Breaking the Ice (6 page)

“Ranks second on a national list of cities with the largest annual temperature variation, with summer highs in the eighties and nineties, and long periods of minus forty degrees in winter. The lowest temperature ever recorded was minus eighty-two.”

Born and raised in the South, Karla despised the cold. Give her a sunny beach and temperatures above eighty, and she was content. On those rare occasions when Georgia got a dusting of snow or an ice storm, she saw no beauty in it, only a headache for getting to work. “Average annual total snowfall: 82.4 inches.” In other words, she lived in Siberia. They couldn’t be more different.

Why would anyone choose such a place? She kept reading. Okay, so it was apparently a great area for seeing the northern lights. And a lot of people went there to visit the Brooks Range and the massive national parks it contained. She was definitely not into camping out. Doing so in Georgia meant black flies, fire ants, copperheads, and water moccasins. And she liked her creature comforts, not sleeping on rocks. But some people enjoyed that sort of thing for vacations. A week or two maybe, but to live there?

The photographs she called up of the area gave her some insight. Majestic peaks stretching forever. Mountain valleys so crowded with wildflowers they looked like paintings. Herds of migrating caribou, thousands upon thousands of animals. Awesome curtains of red, green, blue, and yellow stretching across the night sky.

People who had traveled there extolled it with superlatives. Unparalleled beauty. Unforgettable views. Unbelievable scenery. Breathtaking. Magnificent. The trip of a lifetime.

The ringing of her phone jarred her back to her civilized apartment.

“Any luck yet?” Stella inquired.

“Yeah. She lives in Bettles, Alaska. A little village in the middle of nowhere. And I mean
really
in the middle of nowhere. Above the Arctic Circle.”

“No shit. Long way away. Who can possibly want to live at the North Pole?”

“Who knows? Someone with thicker blood than mine, that’s for sure. Shows how different we are.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No. Not yet. I just got an answer to my e-mail that the Lars there has a wife named Maggie. He’s a guide for a wilderness outfitter.”

“So what’s next?” Stella asked. “What are you going to do?”

What should I do?
Karla turned in her chair and stared at the boxes of her mother’s things. There was only one thing
to
do. Her mother had set her on an irrevocable path of discovery. Cold or no cold, half a world away or not. A phone call would never be nearly enough.

“I’m going to buy a plane ticket.”

October 25, 5:50 p.m.

Over Mount McKinley, Alaska

Karla stared down in wonder at the nation’s highest peak, the mountain that natives called Denali, the Great One, shining reddish-gold in the alpenglow of the setting sun.

Those superlatives she’d read about Alaska were no exaggeration. She’d kept her face glued to the window ever since they took off from Seattle. The landscape was surreal in its immense, endless beauty. Stark and forbidding, devoid of any sign of human habitation. But somehow it was serene and peaceful. A world untouched and unscathed by war, pollution, and urban crowding.

When the view outside the plane grew black, she thought about her sister and the still unresolved questions about what she should say to Maggie when they met.

In the three days it had taken Karla to make arrangements to leave, she’d thought of little else. She had battled with herself over whether to contact the Rasmussens first, to prepare them for her arrival. It would certainly be polite and prudent to do so, and under any other circumstances she certainly would have.

But the fear that Maggie might tell her not to come overrode her usual sense of decorum. Because she was arriving unexpectedly, Maggie might reject her totally or welcome her warmly and invite her to stay for a while.

So she’d paid her bills in advance, arranged for Stella to water her plants, talked to her supervisor at the hospital, and gone shopping. She’d had to go to REI, a specialty store, to find clothes warm enough for her adventure. This time of year, the temperature in Bettles could drop well below freezing at night, so for the trip up, she chose silk long underwear beneath jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, fleece pullover, and a new down-filled jacket. The lined Sierra hiking boots were too warm for the plane, so she had tucked them beneath the seat in front of her. In the overhead bin were her new ski gloves and fleece-lined bomber’s cap, which looked ridiculous on her but was the warmest thing in the store. Her new outfits had cost more than a week’s salary.

The pilot announced they were beginning their descent into Fairbanks and apologized for the delay. Earlier weather problems had backed up flights in a chain reaction, so she’d already missed her connection to Bettles.

If she couldn’t find another one this evening, she’d have to overnight in Fairbanks, which she dreaded. It had been hard enough to wait three days to leave. With her mother and Abby both so abruptly gone from her life, she had only her sister left to cling to. And though normally not the superstitious type, Karla couldn’t shake a growing unease that pushed her to get to Bettles as fast as possible. Bad things came in threes, and the fear that something might happen to Maggie before they had a chance to meet nagged her. She was being irrational but couldn’t dispel the prevailing sense of urgency about this trip. As soon as they landed, she’d find another way to close the final miles.

There just had to be another flight out tonight.

*

October 25, 7 p.m.

Fairbanks, Alaska

Bryson had to make four trips between the van and Cub to load all the bags and boxes from her massive shopping expedition. The van belonged to Grizz and was permanently parked at the small hanger that Arctic Independent Outfitters leased at the airport. Fortunately most of the items on her list were small, so everything fit into the back of the plane with her survival gear. Even the passenger seat was packed with goods, and the added weight made her glad she had a long runway both in Fairbanks and Bettles.

She had spent hours accumulating the wide diversity of objects and hated to disappoint any of her friends or have them spend a dollar more than necessary. She hit Wal-Mart, Home Depot, and Sam’s Club, as well as Fred Meyer for food and one small specialty store, Cold Spot Feeds, for dogsled supplies.

