Read Online Murder, She Wrote: Panning For Murder: Panning For Murder (Murder She Wrote) by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
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hallway,” I said. “It’s easy to confuse them.”
“I suppose.”
“Meet up with you in fifteen minutes?”
Though I’d dismissed Kathy’s suspicions about the man, I had found his behavior a tad peculiar. He didn’t look familiar, yet I couldn’t get his face out of my mind. I’ve developed a fairly keen sense over the years of remembering people’s appearances, even after only momentary exposure to them. This gentleman was slender and no taller than five feet five inches. His face was extremely narrow, almost as though his head had been squeezed in a vise, causing his facial features to extend into sharp relief. His hair was thin, sandy and silky, worn almost shoulder length. I shook my head to erase his image. I needed to think about a change of clothes instead.
The cocktail party was held in the elegant Explorers’ Lounge, toward the rear of the lower promenade deck. A harp encased in a cover testified to the sort of music that would be played there later in the evening—classical and soothing.
“Ah, good evening,” the ship’s chief officer, Captain Rasmussen, said as we reached him after proceeding along a reception line of four uniformed officers. He struck me as remarkably young to be in command of such a large vessel, but I suppose I was operating from a stereotype of what a ship’s captain should look like— silver-haired, and with a lined face from having stared into the sun too long. Also, as I get older, I’m surprised to find that everyone looks so young. It shouldn’t be a surprise, of course, but somehow it always is. Police officers all look like rookies to me, even those who’ve been on the force for years. Politicians are the age of my nephew Grady. And I could swear those television newscasters just graduated from journalism school. Some of this may be our culture’s obsession with youth and looking young, but I have to admit it also may be my advancing age. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I no longer see a young face, even though inside I feel the same as when my late husband, Frank, and I were courting. But the wrinkles and gray hairs in my reflection remind me that that was many years ago.
And here in front of me was another very young man in a position of authority. Captain Rasmussen took my hand in both of his and smiled warmly. “I must say, Mrs. Fletcher, that we are extremely honored to have such an important author on board.” His voice was low and well modulated, with the hint of a Dutch accent.
I was flattered that he had heard of me. “I’m very happy to be here,” I said. I turned and indicated Kathy. “This is my good friend Kathy Copeland. We’re traveling together.”
“Of course,” he said. “I had the pleasure of meeting with Ms. Copeland only last week. I didn’t expect I’d be repeating the pleasure so soon.”
“I didn’t, either,” Kathy said. “My decision to take this cruise was a very last-minute one.”
“Well,” Rasmussen said, “you’re obviously traveling in good company. Enjoy some champagne and canapés. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to chat more later.”
We settled in two chairs in a corner of the room where a member of the ship’s waitstaff brought us flutes of champagne and a tray of cold canapés.
“He’s charming,” I said.
“And handsome,” Kathy said, biting into one of the hors d’oeuvres. “Yum. Delicious.”
“I didn’t realize you’d actually met with the captain when you were here last week,” I said.
“I’d forgotten about it,” she said. “I only saw him for a few minutes. He basically told me how sorry he was to have learned about Willie’s disappearance.”
“Did he indicate that he, too, knew about the gold?”
“No. At least he didn’t mention it.”
“Do you think he’s married?” I said.
“Why? Are you
“I suppose.”
“Meet up with you in fifteen minutes?”
Though I’d dismissed Kathy’s suspicions about the man, I had found his behavior a tad peculiar. He didn’t look familiar, yet I couldn’t get his face out of my mind. I’ve developed a fairly keen sense over the years of remembering people’s appearances, even after only momentary exposure to them. This gentleman was slender and no taller than five feet five inches. His face was extremely narrow, almost as though his head had been squeezed in a vise, causing his facial features to extend into sharp relief. His hair was thin, sandy and silky, worn almost shoulder length. I shook my head to erase his image. I needed to think about a change of clothes instead.
The cocktail party was held in the elegant Explorers’ Lounge, toward the rear of the lower promenade deck. A harp encased in a cover testified to the sort of music that would be played there later in the evening—classical and soothing.
“Ah, good evening,” the ship’s chief officer, Captain Rasmussen, said as we reached him after proceeding along a reception line of four uniformed officers. He struck me as remarkably young to be in command of such a large vessel, but I suppose I was operating from a stereotype of what a ship’s captain should look like— silver-haired, and with a lined face from having stared into the sun too long. Also, as I get older, I’m surprised to find that everyone looks so young. It shouldn’t be a surprise, of course, but somehow it always is. Police officers all look like rookies to me, even those who’ve been on the force for years. Politicians are the age of my nephew Grady. And I could swear those television newscasters just graduated from journalism school. Some of this may be our culture’s obsession with youth and looking young, but I have to admit it also may be my advancing age. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I no longer see a young face, even though inside I feel the same as when my late husband, Frank, and I were courting. But the wrinkles and gray hairs in my reflection remind me that that was many years ago.
And here in front of me was another very young man in a position of authority. Captain Rasmussen took my hand in both of his and smiled warmly. “I must say, Mrs. Fletcher, that we are extremely honored to have such an important author on board.” His voice was low and well modulated, with the hint of a Dutch accent.
I was flattered that he had heard of me. “I’m very happy to be here,” I said. I turned and indicated Kathy. “This is my good friend Kathy Copeland. We’re traveling together.”
“Of course,” he said. “I had the pleasure of meeting with Ms. Copeland only last week. I didn’t expect I’d be repeating the pleasure so soon.”
“I didn’t, either,” Kathy said. “My decision to take this cruise was a very last-minute one.”
“Well,” Rasmussen said, “you’re obviously traveling in good company. Enjoy some champagne and canapés. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to chat more later.”
We settled in two chairs in a corner of the room where a member of the ship’s waitstaff brought us flutes of champagne and a tray of cold canapés.
“He’s charming,” I said.
“And handsome,” Kathy said, biting into one of the hors d’oeuvres. “Yum. Delicious.”
“I didn’t realize you’d actually met with the captain when you were here last week,” I said.
“I’d forgotten about it,” she said. “I only saw him for a few minutes. He basically told me how sorry he was to have learned about Willie’s disappearance.”
“Did he indicate that he, too, knew about the gold?”
“No. At least he didn’t mention it.”
“Do you think he’s married?” I said.
“Why? Are you
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