“Don’t be,” Carson said. “It makes me more determined than ever to find that plane.”
“And if you do find it, Mr. Dodge?” Frey said. “What then?”
“I get half of what’s recovered,” Carson said, hoping for some reaction, hoping to get some answers to his questions before he even found the plane. “We’re splitting the spoils.”
Frey shook his head and gave Carson a look of condescending pity. “Then you’ll be splitting absolutely nothing and desecrating the grave of a brave young man who served his country well. The bad publicity alone will ruin your company. I’ll make sure it does. And as I said before, the salvage rights to that plane will never be granted. It’s your choice, Mr. Dodge.”
“My choice,” Carson nodded. “I’ve made it, and I’ll stick by it.”
“Then you really are a fool,” Frey said, starting up the Chris-Craft. “Tell that journalist she’s making a big mistake.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on, along with everything else,” Carson said as Frey backed away from the shallows, turned the boat and headed back toward his lodge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE OLD MAN WAS SITTING on a splitting stump outside the cabin door when Libby walked into the clearing. He was leaning against the weathered log wall and soaking up the sunshine, and the very fact that he was up and about was a positive sign. The sled dogs out behind the cabin alerted him to her arrival, and he pushed to his feet as she approached.
“Hello, Mr. Johnson,” she said, easing the pack off her shoulders and setting it on the ground. “I’m Libby Wilson. I was here two days ago, when you were pretty sick.”
“I wasn’t that sick,” Solly Johnson said. He was giving her the same kind of look Carson gave her when she had tried to help him. Libby sighed. Karen was right. It must be a guy thing.
“You certainly look like you made a good recovery. I brought you some food, and some more medicine.”
The dark eyes glittered in the wizened face. “I don’t need the white man’s medicine. I got my own and it fixed me up pretty good.”
Libby flexed her shoulders to ease a muscle cramp. She wasn’t used to carrying a heavy pack up a steep trail. Her legs were tired and she was tired of dealing with stubborn-headed men. “Shall I take the food away, too? A white woman fixed it.” He made no response to this, so Libby picked the pack up and went inside the cabin, where she deposited the contents on the small wooden table. Solly had followed her in and was watching her with a grave expression. At the bottom of the pack were the antibiotic pills. She lifted the bottle and shook it so the pills rattled sharply. “There’s a five-day supply of medicine in here, Mr. Johnson. Swallow one pill with each meal for five more days. Three pills a day. This will help make sure the sickness in your lungs goes away.”
Again, he remained silent. Libby glanced around the cabin. Everything seemed in order. Graham was still spending nights here to keep an eye on Solly, and he was also keeping things neat and tidy. Good.
She picked up the pack. “Before I go, I was hoping you could tell me something about the old white man who lives at the big lodge. Daniel Frey. My mother used to work for him, years ago. She’s a villager from Umiak. She said to ask you about how dangerous Daniel Frey was. She said you would tell me. She said he shot you long ago.”
The dark eyes glittered but Solly remained silent, keeping his secrets. Libby had to resist the impulse to scream her frustration aloud. Instead she nodded to the food on the table. “This should last a few days. I’ll bring more before I go back to my mother’s village.” She paused by the door to gather her resolve. “There’s one more thing I have to ask you. I know you don’t like whites, but there was a white man who used to live with Daniel Frey at the big lodge. He flew a yellow plane and had a three-legged dog named HoChi. The plane crashed in the lake twenty-eight years ago. You were living here then. Graham says you used to tell him stories about the three-legged dog. He says you used to say that the dog howled in the night like its heart was broken and wandered like a ghost along the shores of the lake, looking for lost souls. You told Graham if he wandered off in the woods, the three-legged dog would catch him and carry his soul to the land of the forgotten.”
The old man was studying her as she spoke, as if trying to decide something very important, but he remained silent.
