meade and Welsh are going to work with you, do you?”

  “All I know, Miss Brody, is that the more people pretend you aren’t there, or aren’t significant, the more likely something unpleasant will occur.” Burrows gave her a knowing smile. “Legally unpleasant, of course.”

  “Of course,” Charlotte said. “What was Meade and Welsh’s response to your second letter?”

  Burrows’s gaze narrowed, the smile faltering. “Response? There was no response. That’s part of the reason why we gathered here today. We wanted to let them know we wouldn’t be ignored.”

  Meade had said he’d replied to the letter. Had he lied?

  “Perhaps the response was lost in the mail or something,” Charlotte suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Burrows said, conceding to the possibility, “but what’s done is done. The AEC wants nothing more than North to Fortune to be accurate. Will anything come of a defamation suit? I doubt it. We just want to be heard. There’s no need to start a to-do in the pages of your newspaper, but we won’t stand to be ignored either.”

  “Understandable, Mr. Burrows. I’ll do my best to make sure both sides are objectively presented.” That was her job, after all, even if she did sneak her personal opinion into the pages of the Times now and again.

  Burrows gave her a wary look, but it soon transformed into a charming smile. “I appreciate that, Miss Brody. It would be a pleasure to sit down and talk about this in depth, perhaps over dinner some time. Unfortunately, I have some work to do before this evening. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He tipped his hat, then turned on his heel, his long strides taking him down the Second Street walkway as if he owned the town.

  Charlotte watched him for a minute before heading in the opposite direction, toward the Times office. Mr. Toliver would be there, finishing the setting of the Linotype for tomorrow’s edition. If she was fast enough, she could put in a short piece about the arrival of the film crew and, perhaps, a hint of the controversy with the AEC. Nothing too in-depth; she still needed Meade and Welsh’s side for that. But there would definitely be mention of the group waiting at the Windsor.

  It bothered Charlotte that neither Smith nor Burrows had come to the Times with their concerns and letters. Were prejudices in Cordova that strong? Fears of reprisal that deep?

  * * *

  After stopping at the café to pick up ham sandwiches for herself and Mr. Toliver for a late lunch, Charlotte entered the Times office just as the corpulent Andrew Toliver emerged from the Linotype and printing room. He wore an ink-stained apron to protect his waistcoat and trousers. The sleeves of his pristine white shirt were protected with black stockings. Toliver leaned on the cane in his left hand while he closed the door. His left foot was encased in a thick plaster cast that started mid-shin and ended at his toes.

  “Miss Brody, how’d it go?” he asked, hobbling over to his desk and settling into the leather chair there. He leaned the cane against the wall.

  Charlotte hung up her coat and hat, and unwound the scarf from her neck. “Very well. I rode back to town with the director and producer.”

  Toliver’s eyes glinted. “Excellent. I’m sure you have some wonderful bits to share with Cordova.”

  Charlotte took the wrapped sandwiches from her coat pocket and brought them to the desk. Closer to the press
room, the familiar odors of ink, hot lead, and paper greeted her as she sat in one of the straight-back chairs on the opposite side from Toliver. “Perhaps. They were very happy to be here, and very impressed with the turnout at the docks.”

  Toliver chuckled as he accepted a sandwich from her with gratitude. “I’d wager half the town was there.”

  “At least,” Charlotte said. “I’d never seen so many in one place since coming here. But that’s not what’s so interesting.”

  His mouth full of ham, mustard, and thick bread, Toliver could only raise his eyebrows in question.

  “Apparently they’ve received letters from the Alaska Eyak Council and their lawyer, a Mr. Caleb Burrows, regarding the way Alaska Natives are to be shown in the film.” Charlotte watched Toliver for his reaction. “I was curious why the AEC hadn’t contacted the paper.”

  Toliver stopped chewing and stared at her. Charlotte held his gaze. Had he been aware of the AEC’s concerns?

