Everything To Prove

by Nadia Nichols

  “Go back to the lodge,” he said. “It’s getting too miserable for you to be out there.”

  She stared at him, watching the rain drip from the brim of his cap. “Is it getting too miserable for you?”

  “Libby…”

  “No way am I staying ashore. If this is the last day you can give me, let’s make it a good one.” She pulled out of his grasp and waded back out to the boat. When they returned to the west arm of the lake she passed him food from the lunch basket. Thick ham sandwiches spicy with mustard. Tea in a cup laced with raindrops and diluted instantly to lukewarm but still delicious. Carson had the advantage, sitting under the dodger. As soggy as her sandwich quickly became, the food was restorative. Libby felt the strength flowing back into her as she ate. When the basket had been emptied of the last gingersnap cookie and every drop of tea had been shared between them, she packed everything back into the hamper and stowed it away.

  Time dragged out as the miserable minutes passed.

  Talk to me, Dad, she willed her father as the rubber boat wallowed through the chop. Back and forth, up and down. She watched Carson studying the screen; she watched her position by lining up with trees on the shore; she wiped rain from her cheeks and sometimes, tears. It no longer mattered if she wept the frustration she felt. Nobody would know.

  Talk to me, Dad….

  But the lake remained dark and cold and mysterious, keeping her ghosts and her secrets hidden, and Libby felt no closer to finding her father than she had for the past twenty-eight years.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AT 5:00 P.M. CARSON ORDERED Libby to head for the lodge’s dock.

  “You’ve been out for thirteen straight hours,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the wind.

  “So have you,” she shot back in that maddeningly defiant way of hers. “Let’s just refuel and keep going until dark.”

  “Head back,” he repeated. “We need to take a short break.”

  “How short?”

  Clearly, she didn’t trust him. She thought he’d get her ashore and then leave her behind, or stop the last hours of the search, but she had to be exhausted. Nobody could sit in the stern of a rubber boat in the pouring rain all day long and not be exhausted. She looked pale and wrung out, as well as soaking wet in spite of the hood on the mustang suit. Her dark hair was plastered to the sides of her face, her eyelashes were beaded with raindrops, her nose and chin were dripping with water. She looked whipped, and he was sure he didn’t look much better.

  “We’ll stop just long enough for a mug of hot tea and a quick bite to eat, then we’ll get right back out. We should be able to work four more hours before quitting.”

  The idea of hot tea and food had to appeal to her. She was human, after all, and the effects of the lunch they’d eaten had worn off long ago. Once she got inside the warm lodge, her enthusiasm for the search would wane and he was sure she wouldn’t want to go back out in the cold, driving rain.

  “We don’t have time to stop,” she said.

  “Look,” Carson said, trying to reason calmly with her. “After I fix my ship, I’ll come back and search the lake until I find the plane. I told you I’d find it and I will. I promise you, I will.”

  She shook her head in a fierce gesture. “No! If you don’t find the plane today, that’s it. The search is over! Don’t you see? Frey will make sure that plane will never be found. He’ll bring his own people in to make sure no evidence remains. He knows what’s going on out here. He never thought it would happen, he never thought anyone would care about finding it, but now he knows differently, and as soon as you leave, he’ll make sure that plane is never found. It’ll go beyond trying to prevent us from purchasing the salvage rights. He knows where that plane is. He’ll find a way to destroy everything!”

  Carson leaned toward her, willing her to believe in him because suddenly nothing mattered more. “Libby, listen to me. I said I’d come back. I didn’t mean next year, I meant as soon as the ship was fixed. I can’t leave the Pacific Explorer dead in the water ten miles from landfall with my crew stranded aboard her. Do you understand?”

  She leaned toward him, her eyes as dark and turbulent as the lake. “My father’s been dead in the water for the past twenty-eight years. Do you understand?”

  Carson felt his blood pressure climb. Was any creature on earth more irrational than a woman? “Dammit all,” he burst out, “are you listening to anything I’m telling you?”

  They glared at each other for a few moments, and then suddenly Libby crumpled over herself, letting go of the tiller and dropping her head into her hands. Carson watched her and waited for the weeping storm that must surely follow, but she remained ominously rigid and still. He shifted toward the stern, hoping the rubber boat didn’t swamp as he gently but firmly moved her out of the seat and into the middle of the boat, under the sheltering canopy of the dodger. She hardly seemed aware of him as he took the tiller and headed back to the lodge. She just sat on the bottom of the boat with her knees drawn up to her chest, looking vulnerable and exhausted and more beautiful than anyone in a bulky orange mustang suit had any right to look.

  By the time he was tying the boat off at the lodge’s dock, she had come up with her latest strategy. “I’ll wait for you right here,” she said when he extended his hand to help her out of the boat. “It’s nice and sheltered. Maybe you could bring me back something hot.”

  “Now listen,” he said, striving for calm. “You’re getting out of the boat right now or I’m climbing in there and throwing you out. You’re coming up to the lodge with me and you’re going to drink a hot cup of tea and you’re going to eat whatever Karen gives you to eat. You got that?”

