Helen Saunderson was behind the bar, wiping dust off the nude hanging to the right of Her Majesty. She took one look at his face. “Angus, what’s the matter?”
“Is my ma here?”
“No. It’s early for her to come in yet.”
“Have you been upstairs?”
“No. Angus, what is it?”
He sprinted for the stairs. “Check the back rooms. Check everywhere. I’ll look upstairs.”
Mrs. Saunderson dropped her dust rag. She ran as fast as her arthritic knees could carry her into the gambling hall, while Angus’s high-pitched, fear-filled voice rang in her ears. “Mother, Mother. I’m here. Say something, Mother.”
They met in the dance hall a few minutes later as Mrs. Saunderson came out of the ladies’ dressing room, her face red with fear and unexpected exertion.
“Angus, tell me what’s going on.” She held her hand to her chest to catch her breath.
“My mother didn’t come home.”
“Since when?”
“I haven’t seen her since yesterday around lunchtime. She sent me away while she washed her hair.”
Like Mrs. Mann, Mrs. Saunderson was about to tell the boy that his mother might have reasons for spending the night away from her own bed, but then she remembered what had been found last Sunday, in the dance hall of the Savoy. And that Mrs. Mac loved Angus above all else. She would never willingly cause the boy worry.
“Where else have you looked?”
“I came straight here. Mr. Mann’s gone down to the docks to question the men there.”
“I’ll go for the police. You fetch Mr. Walker.”
“I can get the police.”
“I don’t know where Mr. Walker lives. Don’t argue, Angus. Hurry. Send Mr. Walker here and then fetch Mr. Mann and come back. We can’t be running off every which way. That’s no way to conduct a search. Hurry, now.”
They dashed towards the door. Angus, with his long legs and young body, was far ahead when Mrs. Saunderson called out to him.
“Don’t worry, Angus,” she puffed. “I’m sure she’s perfectly fine.”
He didn’t bother to look back. He didn’t believe it, and judging by the tone in Mrs. Saunderson’s voice, neither did she.
Angus ran through the streets, which were slowly coming back to life on a Monday morning. He took the steps of Ray’s boarding house three at a time.
He hammered on the door. An icy finger crawled up his spine as he remembered why he’d been here the last time.
“Mr. Walker, open up!”
“Shut up, kid.” A man stuck his head out of the door across the hall, stuffing his tattered, sweat-stained shirt into his pants. “There’s men still sleeping here.”
Angus ignored him. Ray Walker threw his door open so fast, Angus almost hit him with the fist he’d raised to knock again.
“What the hell’s the matter, Angus?”
“Ma, Mr. Walker. My ma. She’s gone.”
“What d’ye mean gone?”
“I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. Mrs. Saunderson’s gone for the police, and Mr. Mann’s asking the men down at the docks.”
“What!” Ray’s neighbour crossed the hall. “You must be Mrs. MacGillivray’s son. Spitting image of her you are. You say she’s missing?”
“Hurry,” Angus said to Ray, “we have to find her.”
“Angus, it’s only been one night. No need to get too worked up yet.”
“Are you crazy, man?” the neighbour shouted. “Didn’t you hear him? Mrs. MacGillivray’s in trouble. Is there a search party, boy?”
“Meeting at the Savoy.”
“Good.” The man dashed off, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders as he ran.
“Ray, please, I…”
The neighbour came back, looking sheepish. “Forgot my shoes.”
Angus looked down at two feet as furry as a bear’s and ten huge, naked pink toes.
“I’m coming, Angus,” Ray said. “Seeing as to how you’ve got half the town in an uproar.” He opened the door fully. “Come in and wait while I get dressed.”
Angus let out a long breath, relieved that Ray was alone and he wouldn’t have to confront the half-naked Betsy. “No time. I’m off to get Mr. Mann. Everyone’s meeting up at the Savoy.”
Ray’s neighbour, struggling to tie his boots as he alternately skipped and hopped and ran, followed Angus as far as the street.
Angus headed west, towards the waterfront. As he crossed Front Street, he ran into Mr. Mann coming back into town, his head down and his face grim. A small group of men marched behind him.
“They not see Mrs. MacGillivray. Theys been working since midnight, when one steamboat leave. All people looking for she now.”
