Дебби Макомбер - Starry Night

“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.”