  He swallowed, took a large handkerchief from his pocket, and daubed his mouth and face before answering. “I knew Smith and Burrows were contacting them, but it wasn’t our place to publish those concerns without their permission.”

  So it had been a matter of avoiding public confrontation at the behest of Smith and Burrows. Nothing printed, despite the many pieces published since the filming was announced.

  “They have legitimate concerns,” Charlotte said.

  “Of course they do, but why shine a light on a problem if you can manage to address it without creating an incident? Smith and the Eyak people didn’t want to make local waves. They understand the value of being good neighbors.”

  Charlotte crossed her arms. “You mean even if a defamation lawsuit is summarily dismissed, if it causes the production to be canceled or moved to another location, the AEC would catch hell. And who knows what some fool might do in retaliation.”

  Toliver rested his forearms on the desk and steepled his fingers. She could tell he was trying to be diplomatic in his response. It was just the two of them; there was no need to hold back. “I’m saying, there are more than a few folks in this town hoping for a boost to the local economy with the arrival of the film people. Potentially some long-term increases if, as Meade believes, Alaska can become not only a destination for filming but perhaps tourism, as well as for its natural resources.”

  “At what cost?” Charlotte rose and paced the short width of the office area, her irritation needing some sort of physical outlet. “Allow the world at large to believe falsehoods about an entire population just to put a few dollars in the till? Surely Cordovans can understand their Native neighbors’ feelings on such a matter.”

  “I believe most can,” Toliver said, “but again, I wasn’t the one who requested to keep the letters of concern quiet.”

  Charlotte sat heavily in her chair. She wasn’t so naïve to think there were no prejudices in Alaska. As a white woman, she saw glimpses of racist attitudes, though she’d never felt the brunt of them. But it was there, eating away at society like gangrene. She didn’t want to ignore it, but she didn’t want to instigate anything that would hurt people either.

  “Follow the story,” Toliver continued, “but don’t print anything the AEC isn’t comfortable with sharing. Remember, we have a responsibility to all our readers.”

  As much as Charlotte wanted to argue that fair treatment needed to be enacted no matter what, she’d take her cues from the wishes of the AEC. There were differences between New York and a small town like Cordova as far as what was printed and what wasn’t, or at least how it was printed. Social issues and sensitivities required delicate handling. Everything was more personal. That didn’t mean she could or would disregard wrongdoings, no matter who was involved.

  “Plenty of people passed by the Windsor and saw the AEC talking to Meade and Welsh. I have to write up something,” she said as she picked up a pad of paper and a pen from the desk. “And Caleb Burrows gave me permission to quote him.”

  Toliver frowned. “Caleb Burrows is fond of seeing his name in print. He may be working with the AEC, but he has a reputation as a pot stirrer and grandstander. Be careful with him.”

  Charlotte considered the charming attorney. Some journalists would have happily quoted every word that fell from his lips. Luckily, she’d long ago steeled herself against the thrall of handsome men who said what they thought you wanted to hear. “I will be, and I’ll promise to be vague and neutral for now. Burrows and the AEC will be at the show tonight. We won’t be able to pretend anymore if something happens.”

  The news man sighed and shook his head. “No, we won’t.”

  Charlotte leaned across the desk and laid a light hand on his arm. “We can’t get into trouble for reporting factual events, Andrew. We’ll handle it carefully. It’s just too important to ignore.”

  She rarely called him by his given name, but they’d been working together for six months and had formed a relationship beyond that of employer-employee. He was becoming more of a friend, which was both comforting and fraught with other difficulties. Charlotte found it easier to defy authority figures like bosses.

  He patted her hand and smiled. “Agreed. Now eat your sandwich and get that piece written. Henry will be in after he’s finished at the café to help with printing. You, my dear, have your work cut out for you.”

  Chapter 3

  Charlotte slid the wire post of her earring through the hole in her left lobe. The gold teardrops dangling from her ears glittered in the lamplight. She’d piled her blond hair on her head and added touches of rouge to her cheeks.