“Mr. Johnson, I came here to look for that plane because the young man flying it when it crashed was on his way to Umiak to marry my mother. That man was Connor Libby, and he was my father. Do you know anything at all about that crash, or where the plane might have gone down? It’s very important that I find it.”
The silence stretched out long enough to put Libby’s teeth on edge. She blew out an exasperated breath. “If you should remember anything, anything at all, I’ll be at the small lodge for a few more days. You can send a message to me by way of your son. Take your medicine, Mr. Johnson. There are some things the whites do that are good. The food on the table is good, and that medicine is very powerful.”
She was out the door when she heard him speak. He stood in the open doorway and the breeze lifted the tangle of gray hair from his shoulders. His expression was thoughtful. “When I first came here, there were no flying canoes in the sky. It was quiet, in the world before this world. Only the ravens talked and the sky belonged to them and they shared it with the eagles. Now those flying canoes are everywhere, and it gets harder and harder to find a quiet place.”
Libby waited for what seemed like five minutes after he sat back down on his stump to take in the sun, but that was all he was going to say.
“Goodbye then, Mr. Johnson,” she said, and started down the steep path.
BY THE TIME SHE RETURNED to the lodge, Karen was already beginning supper preparations. Libby could see Carson puttering along near the lake’s outlet as she docked the aluminum boat. She wondered if he’d found anything. She wondered if he was even looking. Maybe he was just pretending to search, hoping she’d change her mind at the end of the week and accept Frey’s offer of a kill fee.
She felt a twinge of unease. As rude as he was, she’d like to think that he was a man of his word, yet there was no doubt that he’d been tempted by Frey’s offer. Could she really blame him? Most men would still be lying in a hospital bed after what he’d been through, but Carson was pushing himself to prove that he was as good a man now as he’d been before the accident. She was partly to blame for that, walking into his office and hinting that if he was able to find the plane, he’d make a good deal of money. In her quest to prove her paternity, she’d deliberately played on his greed and ego to lure him to search for the missing plane.
Karen glanced up from making a big salad when she came into the kitchen. “We had a visitor while you were gone,” she said with a bemused expression. “Mr. Frey himself drove his boat to the dock and asked to speak with the journalist from Boston.”
Libby felt a stronger twinge of unease. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him we had someone staying by that description a few days ago, but she wasn’t a guest here anymore. It wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? How was Solly?”
“Much better. I’m sure he’ll appreciate your food, though he’s about as prickly as Carson Dodge when it comes to accepting help. Did Mr. Frey say what he wanted?”
Karen rested the knife for a moment. “Only that he wanted to talk with Libby Wilson again and he asked for your address and phone number. Of course, I couldn’t give it to him. I told him that was privileged information and when he left he wasn’t too pleased with me.” She smiled. “At least we finally met, after two years of sharing the same lake, so to speak.”
“I’m sorry I missed him,” Libby said, which was true. She would much rather have spoken to Frey in the safety of Karen’s lodge. “There were a few more questions I needed to ask.”
Karen glanced at her watch. “Why don’t you run over there right now? He only left about half an hour ago. On your way you might invite your salvage operator to have
supper with us. The other guests are dying to ask him all about his adventures.”
“No way am I broaching that subject with him,” Libby said. “Besides, he wouldn’t come. He’s hiding out like a wounded animal. I don’t think he wants to see or talk to anyone until he looks and feels like his old self again. Are you sure you can spare me for a half hour or so?”
“I’m all set here. Are you going over to Mr. Frey’s lodge as a journalist or a medical doctor?”
Libby didn’t pause. “No more deception. I’m going to tell Mr. Frey who I really am and why I’m really here. Connor Libby was my father, and the reason I’ve hired Carson Dodge to find his plane is to prove that to Mr. Frey.”
Karen’s expression never changed and Libby realized that she’d already figured everything out. “How do you think he’ll take that news?” she asked.
“Poorly.”