  A sudden gust of wind-driven rain lashed into her face and she blinked up at him, and it wrenched his heart to see her sitting there like that, all played out in the bottom of the boat. “Get up,” he ordered, holding out his hand.

  She reached for him and he pulled her out of the boat as it lurched up and down against the dock in the rough chop. She leaned against him for a few moments when she was standing on solid ground. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My legs must have fallen asleep.”

  “I’d pick you up and carry you to the lodge, but I’d need a few more of those magic pills to pull that off.”

  “No more painkillers for you,” she murmured.

  “Then you’re going to have to walk.”

  She gripped his arm as the blood started to circulate through her limbs. “Oh, it hurts…. My legs are all pins and needles….”

  “I know it hurts. C’mon. Walk with me.” He put his arm around her, silently cursing his bad leg and his bad lung and his bum hand because he so desperately wanted to help her more than he was. He so desperately wanted to be the man he used to be, the man she needed him to be right now. “That’s it, Libby. One step at a time.”

  KAREN WAS IN THE KITCHEN, putting the finishing touches on the evening meal. She took one look at Libby as Carson half carried her through the door and whisked out a seat at the kitchen table. “Sit her down,” she said to Carson. “My God. Have you been out on the lake all day in this miserable weather? Never mind, I already know the answer to that one. Poor girl. She needs to get out of that suit and get a cup of hot tea in her.”

  Libby felt only great weariness as she tried to shrug out of the bulky confines of the mustang suit. As much as she’d protested wearing the thing, she was glad she had. The suit had kept her reasonably dry and quite warm. She was aware of Karen helping her, and then pressing a hot mug into her hands. “Drink that slowly. There’s a big slug of apricot brandy in it.”

  She took a sip and her eyes watered. “Carson?” She blinked and gazed foggily around the room, certain that he was going to sneak out and leave her sitting there but he was standing right beside the table. “Don’t you dare go back out on that lake without me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.

  “Libby, you can’t be thinking of going back out,” Karen prot
ested, handing Carson a mug of what Libby assumed was the same potent stuff she was drinking. “The forecast is for rain straight through the weekend, and it’s a cold rain, too. I think I saw some sleet mixed in a little earlier. All the fishermen came in as soon as it started, and they’ve spent the day playing cards and napping. It’s been kind of quiet and peaceful here at the lodge.”

  The warmth of the kitchen felt wonderful after the raw cold rain of the lake. Libby took another swallow of tea and felt the slow burn clear to the soles of her feet. She glanced up. “Carson?”

  “Right here, behind you. Just taking off my wet jacket.”

  “Don’t you even think of leaving this room without me.”

  “It’ll never happen.”

  “I’ll help you get supper ready, Karen. Just give me a few more minutes.”

  “Right,” Karen said with a strong hint of sarcasm. “Then maybe afterward you can help me clean up and get the prep work done for breakfast and then go socialize with the guests for a few hours, maybe play some cribbage or a few hands of poker. Oh, and how could I forget? Listen to fish stories.”

  “Right,” Libby echoed.

  “I thought fly fishermen were obsessed, but people searching for planes are even worse.” Libby felt Karen give her shoulder a squeeze to take the sting out of the words. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I hate not being able to keep an eye on you, now that you’re searching up beyond the point. I worried all day long, especially when the wind came up. You must be starving. Sit down, Carson, and I’ll feed the two of you.”

  Carson dropped into the seat beside her, and Libby glanced at him. He’d shrugged out of his parka and removed his hat but he was still dripping wet. “You should’ve worn one of those orange suits, too,” she said.

  He shrugged. “There’s only the one. The rest of them are with my crew.”

  Karen placed a plate of food before each of them. Libby smelled roast chicken and her mouth watered. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She picked up her fork and dug in. With each bite she felt her strength and resolve return. When her plate was clean she was aware that Carson was staring. She stared back, cheeks warming. “I was hungry.”

  “You’ll have to give me a few more minutes,” he said. “I’m not as speedy as you.”

  Karen heard the phone ring and left the kitchen, only to return immediately. “Libby? Your mother’s on the line.”

  Libby hurried into the living room and picked up the phone. “Mom? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, but I was worried. You didn’t call Susan today.”

  “Not yet, I was just getting ready to.” Truth was, Libby had forgotten all about calling.

  “When are you coming home?”

  “Soon. I’m going to help Karen with the rooms this weekend then fly back on Sunday afternoon when the air service brings a new batch of guests in.”

  “I wish you’d come home now. I don’t like you being there. You haven’t found the plane, have you?”

  “We still have a few more hours of search time, Mom. It could still happen.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Libby. Nothing matters except that you are safe.”

  “It does matter, Mom,” Libby said. She lowered her voice. “I want you to have the kind of life you should have been living all along. I want you to have a nice house in a nice place.”

  “I love my little house and I don’t want to leave here. This is my village and these people are my people.”

  “But things could be so much better….”

  “Better for you, maybe, but I am happy. I have everything I need, except my daughter. Come home, Libby. Come away from that dangerous place.”

  “I love you, Mom, and I’ll be home very soon. Why don’t you let Susan win just one cribbage game before I get back?”

