by Nancy Warren
“Max, we need you here. There are a lot of guys who want to take your spot.”
Of course there were. “I’m hoping to have this wrapped up in a few weeks.”
“Well, if you can get down here that would be great. We can try and come up to you, too.”
“Yeah. To do an intervention!”
7
CLAIRE WAS ON her own in the office when the front door opened and Frank Carmondy walked in.
Even though he’d told her he was coming, her first impulse was to grab the shotgun she kept locked in her office. Her second was to grab the phone and call the sheriff. But one look at his face told her he wasn’t here to cause trouble. Frank looked gray and ashamed and something she’d never seen before. He looked old.
“What can I do for you, Frank?”
“I—I owe you an apology.”
“For what? Stealing money from the company or for scrawling insults on my car?” She kept her voice even but she still felt angry at the way he’d betrayed her family and the childish, vulgar way he’d lashed out at her.
He licked his lips as though he were very thirsty. “For all of it.” His gaze dropped before hers and an unwelcome sense of pity washed over her.
“I’ve been waiting to hear from your lawyer,” she said.
“You won’t. That was all crap. I came here to tell you that. I—I did some things I’m ashamed of.”
“You stole money, Frank. Quite a lot of it.” And the knowledge that Polar Air was in serious trouble because of his theft gnawed at her. “We’ve got suppliers we’ve dealt with for decades who extended credit because of my grandparents’ reputations. You traded on that. That’s how we never found out there was a problem until too late. And you kept increasing the bank line of credit until they called the loan.”
“I know. And I’m going to pay every cent back. I promise. See, the thing is, I have a problem. I’ve been gambling. It got way out of control.”
“Gambling?” In a town with no secrets how had she never discovered he was a gambler? “I never heard that.”
“I wouldn’t do it here where every fool knows your business. I—I gamble online mostly. Go to Vegas and Reno on my time off.”
She thought of the trips he’d been taking down south twice a year, sometimes more often. “I thought you were visiting your son?”
He made a sound of disgust. “My son hasn’t spoken to me in years. His mother turned him against me. I—” He licked his lips again. “Gambling makes me feel good, I guess. I drink a little, too, when I’m online. Helps me focus. But sometimes I forget how much I’ve bet. That’s how I got into trouble. But I’ve learned my lesson now. I’ve stopped the gambling. I mean to pay you back. Every cent.”
“Frank, I took a close look at the books. You’ve helped yourself to more than half a million dollars that I’ve identified so far. I’m guessing there’s more.”
His lip wobbled. “Please,” he said. “Please don’t go to the cops. I’m going to change. I am. I’m getting help. And I’ll set up a series of payments. You’ll get your money back. All of it. With interest.”
“I don’t know, Frank. I’ll need to talk to Lynette about this.”
He hung his head. “That makes me feel so much worse. With her heart condition, she shouldn’t be bothered by this burden.”
He was right, of course, but he might have considered Lynette’s health before he started embezzling, she thought.
The outer door bell rang, indicating somebody had come into the office. As she was the only one there, she excused herself and went out front.
It was Arnie, one of the pilots, with his time sheet.
“Great, thanks.”
Arnie was in his mid-thirties and his wife was expecting their second child. He took every extra shift he could get in order to help support his growing family. He said, “What’s up for tomorrow?”
She mentally scanned the jobs coming up.
“Let’s see. We need to get a piece of equipment to Westhaven mine. I’ll do that one. You can take the Joyner party up to the fishing lodge.”
“Is that the equipment in that crate?” He pointed to the large box in the corner that had been dropped off earlier for transport to the mine.
“Yep. That’s it.”
“It’s too heavy for you to load and unload.”
“I know. It’s a two-person job. I’m taking Max with me. He can help with the heavy lifting, and it will give me a chance to show him the route. Introduce him to the people at the mine.”
He nodded. “Sounds good. I gotta head off to prenatal class with the wife. See you tomorrow.”
She returned to her office and Frank continued as though she’d never left.
“I quit drinking, too. You can ask anybody. I joined AA.”
“That’s good, Frank.”
Finally, he said, “Well, like I said. I’m sorry. Why don’t you take a few days to think about it? Maybe we could get together again and work out a repayment schedule.”
“But how will you repay the money? You don’t have a job.” She hoped he wasn’t expecting a good reference because she couldn’t give him one.
“I’ll sell my house. I’ve mortgaged it to gamble, but if I sell it there’ll be enough to pay you back most of what I owe.”
Then, from the bag he was carrying, he pulled out a framed photograph. “You probably want this back,” he said and placed it in front of her on the desk. The photograph showed a much younger Frank with Claire and both her grandparents. Her grandfather had presented her with a company pin after she’d passed her first flight test. She remembered that day. It had been a hot August afternoon. They’d ended it with a barbecue. She’d been so proud and they all looked so happy.
Of course, she knew that Frank was deliberately manipulating her—she wasn’t stupid. Still, it was impossible to gaze at that picture and not remember better times.
