Catch Me if Yukon Page 10

  “I didn’t!”

  “Then how did she find out?”

  “Give credit where credit is due,” cackled Bernice. “No one’s faster at finding weird stuff on the internet than I am. In fact, my mental faculties are clicking with such lightning speed, I shouldn’t even qualify to be on one of these Destinations Travel old-timers tours.”

  “I’ll second that,” hooted Dick Teig.

  “Whoa!” interrupted Kitchen. “Back up a minute.” He lasered a look at Nana. “Someone took a picture of Bigfoot? On the mountain? Last night?”

  “You bet,” said Nana, gesturing toward Dad. “Bob took the shot and uploaded it to one of them news websites, and now it’s all over the internet. It’s what you call goin’ viral.”

  “You gotta be kidding me.” Kitchen laughed. “I’ve been on the force for ten years without a single sighting. You’re here for a day and one of you snaps a picture of the darned bugger. Anyone got the photo handy?”

  They whipped their phones into the air like fencers brandishing their swords.

  “It’s in the lower left-hand corner,” Nana indicated as Kitchen studied her screen. “Them folks at the news place was probably workin’ with a magnifyin’ glass, so they was able to see it a lot better than us.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Kitchen marveled, unable to contain his excitement. “I see it. The thing with the big head and hairy arms that could easily be mistaken for a tree. I’ll be damned. Being something of a Bigfoot/Sasquatch enthusiast myself, I’ve gotta tell you, photographic evidence like this is huge.” He lowered his brows at Nana. “It’s not photoshopped, is it?”

  “No, sir,” answered Dad. “Doctoring stuff is way above my skill set.”

  Kitchen paused, his eyes signaling that his brain had kicked into hyperdrive. “So let me get this straight: When you were gliding over the treetops in your gondola yesterday, this thing was roaming around on the mountainside?”

  Dad nodded. “Guess so.”

  “So…geez…” Kitchen rubbed the back of his head, his eyes rounding with enlightenment. “Geez…this is an added wrinkle I hadn’t seen coming. Not that anyone’s going to believe me.”

  “Why wouldn’t folks believe you?” asked Helen Teig. “Bob’s photo is plastered all over the web. It doesn’t get more legitimate than that.”

  “I hate to disillusion you, ma’am, but not everything you see on the web is true. And something like this is bound to raise eyebrows, especially with my commanding officer. But hey, if this sighting is real, it’ll send tourism through the roof. It’ll be like the old gold rush days…only, this being Alaska, there won’t be enough workers to fill the sudden boom in the hospitality sector, so things could really go to hell in a handbasket. It could collapse the whole economy.”

  “Did you want to resume your inquiry about our timeline, Lieutenant?” prodded Etienne.

  Kitchen snapped his fingers. “Right. Sorry about the detour. But while I’m thinking about it…” He scribbled something on his notepad, ripped off the page, and handed it to Nana. “This is my email address. Would you mind sending those internet links to me? Okay, then, where were we?”

  “The group had boarded the tram,” repeated Etienne.

  “Good. I don’t have to ask about stops on the way because there aren’t any. So once everyone exited the gondola, what happened next?”

  “I’ll answer that,” offered Alison. “I instructed the group to follow me onto the observation deck, and then I provided them with several options as to how they could fill in their time before dinner. Hike to the glacier, explore the immediate area around the restaurant, visit the museum, or enjoy a cocktail in the restaurant’s bar.”

  “You never gave them the option of taking one of the hiking trails back down to the resort?”

  “They would have missed dinner, so I never mentioned it. Besides, there were low clouds threatening to engulf us, so low

  visibility could have made the trails quite dangerous. I wanted to avoid putting ideas in anyone’s head.”

  Kitchen made a notation on his pad. “So which guests went where?”

  The room exploded in a cacophony of voices as everyone shouted out their destination at the same time.

