Murder for Glacier Blue (High Seas Mystery Series Book 3)
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Murder For Glacier Blue
A High Seas Mystery
By Diane Rapp
Copyright © 2013 Diane Rapp
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1491273678
ISBN-10: 1491273674
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or distributed by any means (electronic, photocopied, recorded, or mechanical) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and publisher of this book except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Dedication
I dedicate this novel to Corey, my photographer, travel companion, and best of all my loving husband.
Disclaimer
Although the heroine was inspired by my daughter, everything the character does in the book is pure fiction. All the other characters are imaginary and any resemblance to real people is accidental. Tourist attractions described in the novel are real, however, the planned Juneau art museum described in this novel is a fabrication to further the story line. Constellation Cruise Lines and all of its ships are inventions of my imagination. I encourage cruising as a great way to travel. You unpack just once but land in new and exciting ports all around the world. Alaska is a fabulous place to visit by cruise ship and the best glaciers can be visited by boat.
Acknowledgements
All of the photos included in this book were taken by my husband, Corey W. Rapp with the exception of the “Bear and Fish” photo. I bought the rights to use that photo from Shutterstock.com. The book cover is my own design, using a sky background purchased from Shutterstock.com and overlays of glacier and iceberg photos that my husband took. Adobe Photshop Elements 10 is the program I used to combine pieces to make a fanciful picture. Give it a try.
Thank you to my husband, Corey, and my friends, Charles L. Dougherty, Doreen (Dody) Cox, Arleen Alleman, and Kathleen Patel for reading the manuscript in advance of publication. I appreciate the time they took to give me constructive comments which helped make the book more exciting. I’m also sure my readers appreciate all the errors they found, so I could correct the final draft before printing.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Painting Glaciers in Alaska – 1881
Chapter 2 Present Day - Painting Forgeries
Chapter 3 Genuine Fakes Party
Figure 1 Chihuly Glass
Chapter 4 Meeting Future In-Laws
Chapter 5 Setting Sail on the Aurora
Chapter 6 First Auction at Sea
Chapter 7 A Not So Surprising Party
Chapter 8 Day at Sea—Twists and Turns
Chapter 9 Souvenirs from Ketchikan
Chapter 10 The Art Theft Ring
Chapter 11 Eagles and Bears at Sitka
Figure 2 Pray for Salmon
Figure 3 Budding Model
Figure 4 Angry Eagle
Chapter 12 Juneau—Drama on the Mountain
Chapter 13 Glacier Bay National Park
Chapter 14 Wedding on Glacier Bay
Chapter 15 Day at Sea
Chapter 16 Kodiak Island
Figure 5 Bear and Fish
Chapter 17 Anchorage
Figure 6 Anchorage Airport
Figure 7 Moose at Airport
Chapter 18 Unfinished Business
Chapter 19 London 1907
A Note From Diane Rapp
High Seas Mystery Series
About the Author
Chapter 1
Painting Glaciers in Alaska – 1881
The ship anchored beyond the wide mouth of the fjord as sailors lowered a native canoe filled with supplies. Reggie gazed down at the small craft and shuddered. The tiny craft bobbed alongside the schooner, which already rocked too much to suit him. A heavy woolen coat hung to his knees but it barely kept him warm against the icy breeze. How would he manage to camp inside the glacial straits of the fjord?
“We’ll return in two weeks, sir,” the captain said and broke Reggie’s reverie. “We can’t afford to set here with them icebergs floatin’ past.”
“Yes, I understand.” He stiffened his shoulders and held out his gloved hand. “Thank you, Captain Jefferies. I appreciate your taking on this commission.”
Reggie winced under the vice-like grip of Jefferies and the captain grinned. “Your financial inducement was substantial, sir. I’d hate to lose my best customer so take a care! If you’re not here upon our return, we’ll launch a rescue party to search you out.”
Laughter erupted from behind Reggie. He turned to see a grinning native face surrounded by shaggy black hair. “No need to risk lives of crew, Captain Jeffries. We come back when moon is full and wait for ship.” Scottie, a Tlingit guide from the village of Hoonah, scampered down the rope ladder and jumped into the rocking canoe.
“He’s a highly recommended guide, and I’m certain we’ll be here on time,” Reggie said, more to reassure himself than the captain.
“We’ll collect supplies in Skagway, so the ship will be ready for the next stop on your excursion.”
“Mind that you collect my new shipment of paint and canvas.” Reggie peered down into the canoe. “I’m keen to get that shipment as I’ll run out of proper supplies soon enough.”
“We could slice up one of our small sails to make canvas. No need to waste gold shipping it from Europe when there’s plenty of sailcloth right here. A vigorous wash would make it clean enough to slap paint on.”
Indulgently Reggie smiled, having heard the offer before. “Don’t cut up your sails, Captain. My supplies will be waiting in Skagway. I’m sure of it.”
His stiff boots slipped on a wet rung of the rope ladder as he descended toward the deep blue water. He tightened his grip on the ropes and sucked in a breath to calm his nerves.
“Come on, boss. It’s just a few more steps!” Scottie shouted.
