The Alaskan Catch
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Beth Carpenter
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Chapter One
NOT AN IGLOO in sight. Dana wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Somehow she’d expected...maybe not an igloo, but something more exotic than the sage-green split-level at the end of a cul-de-sac. Only the dense spruce forest behind the house and towering mountains in the background hinted she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. That and the salmon-shaped mailbox across the street.
The house number matched the address the private investigator employed by the estate had given her. This was it. She paid the taxi driver, collected her suitcase, climbed the three steps to the porch and stood there, staring at the doorbell. Nineteen years. Fifty-four percent of her life. A lot could change in nineteen years, although apparently not her brother’s taste in vehicles. The battered blue pickup in the driveway wasn’t too different from the one he’d been in the last time she saw him, through the crack in her bedroom curtains. She could still picture Dad scowling in the driveway, his arms folded across his chest, while Chris burned rubber and burned bridges, roaring out of their lives.
How would Chris react after all this time? Clearly, he had no overwhelming desire to see her. He could have gotten in touch with her anytime, right where he left her all those years ago. She wasn’t the one who ran away to Alaska, who changed her name. Who obviously didn’t want to be found.
But, after a long and expensive search, she had found him. Letters from the lawyer had garnered no response, so she came in person. Would she even know him after all this time? What if he slammed the door in her face? But she hadn’t flown thirty-six hundred miles to chicken out now. Maybe he still felt something for the home where they’d been raised. After all, it was only forty-seven percent of Chris’s life since he left. Less than half.
As always, the mental calculation calmed her. She set down her suitcase and reached for the bell, but before she could push the button, the door flew open and a big brown dog rushed out. Dana stepped back and might have fallen down the steps if the man hadn’t grabbed her arm.
“Hey, careful there.” The bean pole she remembered had filled out, with a wide chest and shoulders that looked as though he could carry a moose. In spite of the two inches she’d grown after he left, Chris was still a foot taller than her, his rust-colored hair wild and curly with a beard to match. His blue eyes held an expression of puzzlement as he looked at her.
She studied his face, waiting for a spark of recognition. “Hello, Chris.”
After a moment, a grin spread across his face and laugh lines formed around his eyes. “Dana!” He dropped the duffel bag he was carrying and crushed her into a bear hug, lifting her from the ground, just as he always had when he came home from college and she would run to greet him. The years melted away as she hugged her big brother.
Finally, he set her back on her feet. His eyes skimmed over her. “You grew up.”
“That happens.”
“I guess so.” He shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe it’s you. How did you get here?”
“The usual. Airplane. Taxi.” She glanced at the duffel at his feet. “I see you were on your way out.”
“Yeah, actually.” His face grew more pensive. “But I have a few minutes. Come in. Do you want something to drink? Coffee, maybe?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He picked up her suitcase and led her up the short flight of stairs. A brown leather couch and two recliners faced a giant television. Snowshoes decorated the wall above a rough stone fireplace in the corner. Behind them, a butcher-block island with four barstools divided the living room from the kitchen. “Have a seat. Is instant okay?”
“That’s fine.” She perched on the edge of the couch. The dog picked a rubber bone from the floor and dropped it into her lap, then sat and tilted his head, looking up at her.
“That’s Kimmik.”
“Hi, Kimmik.” Dana stroked the dog’s head, and his tail thumped against the floor. Yellow eyes met hers. “What kind of dog is he?”
“A chocolate-brown Lab. At least that’s the general consensus. He was a stray.” Chris poured boiling water into two mugs, stirred and set them on the slate coffee table. “I hope black is okay. I don’t have any milk.”
“Black is fine.” She really didn’t want coffee, but since he offered, she didn’t want to refuse.
He sat down on the chair next to her. “So—” his mouth quirked “—did you ever get your driver’s license?”
She laughed. Thanks to his inexpert coaching on driving a stick, she’d failed the driving test the first time. “I did, finally. What have you been up to all this time?” She looked around the room but saw no signs of a feminine influence. “Married? Kids?”
“Nope. Near miss once. How about you?”
She shook her head. “Not even close. I went to college and then went to work for Dad.” She’d planned to teach math, but Dad insisted he wanted her there, in the business. Sometimes she wondered why.
Chris raised his eyebrows. “The old man know you’re here?”
She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “Actually, that’s what I came to tell you.” She licked her lips. “He died about three months ago.” She handed Chris the obituary.
