Refuge Cove

by Janet Dailey

  But when he tried to use the radio, there was nothing but silence. From the shock of the crash, or for whatever reason, the radio was dead.

  * * *

  When Emma came down for her shift at eleven o’clock, she had the loaded pistol John had given her tucked into the pocket of her uniform. Small as it was, the gun had enough weight to bump against her leg and bulge slightly beneath her apron. If a customer noticed it, she might be in trouble. But after Boone’s visit that morning, she would not be leaving her room without it.

  By noon the wind had let up. Gray clouds, drizzling cold rain, hung over the town. But the weather wasn’t harsh enough to keep people from donning their rain gear and coming out to socialize over lunch.

  “We get a lot of rain here,” Pearl explained. “If we let it keep us indoors, we’d all turn into hermits.”

  Pearl hadn’t been here earlier when Boone had stopped by the window. Emma hadn’t told her about the brief visit. Pearl already knew that Boone was a threat. And after the fuss when Philpot had shown up, Emma had made a resolution—no more drama in the workplace.

  The TV above the bar had been on all day with news of the storm. But there’d been no word from John. She could only hope he’d found a safe place to wait out the storm, and that he’d be home tonight. His text had mentioned that he wanted to talk. Did that mean he wanted to move forward together, or was he preparing her for good-bye? Either way, she would have to be ready. John was not an easy man to read.

  David came in at his usual time. His mother let him out of the Escalade and drove away without so much as a wave. It was easy to understand why the boy wanted a job and a car. John’s son was growing up. What he craved was independence.

  It was about four o’clock, and Emma was helping David set the tables for dinner when the breaking news screen flashed onto the TV. Emma stood stunned, the forks in her hand clattering to the floor as the newscaster read the bulletin.

  “A mail plane has been reported missing and is presumed to have gone down in the storm, somewhere between Petersburg and Sitka. Earlier today, the pilot, John Wolf, flying out of Ketchikan, radioed his position and indicated that he was trying to land. Nothing further has been heard from him. Attempts to contact him by radio have received no response. Search planes will be going out as soon as the weather clears.”

  Emma glanced at David. Like her, he was frozen to the spot, staring up at the TV as the broadcast continued. Pearl had come out of the kitchen, and she stood beside them, listening.

  “We go now to our reporter in Sitka, speaking with Saul Mazursky, a former bush pilot and now mail supervisor. What’s your take on this, Mr. Mazursky?”

  An older man, weathered and graying, spoke into the microphone. “If you know anything about bush pilots, you know two things—that they’re tough and that they’re like family to each other. The men in the air looking for John Wolf will be his friends and brothers. And they won’t rest until they find him, because they know that John would do the same for them. He’s one of the best pilots and finest men I’ve ever known—honest, dedicated, selfless, and as tough as they come. John, I know you can’t hear me. But if you could, I would tell you, hang in there. Somebody’s . . . coming.” Mazursky blinked and shoved the microphone back at the reporter.

  Emma looked at David again. Tears were trickling down his face. He was hearing about his father, the man he hadn’t been allowed to know.

  See, your mother was wrong. People do change. Or maybe he was the same man all along. That was what she wanted to say to him. But those weren’t the words the boy needed to hear. Instead, what she said was, “Pray for him, David. That’s what he needs from you now.”

  * * *

  John walked along the beach doing his best to stay alert. The wind had eased, and the rain was letting up some. But clouds lay like a thick gray blanket as far as the eye could see. He had spent much of the afternoon trying to fix the radio, with no success. He’d even tried his cell phone, but, as he should have known, there was no service here.

  In an hour it would be dark. Not that it mattered. No pilot would be searching for him in this weather.

  Even once the sky cleared, John knew that finding him wouldn’t be easy. He had landed in a narrow inlet, with high cliffs on either side. A pilot in a plane would only be able to see him from directly overhead. Before then, he could pass out from the concussion or die of hunger and thirst—but he mustn’t think of that now. He had set out anything that might hold water to collect the rain, saving the two precious quart bottles for as long as he could. Drinking the seawater in the inlet would only dehydrate him faster.