Reggie inched closer to the water and stretched his foot out to touch the canoe. A firm hand steadied his boot until he connected with the canoe bottom. The small craft teetered. “Got you, boss,” Scottie said, and the Hoonah propelled him toward a solid bench. “You sit safe here.”
Feeling grateful to avoid the icy-black water, Reggie sighed as his butt plopped onto the flat board stretched across the canoe. He stretched his arms out to grip both sides of the craft as a wave crashed against the boat. Water penetrated the fingertips of his thick gloves. As Reggie shivered Scottie untied the canoe and scrambled over bundles to reach his own perch. Soon the native paddled the homebuilt craft toward rocky cliffs jutting above the mouth of the inlet. Droplets from the paddles pelted Reggie’s face.
He saw a paddle resting against his right foot. “Should I help you row?” he shouted.
“Not yet! First you watch, see how I make strokes. We reach smooth water and then you help,” Scottie shouted back.
Relief washed over Reggie, since he feared releasing his death-grip on the canoe. The streamlined craft rolled over ocean waves that moved toward the mouth of the fjord. Sea water mixed with fresh water as the river current flowed steadily out to sea. Large chunks of ice floated past, and Reggie wondered how long it might take to reach the glacier.
When the canoe entered the mouth of the fjord, the water calmed and Scottie’s paddle strokes slowed. He cheerfully announced, “Eagle totem help us cross into Raven territory.” Scottie stroked the stylized eagle pendant hanging from his neck.
Tlingit natives divided themselves into two clans, and apparently Scottie belonged to the Eagle clan. “Does the Raven clan claim this fjord?” Reggie asked.
“I plan to be very careful of the glacier.” Reggie stared at the steep rock walls of the fjord and marveled at the glacial force needed to carve through solid granite. Before the trip he studied scientific writings and knew the ice gouged out the valley over thousands of years. Greenish blue water filled the valley floor in a flood of pure glacier water that melded with brackish ocean tidewater.
With an artist’s eye, he studied the color and wondered how to mix that particular shade. His fingers itched to open his paint satchel and search through the oils, but fright kept his fingers clamped to the canoe’s sides. He mentally painted the picture. Dark brown rock and emerald green trees rose in a near vertical slant from the jade green water. No. It was not jade green. He must combine blue, green, and brown pigments until he matched the true color.
An icy breeze brushed his cheek. He glanced up just as the boat rounded a bend and gasped with delight. High in the V of the shaded canyon walls, a vision of brilliant white gleamed in the sunshine. Excited, Reggie nearly stood to get a better view. The canoe rocked and he froze, clutching the canoe tighter. As he enjoyed the tantalizing glimpse of ice, the canoe skimmed silently across the water. Reggie kept quiet, almost afraid to break the spell of the glacier. He understood why natives believed the glacier was alive. It snaked down the canyon like a living thing that waited for them to approach in their tiny craft.
Half an hour passed before Reggie relaxed enough to pick up a paddle. He dipped the tip into the water trying to match Scottie’s stroke. Soon he helped maneuver around small icebergs, pieces of white sculpture that drifted past, and noticed the sapphire blue color deep inside the ice. He wondered why that particular shade almost glowed inside the thick ice. Would bigger chunks of lake ice turn blue like that at home? I wonder if anyone has experimented to recreate the same result.
Reggie jumped when a black head bobbed up next to the canoe, and beady black eyes peered at him before sinking out of sight. A moment later, water gushed over an iceberg as the seal heaved its slick grey-black body onto the flat slab. It squirmed until its rotund bulk rested safely out of the water. Reggie noticed other seals and birds that used icebergs as perches.
A majestic bald eagle dropped down from a tall pine. Reggie estimated the wingspan at seven feet as the bird swooped toward the river surface. As outstretched talons hit the water, the raptor grabbed a silvery fish and rose from the iridescent surface without getting wet. The elegant bird pumped its great wings and flew as the thrashing salmon dangled precariously. Another eagle dove at the victorious bird. The two nearly collided as the poacher tried to steal the catch. Shrill screeches shattered the silence as the birds performed an aerial ballet overhead. Finally the eagle carrying the salmon broke away from its pursuer and fled to an island filled with straight pines. White heads of other eagles tracked the two birds until the victor landed in a massive nest. The poacher soared overhead in broad circles until it dove for its own fish.
Reggie exhaled, hardly aware that he’d held his breath. Scottie laughed. “Plenty salmon for all, my brother, you need not steal another’s catch!” he shouted at his totem animal. “Just watch out for them thieving ravens.”
“Would ravens steal from an eagle?” Reggie asked. “Aren’t they too small to attack an eagle?”
Scottie nodded. “Sure, if they hunt alone, but ravens be cagey critters and band together. A flock will scare an eagle into dropping its catch. They sometime raid a nest. That’s why one eagle stays in the nest while its mate hunts.”
“I heard that a member of the Eagle clan must marry someone from the Raven clan. Is that right?”
“Yes. We be members of the clan of our mother, so I must marry a Raven. Her children will be Raven clan. It keeps blood pure.”
Reggie nodded. “Our monarchs often married close cousins and it harms the bloodline.”
“That not happen here. My cousins are all Eagle so we look to other villages.”
