Murder on the Minnesota (9 page)

“Thanks, honey!” said the woman. “That was great.”

“You have a wonderful voice,” said Genevieve, getting up to look at her.

“I trained as an opera singer but fell by the wayside.”

“It was a pleasure to play for you.”

“We must do it again some time.”

“I’d like that.”

“You from England?”

“How did you guess?” She offered a hand. “I’m Genevieve Masefield.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the woman, ignoring the hand and kissing her on both cheeks instead. “My name is Maxine Gilpatrick.”

George Porter Dillman was on his way to the dining saloon that evening when he was intercepted by the purser. Roebuck took him aside to pass on some astonishing news.

“We have a Good Samaritan onboard,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember those stowaways you found?”

“How could I forget them?” asked Dillman.

“They’re stowaways no longer. Someone bailed them out by paying their fare.”

“Who was it?”

“A Catholic priest called Father Slattery.” Dillman was taken aback. “Yes,” Roebuck went on, “it surprised me at first. I
mean, who cares about stowaways? Apparently, this Father Slattery has been scouring the ship for repentant sinners. He asked the master-at-arms if we had any bad boys in custody and heard about the Fengs. He took pity on them at once.”

Dillman was touched. “He paid both their fares?”

“Out of his own pocket. They’ve only got bunks in steerage, but that’s a big improvement on spending the voyage under lock and key. Father Slattery is on his way to join a Catholic mission in China.”

“I know, Mike. I’ve met him.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a prickly character.”

“He must have a good heart as well,” said Roebuck.

“Oh, he does. I’ve seen him in action.”

“He’s given two penniless Chinese a first taste of Christianity.”

“What will happen to Wu Feng and his father?”

“Nothing, George. They’re off the hook.”

“No punishment for sneaking aboard the ship illegally?”

“The master-at-arms didn’t want to let them off scot-free, but Slattery talked him into it. He’s a persuasive guy. Besides,” he continued, “I fancy that being caught by you was punishment enough for the Fengs. They’ve had their scare.”

“So it seems. But I’ve got glad tidings for you as well, Mike.”

Roebuck smiled hopefully. “You’ve caught Gilpatrick red-handed?”

“Not exactly,” said Dillman, “but we’ve made a slight breakthrough. Genevieve has, anyway. I had a note from her to say that she’s made friends with Maxine Gilpatrick. Genevieve is dining at their table this evening.”

“How did she manage that?”

“By playing a piano.”

“Piano?”

“That’s all she said in her note. I’ll get the full details when we meet up later.”

“I can’t wait to hear them!”

Roebuck went off, leaving Dillman to continue on his way to the dining saloon. Dress was much more formal on the second evening afloat. The men wore white ties and tails, while the women took the opportunity to put on their most fashionable dresses. Silk and satin hems brushed the floor. Stoles were draped around shoulders. Jewelry was much more in evidence, and the ship’s hairdressers had clearly been kept busy. When he entered the saloon, Dillman was immediately aware of the pervading scent of perfume. A small orchestra provided music for the occasion. The novelty of the first day was behind the passengers. They could now luxuriate in the vessel’s facilities and concentrate on developing new friendships.

Dillman was at a table for six. Though dining once again with the Changs and with Rutherford Blaine, he acquired two additional companions. Angela Van Bergen was a garrulous woman from New York in her early forties. On her way to Kobe to join her husband, she talked ceaselessly about his business affairs, their fondness for Japan, their regular vacations in exotic corners of the globe, and their plans for retirement. Mrs. Van Bergen had a life that was so supremely organized that it was barren of real adventure. Willoughby Kincaid, by contrast, led a much more freewheeling existence. The sixth person at the table was a tall, well-built man of middle years with a black mustache as the focal point of a once handsome face. In appearance and manner, Kincaid was a perfect English gentleman, but Dillman detected a faintly dissolute air about him. At all events, he was a more entertaining companion than Mrs. Van Bergen. While she paraded her love of Japan in front of the others, Dillman struck up a conversation with the Englishman.

“What brings you to this part of the world, Mr. Kincaid?” he asked.

“Restlessness, sir.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Nature equipped me with itchy feet, Mr. Dillman,” said the other. “I like to keep on the move. When I first left my native
shores over twenty years ago, I did so in a jingoistic spirit. I wanted to explore every inch of the British Empire.”

“What happened?”