  The night would be long and cold. Wrapped in his sheepskin coat, John had walked the length and breadth of the island looking for something that would make a fire. But this small pile of rock had no trees on it. And the few sticks of driftwood he’d collected were too waterlogged to burn. If he was to have any hope of rescue, when the time came, he would need to light a signal fire. For that he would need enough fuel to attract attention. Maybe something from the plane would work. But he would have to worry about that tomorrow.

  He had planned to be home tonight, to pick up Emma after her work and drive someplace where they could be alone and talk. It was too soon for anything like a proposal, but he needed to know whether she could be happy in a place like Ketchikan, or whether she’d be walking out of his life as soon as she was able to leave.

  If he could find the courage to say the words, he might even tell her he loved her.

  Did she know he was missing? Had it been on the news, or was she waiting, expecting the call that wasn’t going to happen?

  Whatever it took, John vowed, he would survive to return to her and have that talk.

  * * *

  After a sleepless night, Emma was up at the crack of dawn. She dressed hurriedly, splashed her face, and hurried downstairs to the bar to turn on the TV.

  It was too soon to expect good news, she told herself. But the clouds were breaking up. Search planes would be in the air. She could only pray that John would be found soon, and that he would be safe.

  When the regional broadcast came on, there were no surprises. The search had begun, but it was too soon to expect results. The news program moved on to other stories—the cleanup after the storm, a robbery in Wasilla, and a bear attack at a fishing resort. Still, until the time came to change for her shift, Emma stayed in front of the TV in the hope of hearing that John had been rescued. But there was no more word of the search.

  Pearl came in a few minutes before the lunch shift. One look at Emma’s face told her she was still waiting for news. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said, giving Emma a hug. “With so much territory to cover, these searches can take time. They’ll find him. You’ll see.”

  But will he be alive? Refusing to voice the thought, Emma fixed her face in a smile and finished setting the last table.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you,” Pearl said. “David won’t be in today. His mother called to say he wasn’t feeling well.” She moved closer to Emma, lowering her voice. “Between you and me, I heard from Carl that David and Marlena had a blowup over David’s wanting to spend time with John. Things got pretty emotional. I’m guessing Marlena didn’t want him coming in today. I hope she doesn’t make him quit. David has a mind of his own and he’s becoming a man. She can’t control him forever.”

  “You’re right, I’m sure,” Emma said. “But I know John wouldn’t want to cause trouble between them.”

  Pearl shook her head. “Maybe not. But sometimes things happen for a reason. People change. They grow up. And there are worse things than David’s learning that his father is a good man after all.”

  Around three o’clock in the afternoon, four noisy male hotel guests came into the bar to drink beer, eat snacks, and watch a pro football game on TV. That put an end to Emma’s news tracking—perhaps a good thing, she told herself. Each hour with no word about John only sank her deeper into despair. If he’d been found, and he was all r
ight, he would likely call her. But if the news was bad, she wasn’t family. Nobody would let her know. She could only wait to hear the worst.

  As she worked, she felt the weight of the pistol in her pocket. All day she’d kept an eye out the window for Boone. He hadn’t appeared, but she was still nervous. As long as she could stay in the hotel with people around her or lock herself in her room, she felt safe. But she couldn’t hide from Boone forever. Sooner or later, something would have to change—and she would have to be ready for it.

  Dinnertime was even busier than usual. With David gone, Emma, Pearl, and the other workers had to do his job along with their own. By closing time, when all the diners had paid and left, Emma felt dead on her feet. She cleared the last table, sank onto a bar stool, and clicked the remote through the channels in the hope of finding some news about John. But there was nothing on at this hour but sports, shopping shows, and old sitcom reruns. Giving in to strain and exhaustion, she laid her head on the bar and closed her eyes.