“Why are you named Scottie?” Reggie asked.
“Father was sailor from distant land called Scotland. You know this place?”
“Yes, it’s part of the British Empire. We once had a queen from Scotland.”
“Is she Raven clan?”
“No, the Scottish clans are Celtic I’m afraid.” Reggie smiled.
“Too bad! A queen could make a good bride.”
Reggie nodded. “Yes. She was sought after by many suitors, but she died long ago.”
The canoe rounded another bend, and Reggie caught his breath at the sight of the full glacier. A wall of ice stretched across the end of the canyon. Behind the wall a winding river of ice rose up between the mountains until it disappeared over the crest. “My God!” Reggie gasped. “That’s an incredible sight. Those icebergs look tiny compared to this.”
Scottie pointed toward an island which seemed to float in the center of the channel. It stood well away from the face of the glacier. “We set up camp on this island.” A loud report echoed through the fjord as ice crumpled off the face of the glacier. A large wave undulated across the cove.
Reggie asked, “What caused that sound? Is someone shooting?”
“Ice break and sound like gunshot.” Scottie gestured toward the island. “Soon big piece of glacier fall off so it not safe to be near the ice. Canoe might get flooded. We camp on island, away from ice and bears.”
Reggie shivered as he eyed the shoreline. “Could bears swim out here?”
“Bears swim good but much salmon in water. Hungry bears no bother with skinny humans until salmon go away.” He chuckled at Reggie’s frightened expression. “We leave long before bears get hungry enough to search for easy prey.”
Reggie forced a grin and eagerly helped paddle toward the island. According to John Muir’s book about glaciers, the island was called a moraine, formed by advancing ice that pushed crushed rocks ahead of its path. When the glacier receded, a mound of rocks marked the place where the advance stopped and melting ice filled the channel around the moraine. Glaciers advanced and receded often, and he wondered when this one might creep forward again.
*****
For several days Reggie painted the glacial wall, excited by the changing light across the icy expanse. To conserve canvas, he used charcoal to sketch the glacier in detail on one large canvas. On another canvas he created mini studies of various cloud formations and the colors of light over the ragged ice. Later in the comfort of his warm studio, he’d paint the final pictures.
Having sketched the glacier from the water elevation of the island, Reggie felt that he needed a different perspective. One morning he stared at the slope directly across from the glacier and asked Scottie, “Would it be safe to climb to a higher elevation? I’d love to sketch the glacier from above and that peak looks like a smashing location.”
Scottie studied the terrain and nodded. “With much care we can climb to that cliff. Bears should stay close to the water and not bother stupid humans.”
Reggie swallowed back his fear and packed a rucksack. He strapped the bag over his shoulders and eyed the shoreline, sure that he saw a brown shape moving. Using binoculars, he discovered a fallen tree where he thought he saw the bear.
Scottie loaded the canoe, and they paddled across the ice-strewn water. He led Reggie up the rising grade, stopping often to check on his charge. At a particularly steep stretch of rocks, Scottie tied a rope firmly around Reggie’s waist and anchored the other end to himself. “If I fall, you throw body flat on ground and grab hold of tree until I shout at you. Then wrap the rope around tree and pull me up.”
“It’s more likely that I’ll be the one falling, so I’ll call out.” Reggie tried to smile but felt butterflies flutter in his chest. He shifted his backpack and tested the rope. It seemed strong enough but Reggie’s knees
shook as he took the next few tentative steps.
An hour later, they sat atop a knoll, staring at the impressive glacier that twisted up the opposite canyon. Reggie untied the rope and extracted a notebook from his pack. He settled onto a small rock and sketched several studies of the rugged terrain across the bay. He marveled at the unstoppable forces of nature; jagged peaks of ice cut through dark grey granite, crushing mountains into boulders, and water, seeping under the glacier, filled the bay with gray silt.
Scottie opened his pack and passed a hunk of dried meat to Reggie. “Smoked salmon give you energy.”
Reggie chewed the smoky-flavored fish and wished he had a basket of chips to go with it. He smiled, remembering his favorite pub, and swallowed ice-cold water from his canteen in place of the beer he craved. “Do your people drink spirits?” Reggie asked.
“Spirits?” Scottie looked alarmed at the question.
“Whiskey or beer?” Reggie clarified and hid his smile.
Nodding, Scottie’s white teeth flashed as he grinned. “White man bring those spirits into our village and make warriors act like children. Elders not happy but young bucks not listen to wise words.” He tossed a small rock, which ricocheted down the mountain slope. “I sometime enjoy whiskey at celebration, but my head hurts much the next day.”
Reggie nodded. “You had a hangover from too much whiskey.”
“Hang over! Yes. It made me hang over the river and feed the fishes!” Scottie and Reggie laughed at the image. “White men do the same?”
“Yes. Perhaps you’d enjoy Scotch, which comes from Scotland, your father’s country.”
Scottie shook his head. “Tasted that drink and it burned my throat like fire. My clan comes from mother not father.”
Reggie stowed his notepad into the pack and stood up. “I’d better duck behind a tree before we start climbing down.” He carefully made his way to a copse of trees and stepped behind the nearest tree.