“I fell in love with the whole idea of travel. Why restrict myself to our imperial domains when there are so many other wonderful places to see? I’m never happier than when I’m in transit. I’m a rolling stone who was educated at Eton.”

“You obviously have no wife and family to hold you back.”

“No, Mr. Dillman. I prefer to travel light. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not married either.”

“Another lucky bachelor, eh? Able to take his pleasures where he finds them.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “I had a feeling that we were two of a kind.” He leaned in close to Dillman. “What did you think of Seattle?”

“I had very little time to see anything of it, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Pity. It’s a lively town. You’d have liked it.”

“Would I?”

“Rather!” said Kincaid with enthusiasm. “It’s grown a lot in recent years, but there’s still a rough-and-ready feel to it. Seattle knows how to give a man a good time.”

“That wasn’t always the case,” noted Dillman. “Seattle prospered because it was the gateway to Alaska. When they struck gold in the Klondike, the town was booming. In those days, it was known more for its brawling than its hospitality. Money was flooding in, but there was one item in short supply.”

“Women?”

“Exactly, Mr. Kincaid—though not the kind that you may have in mind.”

Kincaid beamed. “Women are all one to me. Infinitely desirable creatures.” His eye fell on Mrs. Van Bergen. “With one or two exceptions, that is. But do go on, sir.”

“There was a man called Asa Mercer, who was president of the university. He must have been a venturesome individual,” said Dillman, “because he traveled all the way to the East Coast to round up a collection of virginal young ladies, eleven in all,
who were ready to marry some of the good citizens of Seattle, sight unseen.”

“Now that’s the kind of assignment that would have appealed to me,” said Kincaid, eyes gleaming. “Driving a wagon full of virgins across the continent.”

“They made excellent wives for the pioneers. On his second trip back east, Mercer found almost fifty women, some of them Civil War widows. To show how highly he rated the ladies, he married one of them himself.”

“Fatal mistake. He was throwing away his freedom.”

“He was helping to build Seattle.”

“Then he deserves full credit for that.”

Willoughby Kincaid was an observant man. Though the ship had only been at sea a couple of days, he had already made several friends and could identify others by name. As he pointed out various people to Dillman, the detective was impressed by his range of acquaintances and by his tenacious memory. Kincaid seemed to forget nothing.

“I’m an explorer, Mr. Dillman,” he explained. “I explore the hearts and minds of people who engage my interest.”

“Is it a rewarding hobby?”

“Very rewarding. One is always learning something new.”

The arrival of the main course marked a natural break in the conversation. Mrs. Van Bergen seized the opportunity to deliver another one of her monologues.

“Of course,” she said with a condescending smile, “my husband and I make an annual visit to England. We probably know London as well as you, Mr. Kincaid, even better in some respects. It’s our second home. We go to the theater and the opera and we’re invited to so many bridge parties. Bridge is a game at which I really excel,” she boasted, revealing a row of large, uneven teeth. “That’s why I’m always in demand as a partner, especially when we play for money. Yes, when we’re in England, it’s one long and delightful social event. My husband has so many friends in high places, you see. We dine out virtually every night. They know us by name in all the best
restaurants. We’ve met several aristocrats and, at a ball we attended last year, we even caught a glimpse of King Edward. Such a handsome man, I think, and so unmistakably
royal.
We’ve heard the rumors, naturally, but I don’t believe a word of them. People who link his name with scandal are just being mischievous. Don’t you think so, Mr. Kincaid? It’s too bad of them. They should have more respect for their monarch.”

Kincaid shrugged. “Some of them feel he has willfully forfeited that respect, Mrs. Van Bergen. Do you know what his latest peccadillo is?”

Kincaid enjoyed telling her, provoking gasps of disbelief. Mr. and Mrs. Chang listened with wide-eyed curiosity, and Blaine was mildly amused. They were grateful to Kincaid for taking over the conversational reins from Mrs. Van Bergen. Her monologues could be interminable. Dillman, too, was relieved to escape the grating sound of her voice. Glancing across at Genevieve, he was pleased to see how relaxed she was in the company of Rance and Maxine Gilpatrick. She looked striking in a blue silk dress and an array of jewelry. At a table for twelve, she was clearly the central figure. What interested Dillman was the fact that, apart from Genevieve, the Gilpatricks, and another woman, everyone at the table was of Chinese or Japanese origin. They were uniformly deferential to their host, and he was lording it. It was almost as if the corpulent Rance Gilpatrick were holding court.

