The first thing Carrie did in her search for Finn Dalton was read the book. Not once, but three times. She underlined everything that gave her a single hint as to his identity.
For two days she skipped lunch, spending her time on the computer, seeking any bit of information she could find that would help her locate Finn Dalton. She went from one search engine to another.
“How’s it going?” Sophie asked as they met each other on their way out the door a couple of days later.
“Good.” Through her fact-finding mission, Carrie was getting a picture of the man who had written this amazing book. After a third read she almost felt as if she knew him. He hadn’t always been a recluse. He’d been raised in Alaska and had learned to live off the land from his father, whom he apparently idolized. One thing was certain, he seemed to have no use for women. In the entire book, not once did he mention his mother or any other female influence. It was more of what he didn’t say that caught Carrie’s attention.
“Any luck?” Sophie asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“Not yet.” She hesitated. “Have you read the book?”
Sophie nodded. “Sure. Nearly everyone has.”
“Did you notice he has nothing to say about the opposite sex? I have the feeling he distrusts women.”
Sophie shrugged as if she hadn’t paid much notice, but then she hadn’t been reading between the lines the way Carrie had.
“How old do you think he is?” Sophie asked.
“I can’t really say.” Finn was an excellent writer and storyteller. But the tales he relayed could have happened at nearly any point in the last several decades. Current events were skipped over completely.
Sophie crossed her arms and looked thoughtful. “My guess is that he’s fifty or so, to have survived on his own all these years.”
Speculation wouldn’t do Carrie any good. “Tell you what. When I find out, you’ll be the first to know. Deal?”
Sophie smiled and nodded. “Deal.”
That night, as Carrie readied for her latest charity event, her cell rang. It was her mother in Seattle. They spoke at least two or three times a week. Carrie was tight with her family and missed them dreadfully.
“Hi, Mom,” she answered, pressing her cell to one ear while she attempted to place a pearl earring in her other earlobe.
“Hi, sweetheart. Are you busy?”
“I’ve got a couple of minutes.” She switched ears and stabbed the second pearl into place before tucking her feet into a comfortable pair of high heels. She was scheduled to meet Harry in thirty minutes.
“Dad and I are so excited to see you at Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, about that.” Carrie grabbed her purse and tucked it under her arm while holding on to her phone. “Mom, I hate to tell you this, but there’s a possibility I might not make it home for Thanksgiving.”
“What?”
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.
Chapter Two
This had to be Finn Dalton’s mother. It simply had to be. From the moment Nash had given Carrie what seemed like the impossible assignment of interviewing Finn, she’d looked for out-of-the-box ways to locate him. Her mother’s mention of work on the Alaskan pipeline and that many of those employed came from Washington State had led to a breakthrough. At least she hoped so. The search led Carrie to the birth record for a Finnegan Paul Dalton, not in Alaska but in her own birth state of Washington. That record revealed his mother’s name—Joan Finnegan Dalton—which then led to a divorce decree, along with a license for a second marriage several years later. Tax records indicated that Joan, whose married
name was now Reese, continued to reside in Washington State. Her hope was that Joan Dalton Reese would be willing to help Carrie find Finn.
The November wind and rain whipped against her as she walked up the short pathway to the single-family house in Kent, a suburb south of Seattle.
Nerves made Carrie tense as she rang the doorbell and waited. After a few moments, she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. The woman who opened it didn’t look to be much older than her own mother.
“Joan Finnegan Dalton Reese?” Carrie asked.
The petite, dark-haired woman blinked warily, and her eyes widened as if she wasn’t sure what to think. “Yes?”
“By chance are you related to Finnegan Paul Dalton?”
She didn’t answer right away, and then her gaze narrowed. “You’re another one of those reporters, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I—”
Joan started to close the door, but Carrie quickly inserted her foot, stopping her.
The two women stared hard at each other. “Yes, I’m a reporter, but I’m hoping you’ll hear me out.”
“Why should I?” she demanded, and crossed her arms over her chest.
Carrie frantically searched for something that would convince the other woman to talk to her. “I can’t think of a single reason other than the fact that I’m tired of writing for the society page. I gave up spending time with my family over Thanksgiving with the hope that I could get this interview, and I think you have an incredible son, and I’d very much like to meet and interview him.”
The delicate woman looked undecided. “What do you mean you write for the society page?”
Carrie explained how she’d taken a few of her precious vacation days and flown to Seattle. It’d been a risk, but one she was willing to take. This would be the first year she’d missed the holiday with her parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Although it would be a sacrifice, her parents understood that if she did manage to interview Finn Dalton, then she would have her pick of writing assignments, and not just in Chicago, but perhaps in the Pacific Northwest. “I want to move back to Seattle to be closer to my family, and this is my chance.”
Joan eyed her carefully, and then, after what seemed like an eternity, she slowly opened the door, silently inviting Carrie inside.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.” Stepping out of the cold, Carrie instantly felt the warm flow of air surround her. She noticed a bronze pumpkin off to the right and a doll-sized set of pilgrims on the dining room table.
Joan motioned toward the living room. “How much do you know about my son?”
Carrie sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, unsure how best to answer. She could attempt to bluff or she could be direct in the hope that Joan Reese would be willing to help her. “Well, only what I’ve read in his book and what I’ve learned online, which isn’t much.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I haven’t talked to my Finn in five years, not since his father died … he told me he wants nothing more to do with me.”
Carrie read the pain in the other woman’s eyes, and not knowing how to react, she leaned forward and placed her hand on Joan’s forearm.
“I tried to connect with him after his father’s death, but Finn made it clear that I had nothing to say that he wanted to hear.” She wadded a tissue in her hands and kept her head lowered.