  “Emma.” It was the voice of Andy, the night manager at the hotel desk. “Two men in the lobby want to talk to you.”

  Two men. Emma’s heart dropped. Was this like the military, where they sent two uniformed men to tell families their loved one had died? Had John told them where to find her before—

  Never mind. Whatever the news was, she had to face it the way John would want her to. Taking a deep breath, and feeling slightly dizzy, she forced herself to walk through the door.

  Two men stood at the foot of the stairs. The shorter one was a stranger, stubble-faced and wearing a down parka.

  The other man, wrapped in a survival blanket, wearing a bandage on his head, and looking like a refugee from a war zone, was John.

  With a little cry, she ran to him, almost knocking him backward with her joy. He winced as her arms went around him.

  “Careful,” the shorter man said. “The doc thinks he might have a cracked rib. He’s got a concussion, too. They wanted to keep him at the hospital in Sitka but he insisted on coming back here. I live here in Ketchikan, and I was flying home, so it wasn’t any trouble to bring him along. But he’ll need somebody to keep an eye on him tonight.”

  “I can do that. He can stay in my room,” Emma said without a second thought. She never wanted to let this man out of her sight again.

  “Clive, here, was the one who found me.” John spoke with effort. “I’d about given up when he flew over and saw me.”

  “He made a signal fire by pouring gasoline over his old sheepskin coat and one of the seats from the plane,” Clive said. “If I hadn’t spotted the smoke, I never would’ve seen where he was. And that landing was a doozy! I almost cracked up myself.”

  “I’d do the same for you any day,” John said. “Pray to God I’ll never have to. Meanwhile, I’ll take you and your family out for a steak dinner after I’m on my feet again.”

  “I’d better help him up the stairs,” Clive said. “The doctor gave him something for the pain. He’s a little shaky.”

  Emma glanced at Andy behind the desk. “No problem,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  Pearl was standing in the doorway to the restaurant. Their gazes met. Call David. Emma mouthed the words and saw Pearl nod. Then she followed Clive as he steadied John on his way up the stairs.

  Her mind swarmed with unasked questions. But the answers could wait. Right now nothing mattered except that John was safe and alive, and that he’d come back to her.

  CHAPTER 12

  Clive helped Emma ease John onto the double bed and get him out of his boots, socks, shirt, and trousers, leaving on his long, insulating underwear to help keep him warm while he rested.

  “Hey, I’m not a patient,” John protested as they finished undressing him and tucked him into bed with pillows to prop him into a semi-reclining position. “I can do this by myself.”

  “But will you do it, or will you get up and be off on some cockeyed errand? Knowing you, I’d advise Emma, here, to hide your clothes.” Clive laid John’s holstered pistol on the bedside table. “You heard the doctor. Warmth and bed rest, at least until tomorrow. And with that concussion, no sleeping too long at one time.”

  “Are you hungry?” Emma asked John. “I can warm up some chowder in the kitchen.”

  “They fed me in Sitka. I’m fine.”

  “My wife and kids will be wondering what became of me.” Clive gave Emma a card he’d taken from his wallet. “Here’s my cell number. If he gets too rambunctious, give me a call. I’ll come over and set him straight.”

  Emma seized his hand at the door. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she said.

  “Think nothing of it. John would’ve done the same for me. Maybe someday he will. Meanwhile, take good care of him. He said some nice things about you. I can see they’re all true.” Before Emma could thank him again, he was gone.

  When she turned back to look at John, he was sitting up in the bed, a tired smile on his face. “Lock the door,” he said. “All three locks.”

  Emma did as she was told. “Anything else?” she asked, not knowing quite what to expect.

  “Yes. Take off that godawful outfit, get into something comfortable, and come keep me company. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  “Yes, we do.” She untied her apron, lifted the little Kel-Tec pistol out of her pocket, and laid it next to his big .44.

  Her fingers hesitated on the top button of her uniform. “Don’t look,” she said.