  “Whoa!” said Kitchen. He patted the air with his hand in a plea for quiet. “I don’t want to squelch your input, but how’s about we go about it a little differently. How many of you hiked out to see the glacier? Raise your hand.”

  Up flew the ladies’ hands, proud and defiant, followed by the two Dicks and Etienne. Mom grabbed Dad’s hand and hefted it upward for him. “He’s talking about you, Bob,” she scolded as she raised her own hand. “You saw the glacier.”

  “No, I didn’t. The fog was too thick.”

  Dad had a habit of taking things kind of literally.

  Kitchen smiled his surprise. “Ladies! Good for you. You really showed the guys up on this one, huh? You can lower your hands now.”

  Florence kept hers in the air.

  “Yes, Florence?” he asked.

  “I just wanted you to know that the reason why most of the ladies went to the glacier was to show support for me after I went off the rails.”

  “Thank you, Florence. I’ll make a note of that. How many of you chose to explore the area around the restaurant? Raise your hands.”

  The Dicks shot their hands into the air.

  Kitchen frowned. “Didn’t you just raise your hands for the hike to the glacier?”

  “We did some unscheduled exploring of the grounds before we went to the glacier,” explained Dick Teig. “So we kinda did both.”

  Kitchen made another notation. “A show of hands for those who visited the museum?”

  Up went Alison’s hand, joined by the hands of the seven men who accompanied her to the museum, including the two Dicks, who became the targets of Lieutenant Kitchen’s immediate scrutiny. “Let me guess, gentlemen. You visited the museum as well?”

  “Only for a couple of minutes,” confessed Dick Stolee. “It was pretty boring, which is why we ended up doing the other stuff.”

  With his eyes riveted on the Dicks, Kitchen hazarded his final question. “Did anyone spend their time in the restaurant bar?”

  Bernice waved her hand. “That would be me. Me…and a sloe gin fizz that I could have bought anywhere else for half the price. You want to investigate something on that mountain? Investigate the price gouging in the bar.”

  “Thank you.” He scanned his notes. “Did I miss anyone?”

  I raised my hand. “I’m Emily Miceli. I operate the tour with my husband. I was fielding a call while everyone else was off exploring, so I spent most of my time in the restaurant foyer, waiting for a return call.”

  “And what about Ms. Spillum? When was the last time any of you saw her?”

  “She high-tailed it to parts unknown after Florence was mean to her,” Bernice volunteered.

  “She was not mean,” fussed Goldie.

  “Show of hands,” instructed Osmond. “How many people think—”

  “This is not a votable issue,” I warned.

  “Ms. Spillum headed off toward the ski lifts as the group broke up into their various factions,” Etienne disclosed. “And that was the last time we saw her, although it wasn’t the last time we heard from her.”

  Kitchen poised his pen on his notepad. “You want to expand on that, Mr. Miceli?”

  “I can answer that,” I offered. “After the hostess told us our tables were ready, I texted Delpha because she hadn’t rejoined the group yet.” I flipped through a couple of screens and held up my phone as evidence. “I asked her where she was, and she texted back that she was skipping dinner and hiking down to the resort instead.”

  “She texted you on her cell phone.” He made a quick notation. “What time was that?”

  I eyed the screen. “7:06.
And then at approximately 7:15 I texted her again. Her meal was already paid for, so I told her if she’d tell us what she wanted, we’d have the kitchen box it up and we’d deliver it to her when we got back to the resort.”

  “And did she reply?”

  I nodded. “At 7:17. And that was the last I heard from her.”

  He scanned his notes. “And just to clarify, at 7:17 everyone else in the group was seated in the restaurant dining room. Correct?”

  “We weren’t all seated at the same table, but we were all there. Yes.”

  “May I see your phone, Mrs. Miceli?”

  I handed it over to him, and while we watched, he captured screenshots of the texts with his own phone.

  “Could you tell me if Delpha was carrying her phone on her person when you found her?” I asked with some hesitation as he returned my phone.

