by Diane Rapp
“No one can deny a recipe to George. He’s always trading for new ones and next time we’re in St. Kitts we’ll dine on this very chowder,” Steven replied.
A few minutes later the bus, loaded with happy passengers, headed toward the next stop. Betty said, “At the Alaska Raptor Center you’ll see several species of raptor—birds of prey. Thirty years ago the center was started as a backyard project to nurse injured eagles. It’s now a full-fledged rehabilitation center with over 36,000 visitors per year, caring for almost 200 birds. The primary goal is to return birds to the wild but some are too damaged to survive. These remain full-time residents of the sanctuary.”
The bus pulled into the gravel parking lot of a white clapboard sided building with green trim. The group formed a line to enter the main door. “Please stay quiet while observing the eagles inside this structure. We keep human contact at a minimum while they recuperate.” Everyone filed around the perimeter of an indoor aviary, separated from sightseers by a double wall of glass. The raptors displayed sharp eyes and curved beaks that looked lethal to small prey while they perched on high branches or swooped down to drink from the manmade stream. The stately beauty of the birds was stunning. The humans moved through the enclosure in a hushed awe usually reserved for libraries or church.
Seated in the auditorium, a resident bird was carried in by its handler to meet the crowd. The handler described the rehabilitation program and answered questions while the handsome eagle rotated its head and stared at the audience. “Take your time to visit our gift shop and explore the outdoor cages. We have many species of raptor on site, all permanent residents of the center. We’ll answer any questions you might ask.”
Outside Julia and Clint snapped pictures of birds inside enclosures. Julia was especially attracted to the bald eagles. She stood outside a cage and zoomed in to take a picture. A shrill keen broke the silence as a wild eagle flew overhead. The eagle inside the cage shrieked a warning to the intruder, and Julia instantly snapped its photo. “Look at the picture I got,” she squealed at Kayla, and the eagle ruffled its feathers in protest.
Figure 4 Angry Eagle
“Mom, that’s a remarkable shot. You got so close,” Kayla said.
Julia said, “I feel so lucky. I zoomed in just before he started screeching, resting the camera on the fence. He startled me, and I snapped the picture without even thinking.”
Clint hugged his wife and proudly displayed the picture to others in their group. On the bus, the driver took them back to the pier while Betty described how local school children learned survival techniques unique to Alaska. As the bus parked she said, “There are shops near the pier to buy handicrafts, so feel free to wander. Thank you for visiting our town.”
*****
Kayla and Steven ambled down the street hand-in-hand while their friends explored gift shops. Steven seemed quiet, and Kayla finally broke the silence. “Fess up, Steven. Tell me what’s bugging you.”
He sighed and rubbed his toe against a clump of grass growing in the path. “I feel like an utter fool. I’m a trained investigator, but I missed all the signs.”
“You’re referring to Cynthia’s infidelity?” Kayla wanted to wring the woman’s scrawny neck but she tempered the anger in her voice. “How could you see her true character? You were too close to the situation and blinded by love.”
“Blinded! I’m an illusionist and a cop. You’d think I could see past the illusion and ferret out the truth.”
“Not if you didn’t want to know. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Focus on a problem you have a chance to solve rather than stressing out over something that’s history.”
Steven’s eyes widened and his lips tightened into a thin line. “Okay. Phillip claims he took a sleeping tablet the night Miller was murdered, and Cynthia confirmed his story. That means she has no alibi. We found no prints on the golf club, and a woman could be strong enough to use it as a weapon.”
“You’re worried your ex-wife could be a murderess?”
“No. She doesn’t have a motive, and I don’t believe she’d commit murder. Theft, adultery, and fraud, I can believe but murder is not her style. She’s a witness. She’s selfish enough to withhold critical information until we secure protection and immunity,” Steven grumbled and started walking. “It is possible the killer will target her, and I’m afraid we must give her protection.”
Kayla ground her teeth, and her fists tightened. “I knew she’d cause trouble the first day I saw her. What can I do to help? I feel like I’ve spent all my time acting as a tour guide instead of an investigator.”
