She sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, and stared at Karen for a few panic-stricken moments. “I was dreaming,” she said.
“That had to have been more like a nightmare.”
Libby brushed her hair back with one hand. “Are the wardens waiting?”
“Yes. They’ve gotten statements from everyone. I had them save you for last, so you could get some sleep. You’ve been napping for about two hours.”
Libby followed Karen back up to the lodge. Her head ached worse than ever. The wardens were drinking coffee in the kitchen and eating sandwiches Karen had prepared. They glanced up when she stepped into the room and the younger one gestured to a chair. “We’ll need to get your account of what happened,” he said around a mouthful.
“Did you arrest Daniel Frey?”
The younger warden fidgeted while the older one said, “If he’s found guilty of reckless operation and leaving the scene of an accident, he’ll be fined accordingly.”
“Reckless operation? Fined? That man is guilty of murder and attempted murder and he belongs in jail!”
“Now look,” the older warden began.
Anger made a bitter taste in Libby’s mouth. “Where’s Carson Dodge? He’ll tell you what happened.”
“We have Mr. Dodge’s statement. He was in a hurry to get back to Anchorage so we took his first. Now we need to get yours. If you’ll have a seat…”
Libby whirled to look out the window and felt her heart skip a beat. He was packing up, preparing to sneak off while she was being detained and questioned by two wardens who had no intentions whatsoever of seeing that justice was served! Heedless of the startled protests made by the wardens, she raced for the door, flew down the steps, and ran along the shoreline path.
“Carson!” she shouted as she rounded the point and drew near enough for him to hear. He was standing on the pontoon and tossing a duffel into the rear of the plane. He glanced over his shoulder and then jumped off the pontoon and came ashore. She skidded to a stop in front of him, out of breath but full of fire. “Were you planning on leaving without saying goodbye?”
“I was just packing up some gear,” he said. “The paperwork took a long time, and I have to fly that engine part out to the ship and fix what’s busted before dark.”
“Frey’s going to get away with it, isn’t he?”
“He told the wardens he was out fishing when the weather turned dirty. He said he was making for home as quickly as he could and didn’t see us. He felt the collision and went back to look but didn’t see anything, so he returned to his dock. He would have summoned the wardens himself to report the incident, but when he got back he suffered some sort of heart malfunction and his medications didn’t work and he’s been bedridden ever since.”
Carson’s expression remained carefully neutral while he related this to her. Libby clenched her hands into fists.
“You mean, they’re just going to let him stay here?” she said in disbelief.
“No. As a matter of fact, he’s getting a free trip with the wardens to the Fairbanks hospital to get his heart checked out and his medications adjusted.”
Libby turned her back to him and stood in rigid silence, staring toward Frey’s lodge. Words couldn’t begin to describe what she was feeling. When Carson touched her shoulder she had to fight to compose herself before turning to face him. He looked exhausted, and not even his typically stoic tough guy expression could hide the pain that shadowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t be flying anywhere,” she said. “You shouldn’t be doing anything but sleeping right now. I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“I’m not leaving yet. Not for a little while, anyway. I told you I’d check out the crash site before I left, and I plan to.”
For the first time Libby noticed the pile of dive gear on the shore behind him. It was unbelievable to her that he would even consider such a risky endeavor in the shape he was in. “No way. Not in your condition. It’s way too dangerous.”
“It’s no more dangerous than commuting to work in busy rush-hour traffic. Graham’s picking me up in a few minutes. Go talk to the wardens.”
She shook her head. “I mean it, Carson. The plane has waited twenty-eight years. It can wait a few more days. If you insist on doing something, go fix your ship.”
“I plan on it. I also plan on making one short dive and locating the plane. Solly’s probably waiting to point out the spot.”
“Graham can tell him we’ve postponed things.”
“He’s an old man, Libby. He could die in his sleep tonight.”
“And you could die while diving on the crash site. You could have one of your coughing spells and drown. That’s possible, isn’t it? We know the general area. Isn’t that enough?”