  He paused a beat. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I’m afraid that whatever happened to her might have occurred while she was texting me.” I sighed self-consciously. “But if her phone was safely back in her jacket pocket, that would mean it didn’t fly out of her hand on the hiking trail, so I might not be directly responsible for her death.”

  Kitchen glanced around the room, his mouth crooked at an odd angle. “Is everyone in Iowa like you folks? You’re all practically champing at the bit to take the blame before you’re even accused of anything.”

  “Not all of us,” corrected Bernice.

  “As for Ms. Spillum’s cell phone, I regret having to tell you this, Mrs. Miceli, but I can’t give you any specifics at this time.”

  “You can’t? Not even if she was still carrying it?”

  “I’m sorry. All information relating to her cell phone is part of our ongoing investigation.”

  “So…she could be dead because of me?”

  “That’s a pretty harsh assumption, Mrs. Miceli.”

  “Delpha was always texting people, Emily,” Ennis spoke up. “All the time. She might have sent out a dozen more messages after she responded to you last night, so you shouldn’t blame yourself. At least, not yet.”

  Despite Ennis’s best intentions, if that was supposed to make me feel better, it failed miserably.

  “Are you able to provide us some information about how she died?” inquired Etienne.

  “I can’t release those details yet.”

  “Was it an accident?” Margi called out.

  “Can’t comment on that,” said Kitchen.

  “Holy hell,” blurted Dick Stolee. “Someone killed her.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Oh my god,” cried Florence. “Delpha was murdered?”

  “Whoa!” Kitchen waved off the question. “I haven’t given you any indication that—”

  “It’s a dead giveaway,” reasoned Dick Teig. “If you can’t say it was an accident, it’s always murder.”

  “We haven’t determined a cause of death yet,” admitted Kitchen, “and that’s all I can say until we notify her next of kin.”

  “You might have a hard time with that,” volunteered Orphie. “Her sister is touring Mongolia at the moment.”

  “Seriously?” Kitchen’s expression morphed from surprise to sudden understanding. “Well, I guess that explains a few things.”

  “Did you find a murder weapon at the scene?” probed Helen Teig.

  “Or was her death cleverly disguised as an accident?” George followed up. “We’ve run into a fair share of those.”

  Kitchen fell into momentary silence. “Who are you people? Retired detectives?”

  “We’ve had the misfortune of suffering a few unexpected fatalities on our tours,” I explained in a conciliatory tone.

  “More like a boatload,” croaked Bernice.

  Kitchen arched a questioning brow at me.

  “I—uh…I can’t give you an exact number,” I hedged. “It’s been over a span of years, so…”

  “There are four running totals,” reported Alice matter-of-factly, sounding much the same as she had when she’d announced the price of pork bellies on KORN radio. “One exclusively for Windsor City guests, one for guests we hooked up with on larger tours, one for folks not on the tour, and one that tallies all four. Which one do you want?”

  “Them numbers don’t matter none,” said Nana in what seemed like an attempt to soften the blow of Alice’s calculations. “What’s to blame is what you call our demographic, which is one of them fancy words what explains why guests what we’re travelin’ with drop dead so much. It’s on account of we’re old.”

  “Osmond’s nearing the century mark,” Margi pointed out as an example, “so you know he’s not going to be with us much longer.”

  “Margi’s right.” Osmond nodded good-naturedly. “I could go at any time.”

  “Can we cut to the chase?” demanded Thor. “If you don’t know what caused Delpha’s death, then you can’t charge any of us with anything because we all have alibis, right?”

  Kitchen hesitated. “All of you have alibis. That’s correct.”

  “But why is it important that we have alibis if Delpha’s death was an accident?” asked Lucille.

  “Hel-looo?” taunted Dick Teig. “Because her death wasn’t an accident.”

  “Could we leave a bouquet of flowers at the site where she died, Officer?” Goldie inquired.

  “Sorry, ma’am. We’ve cordoned the area off.”

