Starry Night

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, soundingproud 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