Under the Alaskan Ice

by Karen Harper

  Bryce and Chip talked soccer in the foyer while the receptionist escorted Meg into the pastor’s office. The smiling man rose from behind his desk and shook her hand. The woman went out and left the door open.

  “Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Pastor Parsons.”

  “A minister who is both a pastor and a parson must do double duty, and you are most welcome.”

  She wondered how many times he’d used that line to break the ice. Smiling, she went on, “I don’t know if you realize that, by accident, I was present at the site where Mr. Witlow’s plane crashed, both when he went down and when his body was recovered at Falls Lake.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, steepling his hands before his calm face, which hid his mouth and much of his expression. “So I remember hearing, Mrs. Metzler.”

  “I understand from your remarks at the funeral and from things that people said there that you knew Lloyd Witlow quite well. It was such a mystery that he had no identification on him—nor did the plane have any painted on its exterior—and I could not help but wonder about the man, especially considering your choice of the funeral passage—‘Do not overwork to be rich,’ and ‘riches fly away.’ I talked to people at the sawmill who greatly admired him but indicated his passion for flying and his reconciliation with his daughter happened much at the same time—and that he did not have his own funds for all those expenses. I hope he was content with Rina’s return and that he—in your own words—can now fly away like an eagle toward heaven.”

  “In the wise book’s own words. You have met Rina and her husband, I believe?”

  “Twice. They visited the lodge I co-own near Falls Lake, and we spoke again at the funeral.”

  “Then, just let me say this to avoid breaking any private confidences. I meant those words for the living, not the dead. Especially for Rina, who went off track long ago and, at least, has been lately trying to make amends, but in the world’s way, not by actually honoring her father.”

  Meg almost said, I see, but she really still didn’t. She sat forward and decided to risk more. “In gifts and money, not time and affection? I know she fled here once, hated this place and her life here.”

  “We all go astray at times, Mrs. Metzler. You’ve perhaps heard the saying, ‘You can’t go home again’? The Bible says to honor your father and mother and all will be well. That’s the only one of the Ten Commandments which has a promise attached to it and the implication of trouble if it is not followed. Now I never knew Rina as an adult but the two times I met her lately, I would think that curse clings to her. I do give her credit, though, for being protective of her father’s goods. She and Todd are going through her father’s house and office at the mill for keepsakes, though I doubt they’ll be up for a trek to his distant, snowed-in hunting cabin.”

  He didn’t think Rina was sincere! And maybe just wanted things to sell right now? If Rina was hard up for money, dared Meg dig deeper?

  “At least, as you said, perhaps she is trying to atone for her past relationship with her parents—and here both are gone now.”

  “She got her waywardness from her mother, but her mother stayed true and ‘stuck it out,’ as they say. I’m regretful that’s all I can add, but I thank you for coming to the memorial, for caring about a man whose death you witnessed. Sometimes it is an honor to witness life and death, but sometimes a burden. Let me call Madeline and have her see you out.”

  * * *

  “So?” Bryce prompted in a whisper when they were almost home and Chip had fallen asleep in the back seat.

  “He said some kind of cryptic things, and yet I think he was telling me that Rina was not really—well, repentant for deserting her parents. I’ve got to learn more about her, more about them. About her husband too.”

  “You’ve turned up a lot before.”

  “I’ve got to find that yearbook to research Rina at about the time she left here. I might get on one of those ancestry websites and see if Todd’s related to that Brooklyn, Michigan, jeweler the Big Man mentioned to you. After all, the regiment who captured Jefferson and Varina Davis and all that gold and jewelry was from Michigan, but it’s a big state. I’m clutching at straws again, but what else do we have?”

  “Through all this, we have found that we have each other.”

  She gripped her hands together in her lap. “Bryce, it scares me how much I’ve come to need and care for you in so short a time, but so much has happened.”