His eyes narrowed. “You really want me to leave here without checking out the crash site?”
“Yes.” Libby forced herself to nod coolly when what she really wanted to do was to beg him not to leave, ever, and ask him to hold her again, the way he’d held her by the river up at Solly’s cabin. Hold her until she felt safe because she was so sure she’d never feel that way again unless she was in his arms, and she was so afraid that if he left now, he’d never return. “I really do. It’s too risky. You could bring back your other divers when you come and let them be the ones who look.”
“No way.” He took one step closer so Libby had to look up at him, and she recognized the move for the power play it was. “I’ve put a lot of hours in on this search and I’m going to be the one who finds the plane.”
“That’s foolish macho talk and you know it,” Libby said, trying unsuccessfully to make herself taller. “You can supervise the recovery. Let someone else take the risks for a while, at least until you’re back on your feet.”
“Get this straight,” he said in a voice as hard as granite. “I am on my feet and I’m diving on the site. I said I would, and I’m a man of my word, remember? Now go talk to the wardens and let me finish packing. I’ll be flying out of here by midafternoon.”
LIBBY FUMED HER WAY BACK to the lodge. Stubborn, egotistical tough guy. The kind that always died young. Or almost always. A few survived. Carson had made it this long, maybe he was smarter than most, or luckier. But one thing was certain; he was compromised right now, and as much as she wanted to find her father’s plane, it wasn’t worth risking lives for.
Especially Carson’s life.
But how could she stop him?
She burst back into the kitchen, where she surprised the wardens, who were just finishing off two pieces of Karen’s apple pie. “Okay, listen up. My name is Libby Wilson and this is my statement,” she said, bracing her hands on the table and leaning intently toward the wardens, who sat back in their seats with full mouths and startled expressions. “Daniel Frey knows I’m looking for a plane that crashed in this lake twenty-eight years ago, and he doesn’t want it found. He’d do anything to prevent me from dredging up the past, because that would prove that he caused the plane crash that killed the pilot, Connor Libby, who happened to be his godson. A godson, may I point out, that he didn’t particularly care for all that much, especially since he was planning to marry an Athapaskan girl and bring her back to the lodge to live. Ask Daniel Frey how he feels about the indigenous help he has to hire and you’ll understand why he refused to attend his godson’s wedding and why he refused to acknowledge the existence of his godson’s child.
“He tried to kill us last night because the conditions were perfect for a boating accident. There was a storm. Visibility was poor. He could run us down with his boat and if anyone suspected anything he could feed them the pack of lies he’s already fed you. There’s just one problem. He failed. I’m still here, and so is Carson Dodge. And not only that, we’ve located my father’s plane. So do me a favor. When you ferry the oh-so-rich-and-powerful Daniel Frey back to Fairbanks to meet with his heart specialist, be sure to tell him that by the time he gets back, he’ll probably be seeing that long-lost yellow de Havilland Beaver floating on the surface of Evening Lake, givi
ng up all its secrets. Tell him there’s a witness that places him at the crash site right after it happened. A witness who saw Frey take the pontoons and tow them two miles to the outlet of the lake just to throw your fellow wardens off the search. And tell him that he’ll definitely be seeing me, Connor Libby’s daughter, in court, fighting to get back what’s legally mine and what should have been my mother’s for the past twenty-eight years. Did you get all of that?”
She straightened from the table and was about to leave the kitchen with the two wardens staring after her, slack jawed, when Karen met her in the doorway.
“Libby? That guy Trig’s on the phone again. He’s looking for Carson and he says there’s a storm brewing in the Pacific.”
“I’ll take that call,” Libby said.
CARSON WAS WAITING ON THE shore when Graham arrived with the big aluminum boat. He was glad the boat could beach right on the gravel shore because the dive gear was awkward to handle. Graham carried most of it to the boat then gave him a long speculative look. “This stuff’s pretty heavy, man. You sure you want to do this?”