They had reached the dessert before Dillman heard the whisper in his ear.

“Magnificent, isn’t she?” said Kincaid.

“Who?”

“The lady you’ve been looking at all evening.”

“There was nobody in particular.”

“Come off it, old chap. Every red-blooded man in the room has been stealing glances at her. I have, I know that. So has Blaine. Even our little Mr. Chang let his gaze stray in her direction. Why should you be any different?”

“Well,” admitted Dillman, “it is difficult not to notice her.”

“There’s nothing to rival an English rose.”

“You could be right, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Her name is Genevieve Masefield.”

Dillman turned to him. “You
know
the lady?”

“Not yet,” said Kincaid smoothly, “but I intend to repair that omission very soon. As I told you, Mr. Dillman, I’m an explorer. And frankly, I can’t think of a more enchanting subject for exploration.” He sipped his wine. “Can you?”

SIX

S
tudying himself in the full-length mirror, Rance Gilpatrick adjusted his waistcoat, then pulled out his gold watch to check the time. Maxine came up behind him.

“What did you think of her?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Jenny Masefield, of course.”

“She’s more of a Genevieve to me.”

“Did you like her?”

“I loved her,” said Gilpatrick, slipping his watch into his pocket as he turned to face her. “What man wouldn’t? She’s got the face of an angel. Mind you, I wasn’t so impressed by that friend of hers.”

“Fay Brinkley?”

“Why did she have to horn in?”

“Jenny had promised to dine with her this evening.”

“Well, I could have done without her at the table. Fay Brinkley was a little too knowing for my taste. She was one of those clever women that I detest most,” said Gilpatrick with asperity. “Next time you invite Genevieve, make it clear that she comes without baggage.”

“Fay Brinkley was pleasant enough.”

“Not when you looked her in the eyes.” He moved to the door. “See you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“To talk business.”

“But I haven’t finished yet,” she complained, squaring up to him. “Which is more important to you—me or your business associates?”

“You, Maxine,” he said, stroking her arm. “You know that.”

“Then why are you deserting me like this?”

“I won’t be long, honey. Wait up for me.”

“But there’s something to discuss first.”

Gilpatrick looked blank. “Is there?”

“You’ve forgotten already,” she said angrily. “When I raised it at the table, you were all in favor of it. Now, you can’t even remember what it was.”

“Remind me.”

“I want to sing, Rance.”

“You spent your whole life singing.”

“I’m not talking about work in your saloons. That’s all in the past now. I’m not strutting around a stage and wiggling my ass for a crowd of noisy drunks anymore. I had aspirations at one time,” she said with a forlorn smile. “I wanted to sing opera.”

Gilpatrick cackled. “Thank God you didn’t try it in one of my saloons!”

“Don’t laugh at me!” she warned.

“I’m not laughing, honey.”

“Yes, you are. Take me seriously for a change.”

“Nobody could take you more seriously, Maxine,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Surely I’ve proved that by now. If you want to sing, go ahead and sing.”

“You’ll need to speak to someone first.”

“Will I?”

“There!” she exclaimed. “I knew it. You haven’t been listening to me.”

He looked at his watch again. “Maxine, they’re waiting. I have to go.”

“Not until we’ve sorted this out. I asked Jenny and she thought it was a great idea. So did you when we were having the meal.” Determination shone in her eyes. “I want to give a recital of songs in front of an audience. Fix it for me.”

“They already have entertainment onboard.”

“They can have some more.”

He was uncertain. “I’ll try, honey, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Fix it,” she insisted. “When I sang again this afternoon, I felt inspired. My voice is still there. The other ladies loved me.” She grasped his arm. “It’s what I want to do, Rance. I need to perform. Jenny Masefield will be my accompanist.”

“Is she good enough?”

“She’s better than any of the pianists in your saloons.”

“That was different.”

“She and I can work together. I know it. All we need is the chance.”

Gilpatrick rubbed his chin. “Leave it to me,” he said at length.

They were in their cabin on the boat deck. No sooner had they retired there after dinner than Gilpatrick was ready to go out again. Maxine never pried into his business dealings. All that concerned her was that she was the beneficiary of them. But she needed something to divert her on the long voyage, and the notion of a public performance excited her beyond measure. She was wearing a long black dress that emphasized her figure, and her hair was encircled by a diamond tiara. Other items of jewelry were artfully placed. Maxine crossed to examine herself in the mirror.

“How do I look?”

“Terrific!” he said.