Gambling was a serious addiction, she knew. Like alcohol or drugs, it took over a person, caused them to do things that were out of character. She glanced at the man sitting across from her. Had he really reformed?
“I need to think about this, Frank. What you did is serious. We could lose the business. Lynette is devastated.”
He stood heavily. “Understood.”
He held out his hand and, after hesitating a moment, she took it. “When can we talk again?” he asked.
“I’m seeing our lawyer on Wednesday. I’ll get some advice. If she agrees to a payback schedule, then I’ll get you to work it out with her.” That made the most sense to Claire. She didn’t want to be trying to negotiate how and when he was going to pay back the money he stole. Much better to let their lawyer do it. Even though she hadn’t talked about it with Lynette yet, she was pretty sure her grandmother would agree. She’d want to give Frank the benefit of the doubt.
“I’ll get back to you by the end of the week.”
“I appreciate your consideration, Claire. I really do.”
She nodded, sad, and wishing he’d made some smarter choices along the way. But he hadn’t, and they were in a fix. She wondered how much he could really pull out of his house if he’d been using it as an ATM machine all these years. And would it be enough to keep the bank off their backs, at least until she could improve business?
* * *
BECAUSE SHE FELT such a rush of pleasure when she saw Max striding toward her the next morning, she acted more crisp and businesslike than she would with any other pilot. She couldn’t help herself.
He didn’t seem fazed by her abrupt manner. If anything, he was amused.
He always looked so put-together and neat it was a wonder to her. He could fly for a thousand miles, spend hours cramped in the pilot’s seat of a Beaver and emerge as though he’d somehow stopped en route to have all his clothing dry-cleaned and pressed. Amazing.
She felt creased and disheveled by comparison.
He helped her load and secure the crate headed for the mine.
She went through her
before-takeoff checklist. She walked around the plane checking for any dents or problems. Checked her tires. She moved the ailerons up and down, made sure they were working properly. She checked the elevator, the critical piece of equipment at the back of the plane that would keep the aircraft level, for full play up and down. She checked that her emergency locator transmitter, or ELT, was on. Then she ticked off each item, saying it aloud as her grandfather had taught her to do. Since Max was there, she figured it didn’t hurt for him to double-check that she got everything. “Auxiliary fuel pump, off. Flight controls, free and clear. Instruments and radios, checked and set. Altimeter, set. Directional gyro, set.” She checked the fuel gauges and the trim set, checked the props were clear.
She jumped into the pilot seat and Max settled into the copilot seat beside her. They both donned headsets and belted in.
Before she started the engine, she opened her window and yelled, “Clear prop.” She started the engine and while it was warming up she did her run up, bringing up the throttle. Checked her magnetos, right and left, engine idle. Set her flaps to ten degrees. She said, “I’ll take her up and why don’t you fly us home?”
“Happy to oblige, boss.”
She called in to the control center to file her flight plan and then they were ready.
She radioed out: “This is Whiskey Alpha Bravo taking off on runway one-niner from Spruce Bay.”
Once they were in the air and headed north, they flew in companionable silence punctuated by her pointing out features of the landscape and checking in with Lynette now and then via radio.
“I got a call from a tugboat company, they want us to fly out some log loaders, over.”
“When do they need to fly? Over.”
“First thing tomorrow. Can you do it?”
“Roger that.”
Every unexpected flight meant a little more financial breathing room and she welcomed the extra work.
Today’s flight would take them just over two hours, she calculated, with the fair winds at their back. A little longer on the return journey. The terrain they were flying over was intimately familiar to her after so many years, but of course it would all be new to Max so she tried to fill him in as they flew.
He was an interested and engaged companion. He asked her several questions about the history of the company, then suddenly asked, “Have you thought about partnering with some of the fishing lodges to offer packages?”
She imagined this was how it had been for her grandparents when they started Polar Air. The back-and-forth of two people in business together, with the same commitment to success they’d show in raising a family. For a second she understood why her grandmother was so keen for Claire to marry another pilot.
“Yes, of course we’ve considered it.” She wondered how many opportunities they’d lost in the years that Frank had been running things. Refused to take refuge in blaming the former manager. “The truth is, we need to do more of that if we’re going to—” She stopped herself before she blurted out the word survive. Quickly changed it to thrive. She glanced over at him and found him gazing at her intently. He was really interested in how the business did, she could tell. He wasn’t simply making conversation or trying to suck up to the boss. She liked that about him. “We’re about halfway to the mine and a little ahead of schedule. How about I show you one of the greatest fishing spots in Alaska?”
“Really? Greatest?”
She chuckled. “Probably not even in the top twenty, but my grandfather loved to fish. He used to bring me and my grandmother up to this lake. We’d bring a picnic and he’d fish.”
“I’d love to see it.”
She felt the warmth of companionship. Knew she was falling for this guy and decided that she was okay with that. She’d make it clear to her grandmother that she wasn’t attempting to repeat history, she was simply enjoying the company of a man. Who happened to be a pilot, and happened to work for Polar Air. It did not mean that Lynette had found the perfect grandson-in-law.