  “And more to come. Suze asked me if I’d help decorate the lodge and I not only said yes but recruited both Rafe—well, she already had him lined up—and Kurt. It’s going to be Kurt’s excuse for spraining his wrist so Getz doesn’t think it’s weird when he doesn’t go skiing, despite all that equipment he hauled in.”

  “Family time amid all this. I love that idea.”

  “If Chip wasn’t asleep in the back, I’d park off the road, and we’d celebrate finding each other.”

  “Speaking of finding something this holiday season, will you strap on snowshoes and hike with me to harvest some mistletoe I can sell in town?”

  “Harvest it and use some of it!”

  She had to laugh at how he flirted and warmed her all over. “Bryce, I’ve been struggling to utter the words, not used to feeling this way since Ryan, but—I do love you. I want you to know that.”

  “I love you too, Meg. And I have every intention of showing you just how much every chance I get, but first, I need a blow-by-blow of what Pastor Parsons said. You never know what small or big piece of evidence is going to turn up where. Like we found each other, we’ll find something—we have to.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The next morning, Meg was in her room, just starting an online search for Senator Galsworth. The first thing that came up was a picture of the handsome, silver-haired man with his entire name, Hanson Galsworth, but before she could learn much else she heard voices raised clear down the hall from the great room.

  Locking her door behind her, as she always did now, she dashed out.

  Oh, no, the mayor was here and yelling at Bryce. They stood only about six feet apart, and Suze had taken cover behind the welcome desk.

  “You can’t deep dive for an airplane that’s not there anymore. I don’t know why you’re still around if you haven’t turned anything up!” the mayor shouted. “Or if you have, you need to share it with the local powers-that-be.”

  “And that would be you?” Bryce countered, his voice calm and steady despite how on edge he’d been lately.

  “It took you long enough to learn who the pilot was, and then you didn’t come to me except accidentally when you were looking for a newspaper. I could have helped you all along.”

  “All along would have been good. But you chose to support a jewelry store owner and a woman who fled Alaska because she hated it here—and her husband and a lawyer you obviously recommended.”

  “Don’t try throwing your government weight around here, Commander. I am the government in this bailiwick. Well, Meg,” he said, noticing her at last. “Got to be careful, girl, as you can be known by the company you keep.”

  “Good advice for all of us, boy—that is, Mayor Purvis,” she dared.

  Suze gasped. Bryce bit back a grin and cleared his throat. Meg didn’t look at either of them but jumped at the new voice behind her. Getz. She should have known if there was anything to hear or see, he’d be hovering.

  “Tell them I work for you, mayor,” Getz said, sounding nervous. “But on the up and up. I get some real looks around here.”

  “I’ve hired Bill Getz,” the mayor said, “to keep an eye on and inform me about...you know, eyesores in town and its environs—private dumps, trash thrown in places where it should not be. That sort of thing,”

  “That a big problem around here?” Bryce asked.

  “It can be,” the mayor said. “Not that that’s why he’s here
at the lodge. Came into a little windfall, didn’t you, and just wanted a short change of venue?”

  At least, Meg thought, everyone had simmered down. Only Bryce had stayed the same, rock steady, even though he was now backed up by Rafe and Kurt, who had just come in. Kurt had said the mayor wouldn’t recognize him—he was pretty sure—and he’d never seen Getz either.

  “I just expect,” the mayor said in a calmer, quieter voice, “to be kept totally informed if there is anything happening here or anywhere else in my jurisdiction I need to know.”

  “On a need-to-know basis,” Bryce repeated. “I can agree to that.”

  The two men stared—actually glared—at each other for a moment before the mayor turned and headed for the front door.

  Getz went out right behind him, and Kurt went to the door, likely to keep an eye on them.

  Bryce, Rafe and Meg huddled.

  “Well,” she said, “at least he didn’t have a Star Wars mask on.”

  “You don’t mean it could have been him?” Bryce asked.