Steven raised one eyebrow and peered into Kayla’s eyes. “Luv, you’ve got a way of wheedling information out of people without their knowledge. Ask questions but mind your own safety. We’ve got a wedding in a few days, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“I’m happy to snoop on your behalf but don’t make me speak with Cynthia. I might throw her overboard and claim insanity.” Kayla quickened her pace, and they soon found themselves at the dock waiting for the next tender.
*****
Back onboard the ship, they met Jeremy Greene. Handing Steven an official-looking document, Jeremy said, “The policeman who picked up the art thieves delivered this search warrant. He asked me to supervise the search, claims an active-duty police officer needs to be present to serve the warrant.” Jeremy glanced around and lowered his voice. “Emily asks us to exercise caution. She can’t afford bad publicity.”
Steven headed toward the elevator. “Let’s start with the baggage storage room. I’ve been anxious to search that coffin and the golf bags, the most likely hiding places for the painting.”
Kayla followed them into the service elevator. “Don’t think for a minute you’re leaving me behind. I’d be bored stiff waiting in my cabin.”
The baggage storage room was a tight fit so Jeremy waited at the door while Steven and Kayla searched. Steven opened the coffin lid, lifted out the loose pillows, and carefully examined the silk lining. “There are dozens of fasteners holding the lining in place. I don’t see how anyone could quickly stash a painting underneath.” He ran sensitive fingers over the smooth lining and shook his head.
While he worked on the coffin, Kayla pulled golf clubs out of a leather bag and felt the interior for hidden compartments. She found small pockets filled with golf balls, tees, a monogrammed towel, and a flask full of whiskey. “Doesn’t look like they have much room left inside the bag to hide a painting.” She tipped the bag on its side and examined the leather stitching. “There’s no way to stash anything from the outer part of the case.”
Steven glanced at the empty bag and nodded. “Try another one, Luv.” He opened a pocket-sized tool kit and extracted a screwdriver. “These brass handrails are wide enough to hold a rolled up painting. Let’s see if I can undo the fittings on each end.”
Shoving the last club back into the leather bag, Kayla watched Steven slip a cap off the brass handrail. “Jeremy! Do you have a torch handy?” Steven called out.
Jeremy leaned into the door. “I’ll go ask the steward to fetch one for us.”
Steven finished removing the caps on both handrails by the time Jeremy returned with a flashlight. “Shine it through that end of the tube.” Jeremy leaned over the end of the tube near the door and pointed the light through the opening. “This one’s empty. Can you reach the opening nearest the wall?” Steven asked.
Jeremy shook his head. “I’ve had a few too many meals to fit in that narrow space. Perhaps Kayla can squeeze through.”
Kayla inched around the end of the casket and bent to gaze into the brass tube. She aimed a beam of light through the opening and Steven groaned. “It’s empty, too.”
“Let’s hope you can put it back together before my uncle sees his prized coffin.” Timothy Sinclair stood by the open doorway with a worried expression. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was maneuvering that coffin into this room. If there’s a scratch on the brass, he’ll have my head on a
platter.”
Kayla squirmed out from behind the coffin and handed the flashlight back to Jeremy. “Steven’s very careful.” She turned to empty another golf bag.
Timothy gazed at the golf clubs lying on the floor as Steven carefully fitted an end-piece back onto the handrail. “I don’t suppose you recovered the stolen painting?” he asked. “Sir Cedric is ranting about the lack of security. He called Scotland Yard this morning to order a proper investigation.”
Steven laughed. “I’m sure they’ll send a scathing telex to Emily.” A few minutes later, Steven polished the fingerprints off the reassembled brass fittings. “I’m glad you stopped by, Timothy. I have a few questions to ask.”
Kayla worked on another bag, pretending not to listen to the conversation.
“After seeing a pirate cufflink during the mind-reading show, I thought I might be a suspect. Do you want to take my fingerprints?” Timothy pointed at the coffin. “I’m certain my prints were all over that monstrosity.”