He didn’t take it. Instead, his face went blank, his eyes staring into the distance. She set the clipping on the coffee table. After a moment, he blinked and turned to look at her. “Three months, huh?” He picked up the scrap of paper and read it over, his face impassive, but his jaw grew tighter as he read. Dana had helped write the article, all about her father’s success in tool rentals, his contributions to the community and his surviving wife and two children. It, of course, didn’t mention Chris’s absence from the family. When Chris was done, he let the paper flutter to the table, saying nothing.
After a moment, Dana spoke. “The lawyers tried to contact you, but you didn’t answer their letters.”
He frowned. “I remember some sort of letters with a return address for a law office, but I assumed they were some sort of scam and threw them away. What did they want with me?”
“You’re his son.”
“I’m not.” He shook his head firmly. “We dissolved that relationship a long time ago.”
“Is that something you can dissolve?”
He shrugged. “He did.”
Dana leaned forward. Maybe she was finally going to get some answers. “What was that all about, anyway? The big fight.”
Chris looked away. “He didn’t want me to come to Alaska.”
“That’s it?”
“In a nutshell. He said if I stepped foot in Alaska, I was no longer his son. I came, anyway.”
There had to be more to it than that. Yeah, Dad could be a little dictatorial, but he’d overlooked much more blatant disobedience from Chris than an unauthorized destination. Like when he was thirteen and drove Mom’s car three towns over to visit a girl he’d met at a basketball game. Or the secret party he’d thrown at the warehouse his senior year of high school that turned out not to be so secret. She was tempted to point that out, but confronting Chris directly had never been the way to get him to talk. She tried another tack. “You’re in his will.”
His eyebrows rose. “What did he leave me, a cyanide pill?”
“Same as he left me—fifty thousand dollars.”
He stared at her. “No way.”
“I have the papers you need to sign. They say the estate—”
“What about Mom?”
“She got the house, the business and all the investments. In trust.”
He sat very still, as though he was taking it all in. Kimmik whined and laid his head in Chris’s lap. He rubbed the dog’s ears. Dana picked up the mug and took a sip of coffee. After a moment, Chris turned to her. “It was good of you to go to all this trouble to find me, but I don’t want anything from him.”
“But—”
“No. Thanks for the offer, but I’m doing fine on my own.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This inheritance was supposed to bring them together, to reunite the family. To show Chris his father cared enough to leave him money. At least that’s the picture Dana had imagined when she had decided to make the trip.
“Come on, Chris. He wanted you to have it.”
Chris stared into the empty fireplace, working his jaw. Dana sat very still and watched him. Her hand trembled, threatening to spill the coffee. She set the mug on the table.
Chris turned toward her. “When did he make this will?”
Dana couldn’t meet his eyes. “The year I was born.” She looked up. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t want you to have the money. He had plenty of time to change it if he’d wanted to.”
“What happens if I decline my share?”
Dana shrugged. “It goes to me. But I don’t want that. He’s your father as much as he is mine.”
He tilted his head. “You came all the way up to Alaska to convince me to take the money, when it’s in your best interest if I don’t?”
“I came to find you.” And to find out what happened between him and Dad nineteen years ago, but she wouldn’t push. Yet. “Also, I wanted to look into some letters the lawyers found in Dad’s safe.”
Chris tightened his hand into a ball. “What kind of letters?”
“From some woman named Ruth. No last name. She claimed Dad owed money. The lawyers aren’t worried. They posted a notice, and if no one has filed a claim within four months, it’s too late. But there was something—I don’t know—desperate in that letter. It sounded sincere to me. Anyway, I thought I’d look into it. I just have to find the son of someone called Roy Petrov.”
He jerked his head toward her. “Who?”
“Roy Petrov. From Fairbanks. Why? Do you recognize the name?”
Chris rose abruptly, pushing the dog away, and walked into the kitchen to set his mug on the counter. “Sorry, but I’m not going to be able to help you. I don’t want anything to do with that money.”
She stood and followed him. “Think it over before you decide.”
“I’m not changing my mind, and I have to go.” He slung his duffel over his shoulder. “Look, Dana, thanks, but no thanks. I appreciate that you came all the way here, and I wish I could spend some time with you, but you should have called first or something. I have people waiting for me. I’m sorry you wasted a trip.”