He gave a curt nod, irritated by the unspoken implication that he might not be up to it. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
As they motored around the point and into the west arm, Carson wondered if he’d ever get it back again. He wondered if he’d ever lift another heavy object or take another step without feeling weak and inferior, without feeling his own mortality. He wondered if he’d ever feel like a real man ever again. Not for the first time he found himself wishing that Trig had just left him to die down there, in the cold, dark deep. How could he learn to settle for less than he’d been? How could he learn to live with the limp, with the hand that wouldn’t function properly, with the lung that burned as if it was full of hot coals? How could he ever come to grips with a woman the likes of Libby Wilson looking at him, not with strong stirrings of sexual attraction, but with concern and pity?
He was going to dive on the crash site and the way he felt right now, he didn’t give a shit if he died while doing it. Dying in action, doing something you liked to do, sure beat dying an old man in a nursing home with years of uselessness piled up behind him, years of self-pity and reminiscing about his younger years.
Besides, he might find the plane and end up with a nice chunk of change in his severely depleted bank account, which would feel almost as good as proving those damn doctors wrong.
“TRIG?” LIBBY SPOKE INTO the satellite phone. “It’s Libby Wilson. I have some questions for you about Carson. Do you think he’s capable of diving on the crash site of the plane he’s been searching for?”
There was a pause. “Capable? Are you kidding me?”
“What I mean is, did his doctors okay him for that?”
This time there was an abrupt laugh. “Doctors? Lady, Carson hates doctors. He signed himself out of the hospital a week before they wanted to release him. He’d still be in there if they’d had their way, but he hates ’em. Hates hospitals and hates doctors. They told him, all those specialists did, that he’d never dive again. Too much damage, they said. They told him he’d need months of physical therapy and he was lucky to be alive.”
Libby slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. “I thought as much,” she said. “I need some advice. How do I stop him from diving?”
Another laugh. “Gotta gun? ’Cause that’s what it’ll take.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“You could try to subdue him, but even now Carson could probably whip all of us with one arm tied behind his back. He’s tougher than hell. I’m sure he can handle whatever dive job you throw at him. I wouldn’t worry.” A brief pause followed. “Look, put the king on the phone and let me talk to him. We have a situation here.”
“I can’t. He’s out on the lake preparing to dive on the crash site.”
There was another pause, then she heard a frustrated swear. “Okay then, tell him we’re still dead in the water. Tell him there’s a storm brewing, and without her engines the Pacific Explorer could be lost. Maybe that’ll get him down here quicker. The Coast Guard is prepared to fly the fuel pump out to us by chopper, but Carson cobbled the engine together and he’s the only one who understands how it ticks. We’re just cooling our heels out here on the deep blue sea, waiting for him to rescue us. And lady? That’s no lie. We’re going to be in real trouble if he doesn’t make his appearance soon. They’re predicting twenty-foot seas and seventy-knot winds when this storm kicks into high gear.”
Karen was waiting with a questioning expression when Libby hung up the sat phone. “Can I borrow a boat?” Libby asked.
“Mike’s is down at the dock. Is there anything I can do?”
“Pray,” Libby said on her way out the door. She ran down to the dock, aware that Carson and Graham were already out on the lake and hoping she wouldn’t be too late. It would take time for Carson to get into the diving gear. A lot of time, considering how crippled up he was. She jumped into the boat, threw off the lines and started the motor.
THE OLD MAN WAS WAITING down near the mouth of the Yaktektuk, squatting on his heels and smoking a cigarette. Carson thought he had to be at least ninety years old and was glad he’d lived a few hours more. He stood as Graham maneuvered the boat close to the shore.
“Dad, we’re going to take the boat out really slowly. You stand there and give me hand signals to the right or left. Wave your arm over your head if you want me to go farther out. When you think we’re in the right place, wave both arms over your head. Okay?”
The old man nodded.