“Then maybe you should wait until you have proof. Wait until the plane is found. And even then, maybe you shouldn’t go over there alone. I mean, if he shot Solly Johnson…”
“Solly didn’t confirm that, Graham isn’t around to ask and I don’t want to wait any longer, Karen. Besides, what can Frey do? He’s an eccentric old billionaire who doesn’t treat his help very well, but I don’t think he’ll hurt me. There are too many people around for him to get away with anything like that now. He might rant and rave and call me crazy, but he turned my mother away twenty-eight years ago when she went to him for help and I strongly suspect he may have caused my father’s plane to crash, and it’s high time he faced the consequences, whether he wants to or not.”
Karen nodded thoughtfully. “Go ahead then, but if you’re not back in an hour, I’m sending in the troops.”
IN SPITE OF HER BRAVE WORDS to Karen, Libby was scared as she headed the aluminum motor boat across the lake toward Frey’s dock. Her heart was pounding, her palms were damp and her mouth was dry. She was very aware of Carson’s long stare as she passed within a hundred yards of his boat, but she didn’t glance in his direction. For all she knew, he’d already been to see Frey again himself to find out how high he was prepared to go. Maybe they were dickering over the kill fee. Well, let him wonder why she was paying a visit to the bitter old man.
Let him wait and wonder.
She approached the dock cautiously, filled with apprehension. The beautiful old Chris-Craft was tied to the cleats, and she parked across from it and jumped onto the weathered boards, lashing the painters fore and aft to secure the boat. She tried to act as if she had every business being here as she straightened and began striding up the porch steps. Mr. Frey wasn’t sitting on the porch, which took her aback when she reached the top step. For a moment she faltered, her momentum losing steam, but before the fear could paralyze her completely she marched to the screen door and rapped loudly.
“Mr. Frey?”
She heard footsteps within and tensed, but it was Luanne who came to the door looking as apprehensive as Libby felt. “Mr. Frey is eating his dinner,” she said, her voice lowered as if she was afraid her boss would overhear. “Would you like to wait out here on the porch?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Libby said bluntly. “I need to speak with him immediately.”
Luanne cast a wary glance over her shoulder, then opened the screen door and stepped out. “Mr. Frey doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s eating. He has certain rituals that he observes and he becomes very upset when his routine is disturbed.”
Libby stepped around the younger woman and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Luanne. I know you’re just doing your job, but if I don’t do this right now, I never will.”
She entered the big lodge for the first time, gazing around at the vaulted great room. The fireplace was enormous, taking up most of the far wall, and the sheer size and gloominess of the room intimidated her. She mustered every last ounce of resolve to force herself to cross the room toward what she supposed was the entry to the dining room.
It was.
She paused in the doorway, taking in the huge expanse of glass overlooking the lake, the long table that was set between the fireplace and the wall of windows, and the man who was seated at the far end, regarding her in scowling silence.
“Mr. Frey, my mother worked at this lodge when she was a young woman. Her name is Marie Wilson. I’m quite certain you don’t remember her, but Connor Libby was on his way to marry my mother when his plane crashed.”
Frey pushed his chair back and stood. He was wearing a pair of brown slacks and a white shirt with a green tie and a cardigan. Apparently getting dressed for meals was one of his rituals. “I am eating my dinner,” he said, clearly outraged at her audacity for interrupting. “I would ask you to leave.”
“You told Karen Whitten you wished to speak with me,” Libby continued, ignoring Frey. “Well, I’m here. I’m not a reporter, and I’m not writing a story for the Ben Libby foundation. I’m the daughter of Marie Wilson and Connor Libby, and I’ve hired the owner of Alaska Salvage to find my father’s plane. I was hoping you might tell me where it went down, but of course it was foolish of me to think that you would. Obviously you don’t want it found, and I think I know why. There’s more to it than just losing half of your fortune, isn’t there?”
Frey’s growing anger was clearly visible on his tight, pale features. “If you don’t leave at once, I’ll have you thrown out.”