“We found no prints at all on the coffin, which makes me worry. I examined it from head to foot and can’t find a place to hide a painting, so I wonder why the killer wiped it down.” Steven stared at the smooth mahogany.
Timothy shrugged. “The thing arrived three days before we left England, and I had to arrange for shipment on our flight. It’s a royal pain to travel with a coffin, believe me.”
Kayla shoved golf clubs into the bag and asked, “Do you have a reason to steal the painting, Timothy? Don’t you inherit the whole collection when Sir Cedric dies?”
“I’ve got millions of reasons to steal that painting. He’s donating the most valuable piece in his collection to his pet museum project.” Timothy’s jaw clenched as he turned his back and leaned against the coffin. “Go ahead and arrest me. Prison might be better than living under my uncle’s threats. He changes his will on a monthly basis, and I have no doubt I’m out of favor this month.”
Steven stared at Timothy. “We know you gambled into the wee hours on the night Jeffrey Miller died, but that doesn’t clear you from conspiracy charges.”
Timothy nodded, his eyes looking sad. “I wish I was clever enough to conspire with art thieves. If I were more like our pirate ancestor, my uncle might respect me.” He walked out of the room, moved to the staircase, and solemnly climbed the metal treads.
Jeremy said, “Somehow I can’t believe he committed any crime.”
“Neither do I but a clever crook might fool us,” Steven said. He turned to Kayla and grinned as she pushed the last golf bag against the corner. “All done, Luv?”
She wiped her hands on a towel hanging from the side of the bag. “I never realized how many golf clubs it takes to play a game, and there are golf balls stowed everywhere.”
Steven rolled his eyes. “Every time I visit the links I buy two boxes of balls, one box to play and one for the water gods.”
Jason arrived just as they locked the storage room. He said, “Interpol asked us to return to active duty. The top brass wants to reassure Sir Cedric that licensed investigators are handling his case.”
“Do we get paid?”
Jason shook his head. “We can’t accept two checks. Emily has us on payroll, and she pays better than Interpol. We can carry official badges.” Jason handed Steven a familiar leather wallet. “I had Emily stow this in the safe for you.”
Steven slipped the wallet into his pocket. “I assume our art thieves are safe in custody.”
Jason nodded. “We’ve got them locked up tight, since an International gang doesn’t qualify for bail. If we turn up evidence to convict them of murder, we know where to find them.”
“Where do we search now?” Kayla asked.
Steven marched up the stairs. “Let’s take a look in Jeffrey Miller’s cabin. There must be some clue to his client.”
As they approached Miller’s cabin, they noticed a waiter sneaking out of the room. Steven ran ahead and grabbed the waiter’s arm. “Hold on there, mate. What’re you doing in that cabin?”
The waiter’s eyes bulged and he stammered, “I didn’t do nothing, sir. He gave me a tip to borrow my jacket, that’s all!”
“I recognize you!” Jason told Steven, “This is the crewman who discovered the body.” He held the waiter steady as Steven searched the man’s pockets.
“Hello! There’s a mobile phone here.”
“It’s mine! It got left in my jacket pocket, but it’s mine.” The waiter tried to snatch the phone back, but Steven kept it away from the man.
Jason frowned. “As I recall, we didn’t find a mobile phone on the body. Did you take Miller’s mobile when you found him?”
The waiter slumped and nodded. “He told me I could fetch my jacket and catering cart in the baggage hold early this morning. I showed up and found him lying dead. I didn’t dare take the cart and jacket, but I needed me mobile back. I grabbed one from out of his pocket but discovered it wasn’t mine.”
“Where’s Miller’s mobile?”
“I left it in his room when I retrieved mine. Couldn’t let anyone know I had anything to do with him since he’s murdered an all.”
Steven slipped the phone into his own pocket. “Hand over your keys, man. You won’t need them now.” He read the man’s ID. “Is this your real name, Peter Fields, or did you steal another coat?”