Claire took them off course, enjoying the sunny day and the feeling of being with the most interesting man she’d met in a long time.
“Do you ever get tired of flying?” he asked her.
She was so shocked by the question she turned to stare at him. “Tired of flying? Are you kidding? It’s when I feel most alive. I look around and here I am, flying above the earth, defying gravity, seeing the glaciers and mountain peaks, the ocean and the trees from the sky. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I am grateful every day that I get to fly.” The second she stopped speaking she felt a little embarrassed. She’d given away something very personal. If he laughed at her— She glanced over at him, and found him looking back at her not with derision but in complete agreement. “You?” she asked.
“I always think flying is like sex. No matter how amazing a trip is, I can’t wait for the next one. Every flight is different, sometimes challenging, but I get to heights I never imagined and, well, it’s always a rush.”
And she thought, listening to him, that she hadn’t had enough good sex in her life. The thought flicked through her mind that Max might be able to change that.
“There’s the lake,” she said as it appeared, a silver sparkle below them.
As she took the plane lower for a closer look, a flock of geese came into view, sublimely uninterested in the fact that they were directly in front of her. She pulled up on the stick hard to get above the geese. Something she’d done many times in the past. When she tried to take the plane back down she realized she had a problem.
“The stick’s not working properly. I’ve lost my elevator.”
* * *
CLAIRE’S CALM TONE didn’t fool Max. “We’re still climbing,” he said, which was obvious. Soon they’d reach a stall point. He didn’t say what they both knew. Without the elevator they were seriously screwed.
He watched her work the throttle, back off on power. “I’m trying to time it so we stall out at the end of the lake. Near the shoreline.”
Her calmness in the face of disaster was working in their favor, as was her obvious skill as a pilot. But without an elevator their chances weren’t too good.
When everything worked in harmony, flying was the greatest pleasure in life. But one mechanical problem could turn a symphony into a death march.
“I’m going to try and flare out at the bottom,” she said. All she could do was try and delay the inevitable. “Hang on.”
For the next few minutes the plane rose and dipped while she fought for some kind of control. Sweat beaded everywhere sweat could bead. She felt the strain in her arms and the tension in her jaw where her teeth were clamped so tightly together from the effort of holding on. Without her elevator she felt like a giant, unseen hand had her plane on a string, jerking it up and then dropping it down again. Their only hope was to manipulate the inevitable stall until they were as close to the ground—or in this case the lake—as possible.
Max didn’t panic and for that she was grateful. She had a moment of true regret that a pilot she’d come to like, who had worked such a short time for Polar Air, should end his life so young.
“You can do this,” he said quietly, as though reading the despair in her thoughts.
She nodded, though he probably couldn’t see her. The lake was their only chance.
“Lake’s too calm,” she said. “I can’t see properly.” With the lake flat calm it was difficult to differentiate the water from the sky. “I need ripples. Throw something.”
He nodded. Cranked open the side window. As she turned, he grabbed cushions from the back. Chucked them out, so that when they hit the surface of the lake they’d create the definition she needed.
As they drew closer to hitting down, she said, “Okay, open your door.”
Both of them pushed their doors open a little. She didn’t have to explain to Max that having the doors open on impact would prevent them being trapped inside if the doors jammed. The sound of the wind rushed in.
Trees were close, like jagged green saws all pointing up, reaching for the vulnerable belly of the plane.
Her arms were trembling now with the strain. “I’m sorry, Max,” she cried, as the last of the trees scraped the bottom of the aircraft and the lake came at them too fast.
They hit and the impact jerked her back and then forward. There was a sickening thud and then the thing she’d feared most. The roll as the aircraft flipped.
And began to sink.
The heavy mining equipment would drag the small plane down like an anchor. She was fuzzily aware that they were still alive and they had to get out.
“See you on the surface,” she yelled.
“Roger.”
She unbuckled, turned and pushed against the door with both feet as cold, frigid cold, lake water poured into the cockpit.
Fishing. Her grandfather. As she fought her way out of the plane, she reached into the pocket of the door and grabbed the fishing bag she kept there as a reminder of her grandfather, kind of a superstitious good-luck charm.
Then she oriented herself, looking for the light, and scissored her legs, fighting to reach the top. It was hard to believe that a lake could be this frigid in late summer, she thought, as she dragged her body up to the light.
She emerged, gasping from the cold. She glanced around, looking for her copilot. Where was he?
She kicked her legs, turning a full circle. “Max?” she tried to shout but she was so cold the word came out as a gasp.
He’d responded earlier when she’d called to him, right after the crash. He hadn’t sounded like he was in distress. He said he’d see her at the surface.
What if he hadn’t got out?
The plane was sinking fast. Already the wheels were below the surface. She swam to where she thought Max should have surfaced, took a deep breath, prepared to dive down and then, to her intense relief, a head popped up, all dripping black hair.
“Max! You’re all right.”
“It’s frickin’ cold. Let’s get out of here.”
She couldn’t agree more. They headed for shore, fortunately not too far away. Still, the cold, her clothing and probably the fishing bag slung over her shoulder all slowed her down.