He started for the door, but after two steps he turned back and looked at her, indecision written on his face. “Where are you staying?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“No reservations? You won’t find anything last minute at a reasonable price this time of year.” He sighed and pulled out a key ring from the kitchen drawer. “I’ll tell you what. You came all the way to Alaska—you might as well have a little vacation.” He tossed her the keys. “You can stay here and use my car until you’re ready to go home. It’s in the garage. Take the first bedroom on the left down that hallway. You’ll find clean sheets in the hall closet.” He whistled. The dog jumped up and followed him out the door.
What just happened? Dana ran to the porch and watched Kimmik jump into the truck. Chris climbed in after. She’d found her brother after nineteen years and he was walking out on her? “Where are you going?”
He leaned out the open window as he backed out of the driveway. “Fishing.”
She stood on the porch until his truck turned the corner and disappeared, all her hopes disappearing along with him. Fishing? Really? She thought she’d prepared for all possible outcomes, but this wasn’t one of them. Not for Chris to ignore her like this.
They’d been close once. Chris was the golden boy, honor student, gifted athlete. Their father didn’t spend a lot of time with them, but she used to hear him brag to their neighbors and friends about Chris’s accomplishments. The fact that her GPA was actually higher than Chris’s didn’t seem to register on Dad’s radar. But Chris noticed. He encouraged her to take honors classes, to compete in Math Olympics, to enter the science fair.
She was sixteen when it all fell apart, the summer between Chris’s junior and senior years of college. On Saturday, Chris was his usual cheerful self, putting some things in the attic at Mom’s request. Dana went to a movie with friends that night. On Sunday morning, after some muffled yelling behind the closed doors of Dad’s study, Chris left without saying goodbye. From that day forward, her dad refused to talk about him. It was as though she’d never had a brother.
She wandered into the house and collapsed onto the sofa. What now? Tuck her tail between her legs and go home? She probably should be there, making sure her mother wasn’t in negotiations for the Taj Mahal, but she’d come all the way to Alaska for answers, and she wasn’t going to leave without them.
She would just have to wait for Chris to come back from his fishing trip and try again. Surely, once they sat down and really talked, Chris would understand why she needed to know what happened. He could accept the inheritance, and they could make up and be a family once again.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She checked the screen and braced herself. “Hi, Mom.”
“I got a bill for that new étagère I’m having made. Should I send a check?”
Of course she’d be worried about something she was buying. “If the amount looks right, just put it in the basket for Ginny to handle next week.”
“But what if someone else’s check arrives first and I lose my place in line? This is a handcrafted artisanal piece. He only makes so many.”
Considering there was hardly room to walk in her mother’s bedroom now, Dana didn’t see the urgency to acquire another piece of furniture. But if she said so, Mom would explain why this piece was a bargain or one of a kind or some other reason she had to have it. By the time the piece was delivered, she would have forgotten all about it and moved on to her next acquisition.
Her mother had never even learned to write a check until Dad died. Dana taught her how so she would be able to pay the bills, but she was beginning to think that had been a mistake. Mom seemed to delight in it, like a kid with a new toy. However, she wasn’t so eager for a lesson on balancing a checkbook. There was a good reason Dad had doled out Mom’s weekly spending allowance in cash; cash couldn’t be overdrawn.
That’s why Dana hired someone to handle her mother’s bills and checkbook while she was out of town. She would only be gone a week or two, most likely. How much trouble could Mom get into in that amount of time? “If you think it’s important, go ahead. Just make a note for Ginny with the check number and amount.”
“I’ll do that.” Mom’s voice relaxed. “What is it you’re doing again?”
Dana repressed a sigh. “I told you, I was going on a trip to look for Chris.”
“Oh, yes. Did you find him?” Honestly. She asked about the son she hadn’t seen in almost two decades with the same level of interest as asking about a misplaced sock. Dana would suspect senility except Mom wasn’t that old, and Dana could never remember her being any other way. Only things mattered to her, never people.
“I did find him. In Anchorage.”
“Anchorage, Alaska?” This time, some emotion sounded in her voice. It almost sounded like fear. “What are you doing in Alaska?”
“I told you. Chris is here.” Dana stood and paced across the living room.
“Did you talk to him?”
“Briefly. He was on his way out.”
“So he hasn’t agreed to accept the bequest?”
“Not yet. I’ll talk to him again later.”
“I don’t know why you had to go all that way. Isn’t that what we pay the lawyers for?”
“I volunteered. Since I’m not working—”
“Why did you quit, anyway? Doesn’t the business your father built mean anything to you?”