Graham backed the boat away from shore and while Carson continued the slow and painstaking process of donning the wet suit. Graham politely avoided watching him by keeping his eye on his father.
“I guess you’ve been diving a long time, huh?” he said.
“Yeah,” Carson replied. “A long time.” He struggled awkwardly with the zipper and felt the boat alter course in response to the old man’s gesturing.
“How deep can you go in that gear?”
“Deep enough. Your father said the water was fairly shallow where the plane went down.”
“That was years ago,” Graham said. “Things change. The plane could be farther out than he thought, and this is a pretty deep lake.”
Carson heard the sound of an approaching boat and glanced up, swearing under his breath when he saw who it was. The last person he wanted to see right now was Libby. The wardens had questioned him for nearly an hour. She shouldn’t be out here this soon. He should have been done with the dive before she got out on the lake.
She charged toward them at full throttle, cutting the engine back at the last moment and swerving sharply to bleed off speed. Her boat came up neatly beside theirs, its wake rocking up against them. Libby’s face was set in determined lines. “You just had a phone call from Trig. He was calling from your ship. You have to leave right away. They’re in trouble. There’s a storm coming up and if you don’t fix the engine as soon as possible, the ship could be lost.”
Carson listened to her terse delivery and narrowed his eyes. “Nice try.”
She leaned toward him, face flushed and eyes flashing. “It’s the truth. Call him yourself if you don’t believe me. He said they’re predicting twenty-foot seas and winds to seventy knots when the storm hits.”
“They can wait another hour,” Carson said.
Graham suddenly cut the motor. “That’s it,” he said, gazing toward shore to where the old man stood, waving both arms over his head. “We’re over the crash site.”
“Drop the diver’s buoy over to mark the spot,” Carson said, reaching for his air tank.
Libby reached out and grasped the side of their boat. “Carson, I’m asking you not to dive. Don’t make me beg.”
“Don’t even bother trying,” Carson said. “I’ve never cared much for beggars.” He hefted the air tank, swung it up and shrugged into the shoulder harness. Damn, the thing felt heavier than lead. He waited out a cramping b
urn that might have turned into a coughing fit. “This won’t take long. I’m going down to check out the site, that’s all.” He was buckling the waist belt when he felt the boat rock and glanced up to see that Libby had jumped aboard.
“Trade boats,” she said to Graham, who wasted no time claiming her craft and heading immediately for friendlier waters, abandoning them without a backward glance. Libby dropped into the seat in the stern, started the motor and throttled away from the dive site. She stared directly over his shoulder as she steered the boat down the lake, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Where the hell are you going?” he shouted over the sound of the motor, anger warming his blood. “Dammit, Libby, the plane was right there. We could have been right on top of it!”
“The plane isn’t going anywhere, and your ship is in danger.” She kept her eyes fixed dead ahead and her expression was determined. “Your crew needs you.”
“And all of a sudden you don’t? A few days ago you were frantic for me to find that plane!”
“A few days ago, I believed that was the most important thing in my life,” she said.
“And now it isn’t?”
They were approaching the point, and she throttled down. “It’s still important,” she said, speaking in a more normal tone and looking at him for the first time. “But other things are more important.”
“What the hell could be more important than proving you’re the rightful heir to the Libby fortune? What could be more important than proving that Daniel Frey killed your father?”
She cut the motor as they came alongside the plane and she steadied the boat against the pontoon. “I’ll help you load your diving gear,” she said.
“That dive wouldn’t have taken long. Half an hour, max.”
“Your air tank, please.” She stepped toward him, balancing lightly on her feet, and waited for him to unbuckle and shrug out of the harness.
“You think you don’t need me to find the plane because Graham’s father knows where it is? Is that it? You think you can save yourself a hundred and fifty grand by sending me away? Well, let me tell you something about lake ice. That plane could be miles away from where Solly Johnson saw it go down. The ice shifts everything all around, and the ice floes coming out of that river at breakup could’ve pushed it way out into the deep.”
Everything To Prove Page 23