“No. It’s me.” He stared at the floor and sounded miserable. “I only let him borrow my coat, had no idea he’d get killed.”
“Escort Peter to our holding room, Jason. He can tell his story to the police at our next port.”
“He didn’t do it.” Kayla watched Jason march the waiter down the corridor. “Why would he kill Jeffrey and leave the painting behind? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re right, Luv. It doesn’t make sense, but crime is often senseless. We’ll hold him as a material witness until we find the real culprit.” He sorted through the keys and found a master that would open the cabin. “Let’s examine the victim’s cabin.”
“Didn’t you look before?”
Steven shook his head. “He was killed in another location, so we didn’t conduct a thorough search yet. We left orders to keep the room locked.” He opened the door and motioned Kayla inside.
The room was a mess but not the type an untidy occupant left behind. Kayla picked up a pillow from the floor and stepped over clothes spilling from an open suitcase. “You think Miller left it this way?” she asked.
“I doubt it. He didn’t seem that messy.” Steven peered into the bathroom. “Cabin stewards pick up to vacuum and train people to be neat.”
Kayla found another cell phone on the dresser. “Maybe Peter Fields tossed the room looking for his phone and left this one behind.”
Steven examined the second phone. “It’s the same model as the one Fields owns, so I can understand the mix up. I wonder if Miller used either one recently.”
“Cell phones don’t always pick up a signal offshore. We were in Canadian waters during the first part of the voyage and only reached American waters the night he was killed.”
Steven pondered the thought, rubbing his ear. “We need to check on recent calls made on both units. Maybe one will lead to our killer.”
“Why not hit redial and see who answers?”
Steven shook his head. “We don’t want to alert the culprit. The only people who left the ship are in police custody. We’ll go through official channels and preserve the chain of evidence.”
“You’re no fun now that you’re carrying Interpol credentials. I’d hit redial and pretend I got the wrong number.”
Steven rolled his eyes. “How would you explain the fact that you’re calling from Miller’s phone or the waiter’s for that matter?”
She ignored his common sense and lifted the bedspread from the floor. “Hey! Here’s a screwdriver set that looks like yours. You think he used it to install those latches?”
Steven opened a drawer and extracted a swivel latch. “The odds are in our favor. Too bad
we didn’t know about those latches while we were guarding the paintings.”
“You live and learn. How about the other paintings?”
“Emily asked Millicent to put things back in proper order.” Steven pulled a blazer out of the closet and retrieved a dark hair from the shoulder. He carefully placed the hair into an evidence bag. “It’s dead easy to gather evidence when you know the identity of the culprit.”
Kayla plucked a blond hair from a pillow on the bed. “You think Cynthia spent much time in his bed?”
Steven scowled and held an evidence bag open. Kayla dropped the hair into the bag and grinned. “You think it’s time to tell Phillip about his lady love?”
“Speaking of time, I’d better get to the theater. We stopped one theft, but we’ve still got expensive paintings to guard during the next auction.”
Kayla nodded and headed toward the door. “I’m tempted to bid on the next painting and take it home as a souvenir.”
Steven locked the cabin and pocketed the keys. “I’m not keen about the next painting. It was painted by Tom Thomson who died in mysterious circumstances. His death was officially declared an accidental drowning but the doctor reported a bruise across the right temple.”
“They should mention that during the auction! A violent death of an artist might increase the bidding.”
*****
Julia and Patricia arrived at the auction early and saved a seat for Kayla. They waved at her as she entered the theater with Steven. He headed to his post, and Kayla zigzagged through paintings and chairs to reach her seat.
Patricia handed Kayla a brochure and pointed at a photo of the Genuine Fakes painting. “I believe the artist captured the eerie glow of the northern sky,” she said.
Kayla peered at the picture, painted in somber blues and luminous greens. A silhouette of a rounded mountain stood against the night sky, lit by glowing spires reaching toward the stars. Kayla shivered, feeling as if cold vibrated from the painting, and she wondered if knowing about the artist’s death made her squeamish.