  “Rebecca, are you ready? Deputy Eddington will be here any minute.”

  Something thumped on the other side of the bedroom wall.

  “Almost,” the girl called out. “I can’t find my other shoe.”

  Smiling and shaking her head, Charlotte rose and smoothed the skirt of the shimmery gold dress. The long silk sleeves would do little to ward off the chill of the theater, and the deep V of the neckline was certainly more revealing than her usual garb of heavy wool skirts or trousers when the temperature dropped. Alaskans were more practical than prissy, but like most Cordovans, she enjoyed the opportunity to dress up on occasion. As a combination reception and theatrical event, many of the local financial backers of the film would be there, probably in black tie and holding front row center seats during the performances.

  It was doubtful that Jonas Smith or others in the AEC had financially supported the film, so Charlotte was anxious to see what they’d do at the theater if the AEC didn’t receive a satisfactory response from Meade and Welsh.

  In her stockinged feet, Charlotte went to the next room and stood in the open doorway. Rebecca noisily rooted around in her closet. Clothing littered the floor and bed. Several sturdy pairs of shoes were strewn across the floor as well. “I’m not sure how you manage to find anything in here.”

  Charlotte wasn’t much better at keeping her closet organized and found it somewhat hypocritical to berate Becca for the same fault. In the last three months, things between them had changed from the awkward stage of getting to know one another and navigating the unfortunate situation of Becca’s brother Ben, to the pleasant routine of living together.

  Technically, Charlotte was Becca’s guardian, having promised Ben she’d make sure Becca stayed in school. When the girl opted to stay with Charlotte rather than her estranged extended family, Charlotte was both flattered and anxious. She wasn’t one for taking on a parenting role, far from it, but she was sure she could see to Becca’s needs. Over time, their relationship had become more than that of guardian and ward. They enjoyed a friendship, a sense of sisterhood and comradery in their shared love of reading and writing.

  “I know,” Becca said from within the closet, her muffled voice full of worry as she thrust one shoe out for Charlotte to see. “Esther leant me her best Mary Janes and I can’t find the match.”

  Just as Charlotte stepped into the room to help, a triumphant “Aha!” s
ounded and Becca emerged from the closet. Her previously combed and braided hair had become loose, and her skirt and blouse were decidedly less starched. She sat on the floor and strapped on the shiny black shoes.

  “Hurry and comb your hair before you come down. We don’t want to be late for the opening act.”

  She started to move into the hall, when Becca said, “Or whatever the AEC plans to do.”

  Charlotte turned around, unable to hide the surprise on her face. “What do you know about the AEC and what they’ll do?”

  “My father was a member,” she said. “He and Esther’s father talked about the meetings in front of us when we were little. Esther goes to some of the meetings with her family now. She told me about the problems with the film. They’re mad.” She lifted her chin, defiance in her eyes. “We’re mad.”

  Becca’s late father had been Native, as was her school friend Esther. Becca had been raised mostly by her white mother, without much contact with her father’s side of the family. She and Charlotte never really discussed her Native roots. Maybe it was time to do so.

  “You should be mad,” Charlotte said. “I’m just learning that the Eyak people are less than thrilled with the storyline of North to Fortune. It’s likely the AEC will be present tonight. Why didn’t you tell me about the AEC and their feelings about the film?”

  Becca’s cheeks darkened. “Esther said they were going to try not to make a big fuss if they could help it, but if the film people didn’t agree to change things the AEC would respond. I had to promise not to tell you because—”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “Not to tell me because I work for the paper or because I’m white?” Charlotte asked. Maybe she shouldn’t put Becca in such a position, but Charlotte couldn’t deny the pang of hurt in her chest.

  “It’s not that,” Becca said, raising her eyes. “Being white, I mean. Esther is my best friend, and she was worried that if it got out she’d get into trouble.”