“We’ll find your ma, boy, don’t you worry,” a deep voice shouted. The men growled in agreement.
Angus swallowed. “The search party’s meeting at the Savoy. I was coming to get you. It’s after eight, Mr. Mann. Shouldn’t you be opening the store?”
“The hell with ze stores. We find Mrs. MacGillivray. Then ze stores open.” Mr. Mann placed a hand on Angus’s shoulder, and they hurried the short distance back to the Savoy.
They arrived at the same time as Constable Sterling.
Angus’s heart lifted when he saw that Sterling had brought Mrs. Miller. The white dog’s bushy tail wagged in recognition, and she strained at her leash. Sterling gave Angus a long look but said nothing. The constable wasn’t his normal stifflydressed self: his hat was askew, his shirttail hung out, and two of the buttons on his jacket weren’t fastened. Inspector McKnight followed, and in the far distance, the sturdy frame of Helen Saunderson struggled to catch up.
Quickly, but not quick enough for Angus, the search party gathered in the saloon. The dockworkers, Ray Walker and his across-the-hall neighbour, Constable Sterling and Inspector McKnight, Mr. Mann and Mrs. Saunderson.
Also present were the Vanderhaege sisters, one of them with bandages still covering her burns. They’d asked passersby what was going on and insisted on helping. A handful of men from the streets had gathered, either concerned at the rising sense of panic generated as Angus and the others ran through town, or looking for some excitement. A few permanent drunks openly eyed the bottles behind the bar. Ray told them that the Savoy was closed for the remainder of the morning and escorted them to the door.
Inspector McKnight stood on a chair and shouted for quiet. “It’s early yet to start a search for a missing person,” he said. “But in light of what transpired here only last week—I’m referring, of course, to the death of Jack Ireland—we can assume that the disappearance of Mrs. MacGillivray, as reported by her son, is a matter of some urgency. Angus, what was your mother wearing when you last saw her?”
Angus flushed as everyone turned to look at him. “I don’t remember, sir. A dress, I guess.”
Two of the dockworkers tittered. Sterling threw them a glance that had them lowering their eyes and shifting their feet like schoolboys caught spitting in the cemetery.
“A blue dress, I think, sir. With a pretty blue hat.”
“Thank you, Angus.” McKnight took off his eyeglasses and rubbed at the lenses with the corner of his handkerchief. “Perhaps you could ask one of your mother’s friends to describe her outfit. It would help us a great deal.”
“I don’t see why, sir. Everyone in Dawson knows my mother. They don’t have to be told what she’s wearing.”
McKnight rubbed harder at his spectacles. “It would be helpful, in case…”
“She’s lost her hat,” Sterling shouted. “Or perhaps she removed her coat ’cause of the afternoon heat and left it where we can find it.”
McKnight gave Sterling a grateful look.
“Meine Frau will know,” Mr. Mann said. “Angus, yous gos to ask her.”
“I’m not leaving!”
“I’ll go.” Ellie, the oldest of the dancers, stood in the doorway. She wore a plain brown woollen skirt and white blouse with a stiff collar. Like Sterling, she’d dressed without care—her blouse was buttoned incorrectly, and the top button was left without a matching buttonhole to lace through. Her face was scrubbed clean of paint and her hair scraped back into a tight bun. “I’ll get a better description than Angus will.”
“Thank you,” McKnight said.
“Bring an item of Mrs. MacGillivray’s clothing back,” Sterling said. “Something to show the dog.”
McKnight and Sterling assigned various sections of town to the searchers, and the men and women headed out, McKnight leading. Sterling, Millie and Angus waited for Ellie to return. Ray waited for Rupert Malloy, one of the regulars. Lured out of the Monte Carlo by the fastspreading excitement, Malloy had been sent to get Sam, so they’d have someone to guard the booze.
“Millie’s not much of a search dog,” Sterling said, patting the big animal on her head. “But she’ll try her best to do her bit.”
“Where do you think my mother is, sir?”
“I don’t know, Angus. Most missing persons show up within a day or so. Statistically speaking. There isn’t far for anyone to go in the Yukon.”
“Not far. That’s what worries me.”
“Me too, Angus.”