Winter Kill. William W. Johnstone
she was in Seattle on business, he told himself as he left the building. That business could easily involve shipping. And most importantly, it was none of his business.
He found the Montclair without any trouble. It was an impressive, double-masted vessel, but amidships, between those two masts, rose a smokestack, and there were paddle wheels on both sides of the ship, indicating that it was powered by both steam and wind. Frank had never seen a ship like that before, but he had never been around the sea very much, either.
A gangplank with ropes strung along the sides for handrails led from the wharf to the deck. A ship’s officer in a blue uniform stood at the top of the gangplank. He smiled when Frank paused halfway up and said, “Am I supposed to ask for permission to come aboard, or something like that?”
“That’s right, mister,” the officer replied. “But if you’re here hoping to book passage to Alaska, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. We’re full up, and we have been for weeks now.”
“I need to talk to Captain Hoffman.”
The officer’s smile went away. “I told you, it won’t do any good. Either you’ve already booked passage, or you won’t be sailing with us tomorrow. I don’t care if this is one of the last ships this season. You’ll just have to hope that there’s still some gold left for you next spring.”
“I’m not a prospector. I just need to talk to the captain. A friend of mine was supposed to sail on this ship, but he was killed last night.”
“And you want to use his ticket. I see.”
Frank’s jaw tightened. He didn’t much cotton to the officer. He said, “I’ll bet that water in the bay is cold.”
“I’m sure it is. What’s that have to do with anything?”
“You’re about to find out firsthand when I toss you into it,” Frank said. “Unless you get out of my way, that is.”
That was probably a mistake, and he knew it. The ship’s officer could yell for help from the rest of the crew, and likely if anybody went into the drink, it would be Frank himself. But sometimes his temper got the best of him, especially when he was confronted by some stubborn, officious fool.
“What’s going on there, Brewster?” another blue-uniformed man called from the bridge.
“This cowboy wants to talk to you, Captain,” the officer replied. “Something about a dead friend of his booking passage with us—”
“It’s about Jacob Trench,” Frank said, lifting his voice so that the man on the bridge could hear him.
“What’s that?” The captain came closer. “Trench is dead?” He made an impatient gesture. “Let the man on board, Brewster.”
The officer stepped aside. As Frank went past, he said in a low voice, “I don’t like being threatened, mister. I’ll remember that crack about tossing me in the bay.”
“You do that,” Frank said. He hadn’t set out to make an enemy of the man, but he couldn’t help it that the Good Lord hadn’t put any back-up in him, either.
He walked along the deck to the steep, narrow stairs that led to the bridge. They were more like a ladder than stairs, he thought as he went up them.
The captain was waiting for him at the top. “I’m Rudolph Hoffman,” he introduced himself. He was a tall, thick-bodied man with a broad face and graying blond hair under a black uniform cap. “What’s this about Jacob Trench being dead?”
“He was killed in a gunfight last night,” Frank explained. “I’m an old friend of his. Name’s Frank Morgan.”
“I’m sorry to make your acquaintance under these circumstances, Mr. Morgan.”
“Was Jacob a friend of yours, too?”
Captain Hoffman shook his head. “No. In fact, I only met him once. He was coming along on our voyage to Alaska that begins tomorrow.”
“As a passenger?”
“In a manner of speaking. He was working for one of our passengers, guarding some…precious cargo, I suppose you could say.”
Frank didn’t care for the air of mystery behind this deal, whatever it was. He told the captain, “I was with Jacob when he died. He asked me to take over for him and see that the job he was supposed to do gets done. I reckon you can give me all the details about that.”
Hoffman frowned. “I’m not sure I should do that. It seems to me that you should be talking to Trench’s employer. Do you know who that is?”
“Some fella named Devereaux,” Frank said. “That’s all I know. Can you at least tell me where to find him?”
The captain’s frown deepened. “Well…not exactly. But as it happens, I can tell you where to find her.”
“Her?” Frank repeated as his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Devereaux is a woman?”
“Indeed.” Hoffman nodded toward the dock. “And here she comes now.”
Frank turned to look along the wharf in the direction Hoffman indicated. He spotted her immediately, making her way through the throngs of dockworkers with an assurance that caused them to step aside and give her a clear path.
Fiona.
Chapter 5
Even with the shock of seeing her and learning of her connection to Jacob Trench, Frank recognized the dress Fiona was wearing and knew he’d been right. That was her he had seen in the harbormaster’s office.
Even as he saw her, she spotted him as well. She stopped short as they locked eyes. Only for a moment, though, and then she strode forward as if with renewed determination. When she reached the gangplank, she started up it without hesitation.
“Allow the lady aboard, Mr. Brewster,” Hoffman called to the officer on duty on the deck.
“Aye, Captain,” Brewster replied. He stepped aside to allow Fiona to board the ship.
Hoffman started to leave the bridge to go down and greet her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Stay there, Captain,” she called. “I want to come up and talk to you…and to Mr. Morgan.”
From the sound of the way she said his name, she wasn’t happy with him, Frank thought. He wasn’t sure why she would feel that way. He hadn’t done anything to offend her, at least as far as he knew. He thought they had parted on good terms the night before.
Fiona came up the steep stairs with ease, and when she reached the bridge, she confronted Frank and Hoffman with her handbag clutched tightly in her fingers. “Are you following me, Mr. Morgan?” she demanded.
“How do you figure that?” Frank asked. “I was here talking to Captain Hoffman when you showed up.”
“And before that you were at the harbormaster’s office when I was.”
So she had seen him, too, or maybe just heard and recognized his voice. He supposed that under the circumstances, she had a right to be a mite suspicious of him.
“I’m not following you,” he said. “I didn’t know you had any connection with Jacob Trench.”
“Mr. Trench? What about him?” Fiona’s gaze darted to Hoffman. “Have you seen him this morning, Captain?”
“You…don’t know?” Hoffman asked heavily.
“Know? Know what?”
Frank broke the news to her. “I’m afraid Jacob’s dead, Mrs. Devereaux. He’s the old friend I told you I lost last night.”
Fiona looked more than surprised. She was shocked. “Dead?” she repeated. “But…but that’s not possible. Mr. Trench is accompanying me to Alaska.”
Frank shook his