When everything was ready, she locked the van and headed into the terminal to file her flight plan and check out the latest weather conditions, anxious to get home before another storm blew in. She was ready to kill for a good night’s sleep. She’d been in the air except for brief refueling stops for nineteen of the previous twenty-four hours, searching for Red Murdock’s plane. As soon as she got word he’d been found—his plane a mess, but he and his passenger unharmed—she’d diverted immediately to Fairbanks.

The weather forecast checked out fine, with some low-level turbulence reported just north of the airport, but no sleet or snow yet. Earlier storms, however, had backed up commercial flights so much it would be forty minutes before she could get clearance for takeoff.

She grabbed a cup of coffee and headed over to the Bettles Air gate to see who was working tonight. The small firm handled ticketing and check-in for Arctic Independent Outfitters in addition to their own clients. Sue Spires was manning the counter.

Though Bryson didn’t have the energy or time to hook up with the curvaceous blonde this evening, she did have a few minutes to set up a date in the not-too-distant future. If only the customer Sue was waiting on would finish her business and give her the opportunity.

She stood to the side at a distance and studied them. The last flight to Bettles had left twenty minutes earlier, and evidently the customer was supposed to have been on it. She was alone, and her frustration was evident. She frowned and fidgeted, gesturing frequently with her hands. She was obviously anxious to leave and determined to find a way out before the next scheduled flight. She glanced up frequently at the departures board, as though she hoped another alternative would magically appear there.

Bryson couldn’t recall ever seeing the woman before in Bettles, and she’d have noticed her. With her shapely but slender body, she was close to Bryson’s age, perhaps a few years younger. And a couple of inches shorter, probably five-four or five-five. Her light brown hair with blond highlights featured soft waves that ended at her shoulders. It framed an oval face with flawless skin and delicate features: high cheekbones and a small, slightly upturned nose. But her beautiful hazel eyes looked haunted, and her expertly applied makeup couldn’t hide the dark circles beneath them.

Sue was being her usual patient self, listening intently and smiling in empathy as she typed away at her computer. It was a common scene these days, but this time the customer apparently wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when Sue stopped typing, shrugged, and shook her head helplessly.

It was a shame, she thought, that so many beautiful women were so completely self-absorbed they acted like the world revolved around them. What could possibly be so important in Bettles that a few hours made that much difference?

But the woman continued to harass Sue, leaning over the counter on her elbows as she talked to crane at the computer screen, as though she wanted to see for herself if there was any way possible for her to get to Bettles tonight.

Come on, already. Let’s go. Move on. Give it up.
Bryson chanted the words to herself over and over like a mantra, hoping to somehow psychically implant the suggestion in the cute but irritatingly persistent customer who was monopolizing Sue’s attention. If Bryson lingered much longer, she would miss her takeoff slot. She stepped a little closer, near enough to overhear snatches of their conversation.

“Check again. There just has to be another way there. Something you haven’t thought of.” The woman sounded frantic. “You can’t have checked every single small carrier.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Edwards.” Sue was trying her best to remain congenial, but Bryson could hear the irritation in her clipped tone. “As I’ve said, the flight you missed is the only evening one out. The very earliest you can leave is on Wright Air’s ten a.m. departure. I show one open seat on that flight.”

“What about a charter?” the woman asked. “How much are those? I saw all sorts of brochures for them near the restrooms.”

“A last-minute solo charter at night would be quite expensive,” Sue replied. “Probably in the neighborhood of nine hundred dollars or more to Bettles, I would expect.”

Considering that was roughly five times what the woman had probably paid for her original ticket, Bryson wasn’t too surprised to see shock and dismay cross her face. “Nine hundred dollars? That’s outrageous. Who would pay that for a two-hour flight?”

When Sue didn’t answer, it seemed for an instant that it was finally sinking in that the woman wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Her shoulders hunched in disappointment, and she seemed almost ready to cry. But the change was short-lived. She took off her new-looking coat and hat and laid them on the counter, preparing for a long entrenchment. It was clear she didn’t plan to leave until she got what she’d come for.

“Try again,” she commanded. “Make some calls, don’t just rely on the computer. Maybe if you actually
talk
to somebody at these other carriers, you can find somebody willing to get me there tonight.”

Bryson glanced at her watch. Her slot was in fifteen minutes. She couldn’t hang around much longer. Ordinarily, she’d never think of interrupting Sue when she was with a customer. But what she had to say would only take a minute—
Are you free tomorrow night?
And it looked liked Sue could use some rescuing. Maybe a brief interruption would push the dogged customer on her merry way.

She stepped out from behind the column where she’d been watching them and moved into Sue’s line of sight. The gate attendant’s face lit up when their eyes met.

“Bryson! Hi.” She waved Bryson forward as the customer turned to look, scowling at the intrusion. “How’re you doing? I was—”

“
Excuse
me,” the stranger interrupted angrily. “I was here first, and you’re not done helping me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m
trying
to do,” Sue replied through gritted teeth. Her eyes beseeched Bryson for help. “Please tell me you’re heading back home tonight and that you’ve got room for a passenger.”

A flicker of hope registered in the stranger’s eyes. This close to her, Bryson could see tiny specks of gold in the hazel. The scowl on her face faded. “Wonderful!” she said, as though the decision was a fait accompli.

Crap.
This wasn’t in her game plan at all. No way was she taking Miss Gripe-a-lot in her plane. “Sorry, no can do. Full up.”

“You have to. I’m desperate! I have to get to Bettles tonight.” The woman took a step forward and grabbed Bryson’s leather coat at the elbow. “Let me talk to your passengers. Maybe I can get someone to swap with me, take the morning flight.”

Bryson shook her head. “Not possible. There’s no way—”

“How do you know if you don’t let me try?” The woman’s demeanor changed again. In a flash she’d gone from angry, to hopeful, to frantic, and now angry was back for a return engagement. “Just give me five minutes with them. What the hell harm can it do?”