“But I was almost invisible beside Jenny.”

“Don’t you believe it, honey!” he lied. “I hardly noticed her.”

“She has such class, Rance.”

“Genevieve is from England. They breed thoroughbreds over there. But it’s all on the surface, Maxine. As a woman, you leave her standing.”

“Do I?”

“Trust me,” he assured her with a grin. “I should know.”

“I just wish I had that poise.”

“You’ve got it. That was the first thing I spotted about you.”

“Was it?” she said, turning a cynical eye on him. “That’s not how I recall it, Rance. I didn’t even get the chance to show any poise before you moved in on me.”

“You complaining?”

“I’m just setting the record straight.”

“Good.” He kissed her again. “Now I must get off to that meeting.”

“Don’t forget your promise.”

“Promise? Oh, that,” he said, raising a flabby palm. “Don’t worry, Maxine. I’ll arrange it. You want to get up on a stage again, I’ll make sure it happens.”

She snuggled up to him. “You can be so sweet when you try.”

“I
am
sweet, honey. I don’t need to try.”

“How long will you be?”

“An hour, at most.”

Maxine blew him a kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’m banking on it.” He opened the door, then paused in the doorway. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I warm to the idea. Maybe you and this Genevieve Masefield should give a performance together. You’d get to know her better.”

“That’s part of the attraction.”

“Why? She’s not exactly your type.”

“So what? I like Jenny and she likes me. Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes,” he said pensively. “I guess it is. You got some kind of bond with her. Work on the friendship. It’ll be as much for my benefit as yours.”

“Your benefit?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Miss Masefield is an interesting lady,” he explained. “She’s got looks and brains. That’s rare in a woman. Very rare, in fact. And she has definite class. It pours out of her. But there’s something that’s not quite right about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t put my finger on it,” he admitted. “I just know it’s there.”

“You’re wrong,” said Maxine. “She’s as genuine as they come.”

“We’ll see, honey. Get to know her properly, that’s all I ask. I still think that Genevieve Masefield is too good to be true.” He waved a farewell. “Find out why.”

When Dillman arrived at her cabin, Genevieve was still making notes on a pad. She broke off to let him in. Dillman was eager to hear what had transpired.

“How was dinner?”

“A lot better than luncheon,” she replied. “I was stuck next to Father Slattery for that. He was swinging the Bible at us like a sledgehammer. This evening was much more pleasant. I met the notorious Rance Gilpatrick at last.”

“I’m still not sure how you contrived that.”

“I didn’t, George. It was a complete accident.”

She told him about the impromptu performance in the Ladies’ Boudoir and how Maxine Gilpatrick had insisted she join them for dinner. Since Genevieve had already agreed to dine with Fay Brinkley, she, too, was included in the invitation.

Dillman was pleased. “Having a friend there was a stroke of luck. She gave you some cover. You weren’t too exposed.”

“Fay is a shrewd woman. She saw through Gilpatrick in a flash.”

“What did she say?”

“What we already know—that he’s a complete crook. Fay
found him revolting,” she said, “and I don’t think he was altogether enamored of her.”

“He seemed to like you, Genevieve.”

“I made sure that he did. And I’ve certainly got Maxine on my side.”

“She has the look of a strong-willed lady.”

“Oh, she is, George. Unlike the other women in his life, Maxine actually managed to get him to the altar. There’s no question about that. She’s his legal wife.”

“That will surprise Mike Roebuck.”

“Maxine was boasting about it.”

“Have you arranged to see her again?”

“It looks as if I’ll have to, George. She has this urge to give a song recital in public. I’m supposed to be her accompanist.”

“That’s wonderful news!”

“Not from where I sit,” confessed Genevieve. “I can play reasonably well in private but I’m not a real pianist. I’m terrified of the idea of a public performance.”

“They’ll be there to hear Maxine Gilpatrick sing, not to hear you play. In any case, you’ll have plenty of time to rehearse.”

“I’ll need it!”

“Think of the opportunity this gives you, Genevieve.”

“I’m frightened that I may play the wrong notes.”

“It sounds to me as if you’ve played all the right ones so far.”

He pressed her for details of the conversation at the dinner table, and she recounted what she could remember of it. Talk had been light and inconsequential. Gilpatrick’s business affairs were not mentioned at any stage, though the other guests seemed to be associates of his. Genevieve tore a page from her pad.

“This is a list of their names,” she said, handing it over, “though you’ll have to excuse the spelling. Two are Japanese and the rest are Chinese.”