It used to. Dana had worked her tail off in her father’s business, Reliable Equipment and Tool Rental, and due in no small part to her efforts, it thrived. She kept waiting for Dad to notice. But then he got sick and appointed his golf buddy as manager. Dana had tried to tell Dad she could handle it, but he said he didn’t want her to put in the extra hours in the office when he needed her at home taking care of him. And somehow, he’d never gotten around to updating the will. “I just couldn’t work under Jerry.”
“You worked under him for two years after Wayne had his first heart attack.”
“Yes, but that was when I thought—Never mind. It shouldn’t take too long to finish up my business here. I’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, Ginny can take care of everything. You’ll be okay, won’t you?”
“I suppose so.” Her mother hesitated. “Just be careful. Don’t they have wild animals or something up there?”
Dana glanced out the window at the suburban neighborhood. A pair of birds soared in front of the green mountains rising behind it. She’d never seen a more peaceful vista in her life. Still, Mom had shown a smidge of concern for someone besides herself. That was progress. Dana smiled. “I’ll be careful. Bye, Mom.”
Dana set her phone on the table. Some things never changed. Shopping was her mother’s overriding passion. Almost every day brought another shopping bag of stuff into the house. Once Dana was old enough, her after-school job was to find the items that still carried price tags and return them to the store so Mom would have enough cash to buy groceries and household supplies. Fortunately, Mom’s favorite department store was still downtown then, within walking distance of their house.
Dana hated the walk of shame to the customer service window every other day, but the employees were understanding, all except one. When Mrs. Valens, the owner’s wife, happened to be working returns, she always threw out a catty comment guaranteed to turn Dana’s face crimson.
But in spite of Dana’s efforts, the house overflowed with furniture, clothes, knickknacks and decorations. That was one of the reasons Dana loved her own little cottage, with a minimum amount of clutter despite all the gifts Mom tried to foist onto her. She’d lined up her favorite books in neat rows on the bookshelves, sorted kitchen utensils into bins in the drawers and corralled pens and pencils into pretty mugs. It was comfortable, and she could use some of that comfort right now.
But what Dana needed was a plan of action. She wasn’t going home until she’d come to some sort of understanding with Chris. With her father gone, she was determined to bring Chris back into the family. He said she could stay in his house and use his car, so he must have a soft spot for her somewhere. She could just wait here until he came back. How long did fishing trips usually last, anyway? A day or two?
In the meantime, she might as well settle in. She carried the cold mug of coffee to the kitchen, poured it down the sink and opened the refrigerator door. Mustard, ketchup and three bottles of beer. Definitely a bachelor’s place.
She found a pad in a drawer and started a list. Milk, bread, eggs and a few more staples. And she’d get ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, Chris’s favorite. Homemade food always softened him up. After washing the mugs, she grabbed her purse and Chris’s key ring and stepped through the kitchen door into the garage.
A gleaming red convertible greeted her, parked in the shadow of a pickup with a camper shell. Wow. Maybe Chris’s taste in cars had evolved. But how could he afford a house and three cars on a job that allowed him to start a fishing trip on a Tuesday afternoon? A few unwelcome possibilities flitted through her mind. Was “fishing” a euphemism for something else?
Chris wouldn’t do anything...illegal. Would he? Not the Chris she knew. But then, she didn’t know him anymore. Still, if he were some sort of criminal, he would have jumped at the offer of ready cash. Right?
She slid onto the soft leather seats of the car. A big step-up from her six-year-old compact. She rested her hand on the stick shift and smiled, remembering Chris’s patient, if ineffective, tutoring. With the press of a button, the garage door opened. After a little fumbling, trying to decipher the key system, she located a start button and the engine roared to life, then settled into a smooth purr. Cool.
The car prowled up the street. Dana slowed to a crawl and inched over an unusually large speed bump. She didn’t want to take a chance on messing up Chris’s gorgeous car. She almost felt guilty for using it to run errands. It was designed for something much less mundane, like swooping around the curves of a scenic highway in a dramatic chase scene for a movie.
She’d passed a grocery store in the taxi on the way, so she headed in that direction and found what she needed.
After arriving home and putting away the groceries, Dana nibbled on a salad from the store deli. In spite of the daylight still gleaming through the windows, the clock on the microwave read nine thirty, which would make it well after midnight in Kansas, where she’d started the day. She yawned and found the sheets Chris had mentioned and then carried them into a spare bedroom. A large desk dominated one side of the room, with a single bed beside the thick curtain covering the window on the other side. She made the bed, changed into pajamas and opened the closet door to set her suitcase inside.