  He turned his head away, “Good Lord, Emma, haven’t you ever undressed in front of a man?”

  “Sorry, I was raised by my grandma, with her old-fashioned rules. They sank in deep.” She let the baggy pink uniform dress fall around her ankles, shed her bra, and reached for the top half of the thermal set she’d been using for pajamas.

  “I suppose you could change in the bathroom.”

  “Yes, I know . . . but that seems almost . . . cowardly. Besides, it’s cold in there.” She kicked off her sneakers and pulled on the thermal bottoms. “All right, you can look,” she said.

  He was laughing, which was probably hurting his cracked rib. “Emma Hunter, you’re one in a million,” he said. “Damn it, I love you.”

  Her hand shook as she tightened the drawstring around her waist. “I love you, too,” she said, the confession wrung from her by profound relief. “I would have stopped living if you hadn’t come back. Not that it makes anything less complicated.”

  He shifted against the pillows to make room for her, resting an arm along the top. “Come here,” he said.

  She did, snuggling up alongside him, her head nesting in the hollow of his shoulder. Nothing in her life had ever felt more right. They had so many things to say to each other, and all night to say them. The only question was where to begin.

  She raised her face. He bent his head and gave her a lopsided kiss that lingered long enough to send warm tingles through her body. “Tell me about the accident,” she said. So he told her the story—the storm, the crash landing, the damage to the plane, and having to wait more than twenty-four hours in the damp cold before hearing the sound of an approaching Beaver. “By then I had the fire ready—a pile of junk from the plane, including one of the seats, even my coat. I poured gasoline over everything, tossed a match, and prayed that whoever was up there would see the smoke.”

  “And Clive found you. What about the plane?”

  “It’s still there. I’ll have to pay somebody with a boat to get to it and fix it or tow it out. It won’t be easy or cheap, but that plane is like an old friend. I can’t leave it there to rust.” His arm tightened around her. “Now, how about you? I was glad to see you were packing that pistol.”

  “Boone knows I’m here,” she said, and felt his body tense against her. “When Philpot came by and recognized me, I knew it would only be a matter of time before he told Boone. Then, during the storm, I was in the bar. Boone walked up to the window and just stood there. He was wearing a hoodie, and when he pulled it back, I saw the
burns. I’ve stayed inside and carried that pistol ever since.”

  “Don’t take any chances, Emma.” His voice had taken on a serious tone. “Boone could be more dangerous than you know. Remember when you were speculating that he might have done to other women what he did to you?”

  “Yes, I made a sick joke about bodies buried out behind that trailer.” She looked up at him and read his expression. “Oh, no . . .” she murmured.

  “A lot of things have happened since we last had time to talk,” he said. “Philpot told me he’d performed an earlier fake wedding for Boone last spring. He saw it as a prank—a way for Boone to get reluctant women into his bed.”

  “So what happened to the woman? Does anybody know?”

  “Philpot said she was older and plain, with big, thick glasses. When I drove to the trailer, I found a pair of women’s glasses with thick lenses under a bush. I’ve been trying to get Traverton to send a team out there to search. So far he’s been dragging his feet. He doesn’t want to waste time and resources on what could be a wild-goose chase. But whatever happened, that woman wouldn’t have left without her glasses.”

  Emma felt a chill, as if cold hands had tightened around her throat. “You think he murdered her?”

  “Without a body, there’s no way to tell. I took photos of the glasses and left them in place for evidence. Traverton showed the photos to Philpot for identification. But Philpot had a convenient memory block.”

  “By now he will have passed the word to Boone,” Emma said. “If Boone knows he’s liable to be charged, he could run—maybe across the border to Canada. At least, then, we’d be rid of him.”

  “Don’t count on it. Boone could hide in the bush forever and still be a danger to you. He needs to be put away.” His arm tightened, pulling her closer. “On a more cheerful note, I found evidence that Boone may have finished burning the trailer himself, after you got away from him. So you’re off the hook for that.”