“Well done, Genevieve. I’ll check these names out with Mike Roebuck.”

“They treated Gilpatrick with the utmost respect.”

“So I noticed.”

“And I think they were going to have a meeting after dinner,” she recalled. “Nothing was said between them but looks were exchanged. Nobody was sitting at the table by accident. Except Fay Brinkley and me, that is.”

“She sounds like an intelligent woman.”

“She is, George. There are hidden depths to Fay.”

“How did she get on with the others?”

“She blended in quite well,” said Genevieve. “Fay always does. The only person who didn’t respond to her was Gilpatrick. She made him uneasy. I don’t think he’ll try to lure Fay into his harem. His preference is for women like Maxine.”

“Does she know the truth about the man she married?”

“She loves him enough not to care.”

“What about Gilpatrick? Does he love her?”

“I think so,” she replied. “He was very attentive to her. Mind you, that didn’t stop him from shooting me a few sly glances. I was grateful that he had a wife at his side. I wouldn’t relish dining with Rance Gilpatrick on his own.”

“Are you afraid he might offer you a job playing piano in one of his saloons?”

Genevieve laughed. “That would be the least of my worries. While I’m with Maxine, I’m safe. Alone with Gilpatrick, I’d have problems. And I can do without another unwanted admirer.”

“Another?”

“Yes, George,” she said, opening a drawer to take something out. “Do you remember I told you about that artist, David Seymour-Jones?”

“The scruffy Englishman?”

“That’s the one. Fay warned me that I’d made a conquest but I didn’t believe her. Then he gave me this.” She sighed, handing him the sketch. “He drew this portrait of me.”

Dillman scrutinized it. “Very lifelike. The man has a gift.”

“Well, I wish that he’d keep it to himself. It was unnerving,
George. I mean, he must have been looking at me for ages and I didn’t even know that he was there. Then he thrust this at me and hurried off.”

“Was he shy or embarrassed?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that I felt as if my privacy had been invaded.”

“Brace yourself for more of it, Genevieve.”

“What do you mean?”

“David Seymour-Jones is not your only unsought admirer,” he cautioned. “I sat next to another one this evening. His name is Willoughby Kincaid, and he’s the kind of sociable, good-natured English gentleman you must have met a hundred times. Kincaid was very plausible, but there was a whiff of the degenerate about him.”

Genevieve was bitter. “In that case, I
have
met him a hundred times.”

“He was very taken with you. He even knew your name.”

“How did he find that out?”

“You’ll be able to ask him. He means to get acquainted with you.”

“Then he’ll be wasting his time.”

“Kincaid struck me as the persistent type.”

“That’s all I need!” she complained with mock horror. “What have I done to deserve this? We only set sail yesterday, and I’m already saddled with a lovelorn artist and a persistent suitor. I can’t think of anything worse.”

“Oh, I can, Genevieve.”

“Can you?”

“Yes,” he said with a grin. “A proposal of marriage from Father Slattery.”

When he had put on his pajamas, Father Slattery knelt beside his bunk and put his hands together in prayer. Closing his eyes tight, he thanked God for what he perceived as a successful day and asked for guidance on the morrow. There was no trace of his arrogance now. As he recited the familiar prayers, he was
in an attitude of complete submission. He remained on his knees for long time. When he finally climbed into his bunk and switched off the light, he lay in the darkness and congratulated himself on the way that he had rescued the unfortunate stowaways from their incarceration. In his eyes, it was an act of Christian charity. Only utter despair could have driven Wu Feng and his father to flee on the
Minnesota.
Slattery expected to find much more despair when he reached the mission. Saving two Chinese from their plight was a rehearsal for what lay ahead. He was still speculating on the challenges to come when he drifted quietly asleep.

The long day had taken its toll and he fell into a deep slumber. Hours glided softly past. It was the dead of night when the visitor came. Slattery was dreaming serenely of paradise. He did not hear the noise as someone opened the door and slipped swiftly into the cabin. He felt nothing until it was far too late.

Any hopes that Genevieve had of escaping her role as an accompanist were shattered the following morning. To ensure a degree of privacy, she had an early breakfast in a saloon that was almost empty, but she was not alone for long. Maxine Gilpatrick swooped on her.

“Good morning!” she said, kissing Genevieve on both cheeks before sitting beside her. “Well, what a lovely surprise! I didn’t expect you to be up just yet.”