  “Chip suggested it, but no. I just mean he was about as welcome. But the thing is, would he come in here like that if he were guilty of hiding or fencing jewels and other precious contraband? Wouldn’t he lie low—Getz too?”

  “Or,” Rafe said, “could it be reverse psychology? His idea could be ‘Here I am throwing my weight around, so I can’t possibly be involved or I’d know better.’”

  “Exactly,” Bryce said and motioned Meg over to the expanse of windows when Rafe went to find Suze, who had gone back to her office. “After that barrage, do you still want to go out in the truck, then hike to get mistletoe? I promise I’ll behave, because I do not want to be labeled a ‘boy.’ You’ve changed, sweetheart, standing up to him like that. When I first came, you would have accepted that ‘girl’ indirect insult.”

  She sighed, not sure what to say, amazed at her own transition. “You know, I was just starting to research Todd’s senator father. All I got so far was he’s from Jackson County, Michigan, his first name is Hanson and he’s good-looking, unlike his son. We can call him ‘Handsome Hanson.’ But yes, I’ll get out the snowshoes, and we’ll drive as far toward the stand of cedars as we can, then gather some mistletoe. I was thinking Chip might want to go, but that soccer net has worked wonders for his exercise and interest.”

  “Let’s look up more on Handsome Hanson tonight, together. And if the Big Man tries to contact me while I’m out of the cell phone tower range, so be it. But I am taking my gun. Actually, I have a pistol and a rifle.”

  “I—I didn’t know you had even one.”

  “I should have told you, but they’re so hidden you didn’t see them with my stuff when you packed for me, nor did our Star Wars invaders.”

  “Well, who knows? If that mistletoe is stubborn, we may have to shoot it down from the highest branches, and, if so, we’ll be bombed with pine cones too. Kind of like life around here, lately.”

  * * *

  When she stopped the truck in a snowy pull-off area down a side road on the far side of town, she gasped. About a quarter mile away on a foothill to the lofty Talkeetna Mountains beyond, she could see the stand of yellow cedars that some called Alaskan cedars. She’d been telling Bryce how they were prized for their golden-hued wood, which was both sturdy and decay-resistant—or so she thought. But what devastation in the year since she’d been here with Suze! The stand of cedar trees still stood tall but bare-limbed like giant toothpicks.

  “What happened to majestic and mysterious?” Bryce asked, reaching over to grip her wrist as they stared upward through the windshield.

  “I—I can’t believe it. Last year I saw the foliage was a bit sparse, but I thought it was just the weather, maybe less rain for once. But this...”

  She couldn’t help tearing up. “It’s like a ghost forest, a mass graveyard of trees. Damn climate change—that’s what it is,” she whispered, fishing in her coat pocket for a tissue to dab at her eyes. “I can’t bear to see this, but let’s get out and go closer. I think the little greenery we see may be the mistletoe clinging.”

  When the cold wind hit her, she felt her damp cheeks stiffen. The shrinking glaciers to the north were one thing, but she hadn’t heard about this. The stand was small and not well known, which was why Grandma chose it for her mistletoe “farm.” Thank heavens, she wasn’t here to see it now, but Meg suffered for her.

  She and Bryce steadied each other as they put their feet in the snowshoe hinges, then tightened their straps. Again, they were holding each other up in more ways than one, she thought. She reached over to hug him, however awkwardly in their big snowshoes. She felt his pistol pressed between them in his front pocket of his padded coat.

  “I’m praying this is not a bad omen,” she said as they started to trek on top of the thick snow towards the sad stand of trees.

  At least, there, clinging to a few dry and dying branches were remnants of mistletoe with their greenish sprigs and white berries.

  “See?” Bryce said, taking her mittened hand. “Even when things are bleak, there is new life. Let’s get what we can by tossing sticks or I can use the gun, but with so much foliage gone, someone might hear it and investigate. Meg, I want to—I intend to—kiss you and not because of this mistletoe or even to comfort or distract you. We’re a team now, one which has gone way beyond just helping to investigate a plane crash or long lost jewelry. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” she said and lifted her face to him for a kiss, which she returned with her whole sad but joyous heart.