  “A votive candle?” asked Florence.

  “Same answer,” said Kitchen.

  “Besides which, you could start a forest fire of epic proportions,” added Grover. “It just so happens I’ve studied the US Forestry Service statistics for—”

  “I wouldn’t have to light it,” argued Florence.

  “We’re not letting you anywhere near the area, ma’am.”

  “What about a poem?” asked Margi. “It could be a group effort. And we could nail it to a tree so it wouldn’t be mistaken for litter.”

  “The whole mountain is off-limits to everyone today,” asserted Kitchen with ever-increasing volume. “Tourists, hikers, diners, everyone. We’ve even shut down the tramway, so no one is going to be traipsing on that mountain until further notice.”

  “What’d I tell you?” boasted Dick Teig. “It’s murder.”

  “But why would anyone murder Delpha?” asked Grace.

  Kitchen’s face flushed with color. “Look, you can speculate all you want. I can’t stop you. But I don’t want to find Ms. Spillum’s name in the papers or on social media until the department works through its protocol. We’ve told the local news outlets that a woman died on the mountain last night and that her identity will be released pending notification of kin. The department will release her name after we contact her sister”—he glanced at Orphie—“in Mongolia.”

  “Good luck with that,” droned Bernice. “Internet bandwidth in that place probably sucks.”

  “But just so you know,” advised Kitchen, “if I learn that one of you has leaked the victim’s name prematurely, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

  All eyes riveted on Bernice, who regarded her detractors with a complete lack of self-awareness. “What?”

  Florence raised her hand. “Are you getting ready to wrap things up here?”

  “I am.” He slid his notepad and pen back into his pocket. “I’m done with you for now, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have more questions as the investigation progresses. Before I leave, though, I’d like to secure a copy of your tour itinerary from the Micelis.”

  “Did you want to lock me up now?” asked Florence.

  “How about we hold off on that for a while. I have no idea how I’d explain you to the chief.”

  “So I’m free to go?”

  “Everyone’s free to go—after you hand over my clipboar
d and pen.”

  His dismissal caused a sudden flurry of indecision that prompted collective standing, staring, and dithering, so while Etienne spoke to Lieutenant Kitchen, I reminded everyone of their options for the day. “For those of you still keen on dog mushing, we’ll gather at the tram station at ten to catch our ride. Alison and I will both be accompanying you. For those of you wanting to look around Girdwood, the shuttle leaves every half hour from the front of the hotel, but if you all want to go at the same time, we’ll have Steele load you onto the bus and drive you. Some of you might not have the emotional energy to do anything today after hearing about Delpha, so I’d invite you to remain at the hotel where you can take time to meditate and begin the healing process.”

  They began shuffling toward the exit with uncharacteristic slowness, which allowed me to catch Bernice as she stepped off to one side to check her latest readout.

  She gloated as she flaunted her phone. “Look at this: 658 likes and 96 shares. Bernice is on her way to going viral.”

  “For which post?”

  She read from the screen. “ ‘Bigfoot Kills Hiker on Alaskan Mountain.’ ”

  “But that’s not true!”

  “Au contraire. If 658 people think it’s true, it’s true. It’s called creating your own reality. Oops. Correction: 659 likes.” She clutched her phone to her chest. “Every time I see the count go up, I get such a high, I feel like I’ve been injected with something illegal.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t mention Delpha’s name in your post.”

  She snorted derisively. “Mention a real name in an article so it can be verified? Be specific rather than vague? Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck? Boy, you don’t get the internet racket at all, do you? But since you asked, if you find Delpha’s name on the web, it wasn’t me who put it there. Happy?”

  “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.”

  A commotion in the hall drew my attention. Now what?

  Hurrying out the door, I found myself confronted by a handful of people armed with cameras, lights, cell phones, and notepads. “KUTE-TV entertainment news,” shouted a young man wearing a baseball cap bearing the same call letters. “We’re looking for Bob Andrew.”