“You don’t want it found because if the FAA ever got their hands on it, they might discover that the plane had been tampered with, isn’t that right, Mr. Frey? They might suspect foul play. And if they did, others might question why you weren’t planning to attend your godson’s wedding. Why weren’t you going to the wedding, Mr. Frey? Was it because you couldn’t stand the thought of Connor Libby marrying a native woman and bringing her back to share this lodge and the Libby fortune with you? Is that why you tampered with the plane and caused it to crash?”
“This is outrageous!” Frey flung his napkin down on the table. “LUANNE!”
“Mr. Dodge has informed me about the kill fee you offered if we stopped the search for the plane. I just want you to be aware, Mr. Frey, that even if you pay him a million bucks to stop looking, I’ll have another salvage company in here before you can blink an eye. No amount of money is going to protect you now. No power on earth is going to prevent me from finding that plane. Not only am I going to prove that Connor Libby was my father, but I’m going to prove that someone tampered with his place and caused it to crash. If I have to go to the Supreme Court to overthrow any road blocks you put in my way, I will. You can bet on that. You may think your money will buy you out of this mess, but I’ll fight you, and I’ll win.”
“LUANNE!”
“You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison, Mr. Frey, where you should have been for the past twenty-eight years.”
Libby spun on her heel and left the dining room, left Daniel Frey standing in ashen-faced shock at the end of the huge table, left the big gloomy lodge that her father had grown up in and descended the porch steps while her heart pounded in her ears. She was so wired that she didn’t remember getting into the boat or starting the outboard motor, but once she was back out on the lake she remembered the look in Frey’s eyes, the burning hatred that radiated clear across the big dining room at her as she spoke, and she found herself wishing she’d heeded Karen’s advice. There was a powerful malevolence in Frey that transcended any limitations of his age, and she had the distinct impression he would kill again to protect his kingdom.
FOR A FEW TENSE MOMENTS, when Libby sped away from Frey’s dock and started across the lake, Carson thought she was planning to ram him as a result of whatever had transpired within the big lodge. She bore down on his inflatable boat at full speed, but at the last moment she swerved and throttled down. Her blue eyes blazed at him as his boat rocked wildly in the wake thrown up by the bigger aluminum craft.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said. “You damn near swamped me!”
“I just spoke with Frey,” she snapped.
“So I gathered.”
“I told him who I was and why I was looking for the plane.”
“Then he’s a lucky man. He knows a helluva lot more than I do.”
She leaned forward intently. “You have to find that wreckage!”
“Yes, ma’am, anything you say. I don’t suppose he pointed out to you the exact spot where it went down?”
“I told Frey that even if he offered you a million dollars to fly out of here, I’d just bring someone else in to find it.”
Carson shook his head and uttered a derisive laugh. “If he knows half as much about you as he does about me, he’ll know that was an empty threat.”
She drew back, eyes narrowing warily. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he can find out exactly how much is in your bank account and how much spare change is lying on top of your bureau. He has connections. He knows how much I owe on my boat, my plane and my gear. He knows just how deep in the hole I am, and he’s going to find out mighty quick that you can’t afford to bring in another salvage crew.”
“How do you know I don’t have the funds?” she challenged.
“Hell, you could barely scrape up the five thousand bucks to get me out here. In fact, you still haven’t coughed it up, I’m not even sure you have it, and when I quoted my rates to you, you nearly fainted in my office.”
If anything, her eyes blazed with greater fury than before. “I have plenty of money, Mr. Dodge,” she said. “Your rates seemed high, that’s all, and I wanted to strike a better bargain with you. That’s why I misled you as to my financial situation.”
“If that’s the case, then you’ll have nothing to worry about if I decide to take Frey’s kill fee and pull foot, will you?”
“You’d do it, wouldn’t you? You’d go back on your word just to make a few extra bucks without having to work for them!”
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