  * * *

  That evening after Chip was finally in bed, Bryce and Meg camped out in the workroom, where she had made more candy that was now cooling on racks. She’d brought her laptop in and was trying to research Senator Hanson Galsworth, while Bryce sat next to her to take notes, near enough to see the laptop screen and near enough to want to touch and kiss her. And to top that, she’d washed a good amount of the mistletoe they’d found and it was dangling from strings hung across the room or drying on paper towels in easy reach. He grinned at that.

  As invaluable as she’d been, she did manage to scramble his brain, to distract him from what he should be concentrating on. He just hoped their few days together at his house over the holidays, away from here without other people and distractions, would prove to both of them—and Chip—that they were meant to be together. And he hoped her love for and loyalty to Suze would not keep her from moving there with him if he proposed.

  “You won’t believe this!” she told him, staring wide-eyed at the screen. “The Detroit Free Press said a few weeks ago that it’s rumored Senator Hanson ‘Han’ Galsworth the Fourth may make a run for the White House in the next election. Or, the writer speculates, he may just raise his profile so he could be asked to run on the opposing ticket as a vice-presidential candidate.”

  When she looked up from the screen, Bryce tried not to look surprised or frown, but the ramifications of that could be far-reaching. Could the Big Man have an ulterior motive in continuing to pursue this investigation? Was he setting Bryce up to discredit someone who might run against his ticket? No, the Big Man had no more idea than they that Todd and Rina could have funded Lloyd Witlow flying historic national treasures to backwoods Alaska, of all places.

  “Of course,” she added while he agonized over that thought, “that would mean Galsworth would be in opposition to the president who says he’s running again, so that would impact you-know-who too.”

  Damn, he thought. She was either with him or way ahead of him. Trying to convince himself, he told her, “A lot of politicians float rumors to test the waters.”

  “True. I still think I should get on that ancestry research site to see if any of the Galsworth ancestors were in that Michigan regiment that captured Jefferson Davis, Varina and their family—and all that treasure. What if men in that regiment stole or split up the loot? Or were rewarded wit
h it, then hid it and passed it down through the generations? But the notes I took on which regiment that was are in my room.”

  “It was the Fourth Michigan Calvary Regiment.”

  She looked surprised again. “So you’ve been checking on it too?”

  “Not checking your work, but realizing you had a point about it.”

  “So do you have names? More history of it?” she asked, turning back to type that in the regiment name followed by American Civil War.

  He didn’t answer but scooted his chair closer so he could look at the screen too. With his chin almost on her shoulder, he read aloud, “Union General James H. Wilson oversaw Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin D. Pritchard who commanded the 439 men of the Fourth. When they captured fleeing Confederate President Davis, one Union soldier said to him, ‘Well, Jeffy, how do you feel now?’”

  “It says here,” she read from the screen, “that at least a million dollars of gold—the value at that time, much inflated now—was unaccounted for that day, as well as Confederate archives and jewelry donated for the cause.”

  “See what areas in Michigan the soldiers came from to make up that regiment.”

  He watched her scroll down, then go to another site. She was a beautiful woman. He loved to look at her, touch her. If this investigation came to a dead end, at least he’d found a new beginning with her.

  She read aloud, “They were mustered out July 1, 1865, and went back to their homes and businesses. And here—see—many of the men were from Jackson County. That’s where the Galsworths lived for several generations, and I think Todd is the first to move to northern Ohio to start his insurance company there. At least he doesn’t have to live with the name Hanson Galsworth the Fourth!”

  “I’d like to know what his agency insures and for whom.”

  “And,” she added, turning to him, “could he be sending what his family inherited and insured long ago to Alaska? And stashing it where? No, I think I’d bet on the mayor and Melissa somehow getting their hands on that jewelry.”