“So you don’t have any idea where Finn is living?” Carrie asked, her heart thumping with hope and expectation.
“Alaska, somewhere outside Fairbanks, but then you probably already know that.”
Seeing that he’d written extensively about life in the frozen north, this was the one piece of information she did have. And apparently so did every other news agency. His book told of adventures on the tundra, which indicated his cabin was most likely situated near the Arctic Circle. And that meant the only way to reach him would be by air, which would involve hiring a bush pilot.
“I’ve tried to find someone in Alaska to help me”—Carrie explained her efforts to talk to a number of resources, including bush pilots—“but it’s been one dead end after another.”
“At least you’re honest about being a reporter,” Joan said. “You couldn’t imagine what some of them have tried, thinking I could give them information that would lead them to my son. You, at least, are willing to admit why you’re doing this.”
“He probably never suspected this interest in him and his lifestyle would happen. People love his stories, and now they want to know about the man behind them.”
“He never forgave me, you see …” Joan murmured, her voice trailing away as she methodically tore apart the tissue in her hands.
“Forgave you?”
“I left him and his father when Finn was a boy. Paul loved Alaska, and I was born in Louisiana. I tried to make a life with him up there, but I couldn’t bear the cold and the isolation, whereas Paul and Finn seemed to thrive on it. I wanted us to compromise, come back to the lower forty-eight a few months each year, but Paul wasn’t willing to consider that. He insisted there was nothing for him outside Alaska. He felt any time away would be a waste. He had a dozen different projects going all the time and refused to leave. I wanted Finn to come with me, but my son chose to stay with his father.” She paused and looked away as if she regretted having spoken. “Once I left, Paul cut me completely out of his life, and Finn’s, too. Eventually I remarried, but it was more for companionship than love. Finn never forgave me for that, either. I think he must have held on to the dream that his father and I would reunite one day. My second husband died a year ago, so I’m a widow twice over.”
“I’m so sorry,” Carrie said.
“I wish I knew the man Finn has become,” Joan whispered.
“If I find him and have a chance to talk to him, I’ll tell him about meeting you. I can give him a message from you, even if it’s just to remind him that you love him and want to hear from him.”
Joan glanced up and her eyes brightened with what could be described only as ragged hope. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.” As close as she was to her own family, Carrie’s heart went out to Finn’s mother, still looking to connect with her son. Although she didn’t know him beyond the pages of his book, she couldn’t help wonder about a man who would turn his back on his mother.
“Then perhaps there’s a small way I can help,” Joan said, her eyes twinkling now.
“There is?” She had Carrie’s full attention.
Joan left the room and returned a few moments later with a simple gold ring. “This was Paul’s wedding band. When we divorced … he was angry and bitter, and he returned the ring to me. I’ve saved it all these years, and now that Paul is dead I would like Finn to have it.”
“You want me to give Finn his father’s ring?”
Joan nodded. “Finn has a friend named Sawyer. He’s a bush pilot who is often in Fairbanks. I could see Sawyer felt bad for the way Finn spoke to me at his father’s funeral, and I think he might be willing to help you find my son if you give him a good enough reason.”
Carrie smiled and held the gold band between her index finger and thumb. This ring could very well be her ticket to reaching the elusive Finn Dalton.
“You found him?” Sophie shouted from the other end of the cell phone. “You actually found Finn Dalton?”
Carrie meandered through the Fairbanks airport, dragging her carry-on behind her with one hand and holding the cell phone to her ear with the other. Her high-heeled boots made tapping sounds against the floor as she left the baggage-claim area. “I haven’t found him yet,” Carrie corrected. “But I’m close.”
“Where are you?”
“Fairbanks. I just landed.” Carrie had caught the first available flight out of Seattle after meeting with Joan. “So, listen, if I’m not back in Chicago on Monday, make up an excuse, will you?”
“You don’t want me to tell Nash you’re hot on the trail of Finn Dalton?”
“Not ye
t. I want to present the article as a done deal.”
“I can’t believe you were actually able to track him down,” Sophie said excitedly.
“Don’t get ahead of me; I still don’t have that interview. Sorry, I need to go.”
“Good luck. I’ve got my fingers crossed for you.”
“Thanks.” After ending the call, she stuck her cell phone in the outside pocket of her purse and made her way through the small airport, looking for the hangar where the bush pilots parked. All she had was Sawyer’s name, and she wasn’t even sure if it was his first or last. It took her awhile to locate the hangar. She asked around until she found someone willing to talk to her.
Clearly she looked enough like a city girl with her full-length double-breasted gray wool coat, fashionable boots, and earmuffs for the pilots and mechanics to recognize she was another pesky reporter in search of the elusive Finn Dalton. She was barely able to get two words out of her mouth before she got the cold shoulder.
“I’m looking for a pilot named Sawyer,” she asked a man inside the hangar, doing her best to hide her frustration. He looked like a mechanic, dressed in greasy coveralls. If bush pilots weren’t willing to talk to her, then perhaps he would. No one seemed to want to help.
The mechanic’s eyes pierced her, slowly taking her in. “What do you want Sawyer for?” he demanded.
Carrie straightened her shoulders and stood her full five feet ten inches, meeting him almost eye to eye. “I would like to hire him.”
“For what?”
“A job.”
With his hands braced against his hips, the mechanic regarded her skeptically. “You’re another one of them reporters, aren’t you?”
Carrie decided to sidestep the question. “I have something to deliver to a friend of Sawyer’s, so if you’d kindly point me in his direction, I’d be most appreciative.”
“A friend of his named …” He left it for her to fill in the blank.
Carrie’s shoulders relaxed. “Finn Dalton.”