  Libby returned to the kitchen, picked up her mug of tea and sipped it standing next to the woodstove. She watched while Carson finished his plate, and then set her mug on the table. “You ready to go?”

  He pushed to his feet. “You don’t have to come. I can do it alone. And I told you I’d come back. This isn’t the end of the search.”

  “And I told you that might be too late. You promised me a week and we have four more hours of good light.”

  “And very bad weather,” Karen interjected. “Don’t go back out there, Libby. The rain…”

  “I’m not made of sugar.” Libby picked up the bulky orange flotation suit and held it toward Carson. “You wear it this time. My parka’s pretty waterproof.”

  “Libby, don’t be foolish,” Karen said. “Let me see if Graham’s here. He can go out with Carson. He’s perfectly capable of driving the boat.”

  “Graham’s done enough as it is,” Libby said, but Karen had already left the room. She looked at Carson. “It’s just a few hours more,” she said. “Please. Let me go. I have to go. This is the last chance I’ll ever have of finding my father’s plane, and your last chance of getting that big salvage fee.”

  Carson hesitated for a long moment then gave her a reluctant nod. “All right. Suit up. It’s going to be a long, cold four hours and you’re not going back out onto that lake unless you’re properly attired.”

  DANIEL FREY WAS IN a foul mood and had been all day. Luanne thought it was because of the weather, but she realized after hearing him muttering out on the porch after supper that the dreary rain was only partly to blame. She was stepping out the screen door to bring him his brandy and box of cigars when she heard him say, as he peered through his binoculars, “No, no, no…they won’t go back out tonight. Lake’s too rough. Too rainy… Pointless for them to be out in it. They’ll stay at the lodge….”

  And then, even as she set the tray on the little table, Frey lurched forward in his seat.

  “By God!” he muttered. “They’re going back out. Both of them. What does it mean? What does it mean? They’d only go back out in this if they thought they found something….”

  “Here’s your after-dinner brandy, Mr. Frey,” Luanne said.

  Frey never responded, just stared through the binoculars and continued muttering beneath his breath. He was clearly agitated. Luanne could barely make out the opposite shore through the gray veil of rain, but she saw the people getting into the rubber boat and guessed that it was Carson Dodge and Libby Wilson.

  “There’s only one reason they’d go back out on a night like tonight…only one reason,” he said. “I should’ve taken care of this a long time ago. A long time ago….” His face looked ashen, almost blue in color.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Frey? Do you need me to bring you your heart pills?”

  He jerked his head around, eyes blazing with anger. “I need you to leave me the hell alone!” he barked.

  Luanne backed swiftly away. Before she reentered the lodge she cast a brief glance over her shoulder. Frey was staring through the binoculars again, muttering. She felt chilled. What a strange and evil soul he was. Graham was right. She shouldn’t be working here. Tomorrow she would give her two-week notice, and if he gave her any grief she would leave at once, without working it out. Karen Whitten had already said she’d hire her. It would be nice to work for a pleasant employer even if she had to take a pay cut, and it would be wonderful to be nearer to Graham. She’d find another way to finish her thesis. Working for Frey wasn’t worth it.

  She watched the rubber boat motor up the west arm and after it had disappeared around the point she stepped back inside the lodge and started for the kitchen, glad to put some distance between herself and Daniel Frey.

  He scared her.

  BY 9:00 P.M. LIBBY WAS beginning to regret her decision to return to the lake. The mustang suit protected her from the brunt of the weather, but the wind had worsened and the waves sometimes broke over the sides on their crosswind legs of the search pattern. Twice now Carson had asked her to quit, and twice she’d stubbornly refused.

  He looked up again from the sonar screen after a big wave rocked the boat up on its side. “We have
to go back in,” he said, voice raised to carry over the sound of the wind and waves. “The weather’s getting worse and the resolution is so bad it’s getting difficult to make out anything on the monitor. I’ve let out all the cable I can, and it isn’t helping.” The wind was picking the water off the surface of the lake and making visibility poor. Libby knew he was right. It was becoming more and more difficult to control the boat, and she was having to bail as well as steer the proper pattern. But the desperation inside of her burned brighter by the moment. She hated to give up the search. She knew there would be no second chance.

  “Just one more hour!” she shouted back, blinking the rain out of her eyes.

  Carson raised his arm and gestured emphatically. “Now!” he bellowed. “There’s no point in continuing. We could drive right over the wreckage and I wouldn’t be able to see it. I’ll come back, Libby, I swear I will. As soon as I fix my ship I’ll be back and I’ll find the damned plane. Frey can’t stop me from looking, and he won’t be able to do anything in a few days time. Now head for shore and keep the bow into the wind. We’ll make the nearest landfall and wait until the wind dies down.”

  Libby bit back her protests. She wasn’t just risking her own life, she was risking his, and that was just plain wrong. They were about half a mile from shore, but keeping the bow into the wind would mean angling across the west arm and making landfall at least a mile above Carson’s point. It was the longest way back, but the safest.

  She hunched down inside the warm protection of the mustang suit as rain pelted her face, and kept the bow into the wind.