A blue canvas bag took up the floor space. She tried to push it with her foot but found it surprisingly heavy. Curious, she unzipped the top. It seemed to be filled with heavy ropes mostly, but also two helmets. She lifted one of the helmets and drew back. A red pistol sat atop the ropes. Dropping the helmet back inside, she zipped the bag closed. Her suitcase would be fine under the bed.
She slipped between the sheets and closed her eyes. Maybe Chris would be back tomorrow. Maybe he would have changed his mind. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe.
* * *
SAM YAWNED AS he dug American bills from the back of his wallet to pay for the taxi. The aggravations of travel on top of twenty-eight straight days of twelve-hour shifts always left him feeling like a bowl of mashed potatoes. He usually spent his first two days at home catching up on sleep.
He hefted the huge duffel over his shoulder and climbed the steps to the front door. Even at three in the morning, enough predawn light leaked over the mountains to allow him to fit his key into the keyhole.
He flicked on the lights, dumped his bag and wandered up to the kitchen. Might as well wind down with a beer before bed. He had to rearrange milk and eggs to reach the bottle. Odd. Chris’s truck was missing, so he’d assumed Chris would have cleaned out the fridge before going. He scavenged through a drawer, searching for the bottle opener.
“Hold it right there.”
Sam blinked. He knew he was tired, but was he hallucinating? A woman wearing flowery shorts and a pink tank top stood in his living room, near the hallway. She couldn’t have been more than five-two or -three, but the red gun in her hands more than made up for her petite size. Especially since the hands seemed to be shaking.
He set the beer bottle on the counter. “Easy, there.”
“Put your hands up.”
He raised his hands, slowly. “Who are you?”
“Never mind who I am. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I’m Sam MacKettrick. This is my house.”
“This is Chris’s house.”
Sam nodded. “Yes, Chris lives here, too. You know Chris?” He spoke slowly and gently, as he would to a timid child.
“Chris is my brother. He said I could stay here.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know Chris had a sister.”
The gun wobbled. “Maybe you don’t know Chris at all. Maybe you’re making it all up. Maybe you’re here to rob the place.”
“Calm down. That’s not a real gun, you know. It’s a flare gun.” Not that he found that reassuring. Flare guns weren’t particularly accurate, but if she managed to hit him with a flare, it wouldn’t be pretty. Even if she missed, she might burn the house down.
Her gaze wavered, but then she raised her chin. “I suspect it could still do a lot of damage.”
“No doubt, if you actually loaded a flare inside.” He guessed by the flicker in her eyes she hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to bet his life on it. After a quick scan of the room, he located the pile of envelopes in the corner of the island. “If you check the mail, I’m sure you’ll find some bills in my name at this address.”
She glanced uneasily at the letters, then at him. “You back away and I’ll check.”
“All right. I’m just going to get my wallet from my pocket so you can see my driver’s license, okay?”
“Slowly.”
Sam set the open wallet on the counter beside the mail and eased toward the front door to give himself a chance to escape, in case she wasn’t convinced. She crept to the island and looked over everything while keeping the pistol trained on him. Finally, her shoulders relaxed a fraction, and she set the gun on the island, her hand trembling. “Sorry. Chris didn’t tell me about you.”
“So I gathered.” She didn’t look nearly as tough without the gun. In fact, she was kind of cute, with glossy brown hair, big dark eyes and a little pink mouth. “Now it’s my turn. Chris never mentioned a sister. How do I know you are who you say you are? For that matter, who are you?”
“Dana.” She hesitated and then stepped forward to offer her hand as if they were in a business meeting. Her small hand was soft inside his.
“Hello, Dana. So, prove to me you’re Chris’s sister. When is his birthday?”
“February 15.”
He cast around in his mind for another test. “First pet?”
She frowned. “We never had any pets. Well, except Chris used to have a betta in a bowl in his room. He always wanted a dog, but Dad wouldn’t let him get one.”
That checked out. Weird that Chris would mention his fish, but not his sister. But Sam was too tired to worry about that right now, and he had trouble seeing the girl in pink pajamas as much of a threat now that she was disarmed. He picked up the pistol to take with him, just in case. “Well, Dana, I’ve been traveling for three days and I’m wiped out. Make yourself at home. I’m going to bed.”
