Mr. Miracle

by Debbie Macomber

  The disappointment in her mother’s voice was painful to hear. “Have you ever heard of Finn Dalton?”

  “Oh, sure. Your father loved his book so much he bought two additional copies. I read it, too. Now, that’s a man.”

  “I want to interview him.”

  “Really? From what I understand, he doesn’t give interviews.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard, too.”

  “Does he ever come to Chicago?”

  “Doubtful,” Carrie murmured. If only it could be that easy and he would come to her. Well, that wasn’t likely. Then again, something Sophie said had stayed in her mind. She could walk past him on the sidewalk and never know it was him. “I’ll need to track Finn Dalton down, but I keep running into dead ends the same as everyone else.” She mentioned her online search, the calls to Alaska, and the number of phones slammed in her ear. No one had been willing to talk to her. “I have to look at this from a different angle. Have you got any ideas?”

  “From what your father said, Finn Dalton isn’t a man who would enjoy being written up on the society page.”

  “That’s just it, Mom. This would be an investigative piece. My editor told me I could have my pick of assignments if I was able to get this interview. It’s important, enough for me to take the vacation days I planned to use for Thanksgiving to find him.”

  “Oh, Carrie, I hate the thought of you doing that.”

  “I know, I hate it, too, but it’s necessary.” Her mother was well aware of Carrie’s feelings toward her current work situation.

  “Do you really think you can find Finn Dalton?” her mother asked.

  “I don’t know if I can or not, but if I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying.”

  “I’ve always admired your tenacious spirit. Can I tell your father you’re going to write a piece on the man who wrote Alone?”

  “Ah … not yet. I have to locate Dalton first.”

  “What have you discovered so far?” Her mother was nothing if not practical. Carrie could visualize her mother pushing up her shirtsleeves, ready to tackle this project with Carrie.

  “Do you know where he was born?”

  “No. I assumed it must have been Alaska, but there’s no record of his birth there. I’ve started going through the birth records of other states, starting with the northwest, but haven’t found his name yet.” At this rate, it would be the turn of the next century before she found the right Dalton.

  “What about his schooling? Graduation records?”

  “I tried that, but he’s not listed anywhere. Maybe he was homeschooled.”

  “You’re probably right,” her mother said, sounding proud that Carrie had reasoned it out. “One of his stories mentions his father mailing away for books, remember? Those were textbooks, I bet.”

  Carrie had made the same assumption.

  “Finn is a rather unusual name, isn’t it?” her mother continued softly, as though she was thinking out loud.

  “And of course it could be a pseudonym, but his publisher claims the name is as real as the man.” Nothing seemed the norm when it came to Finn Dalton.

  “You know, work on the Alaskan pipeline was very big about the time your father and I got married. That was a huge project, and it brought a lot of men to Alaska; many of them stayed. His father might have been one of them.”

  “Yes.” But that was a stab in the dark. She’d already spent hours going over every type of record she could think to research from Alaska, to no avail. Carrie glanced at the time, even though this talk was helping her generate ideas of where to continue looking for the mysterious Mr. Dalton.

  “From what I remember, a lot of men left their wives and families for the attraction of big money.”

  “I could start looking at the employment records for the pipeline from that time period and see what I find,” Carrie said.

  “That’s a terrific idea. And listen, when you find Finn Dalton, make sure your dad gets a chance to chat with him, would you?”

  “I can’t promise that.” First she’d need to convince Finn Dalton to talk to her!

  “Just do your best.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  “Bye, Mom.” Carrie ended the call and dumped her cell in her small bag. After a quick glance in the hallway mirror, she headed out the door to what she hoped would be one of the very last social events she would ever need to cover.