ask each other questions there. I think your friend could use some hot tea or maybe cocoa, Alana.”
Nancy nodded, allowing Alana to take her arm and lead her up the steps and into the large front room of the old log building. She said nothing until she was seated on an old, worn couch and holding a warm mug in her still-cold hands.
“How did you find me?” Alana asked.
“You mentioned the Firebird,” Nancy explained. “The last time you called, you said you’d found the secret of the Tundra here. I didn’t know where else to start.”
“I called to tell you to go back to Seattle,” Alana reminded her.
“I can’t,” Nancy said simply. She looked up at the man who’d returned from the rear of the lodge with a plate of brownies. He was a young man of Eskimo descent and his dark eyes and smile seemed quite friendly.
“This is Ben Qinggoq,” Alana said. “His grandfather was the master artist who created the Tundra.”
Nancy shook hands with the young man, but her frown stayed in place. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. “What’s the discovery you made at Firebird Lodge?”
“When I was cataloging the individual carvings in the Tundra, I kept feeling I’d seen some of them before,” Alana began. “It haunted me. Then the day you called me, I remembered where I’d seen such carvings. They were here.” She pointed to the mantel.
“Here?” Nancy got to her feet and crossed to the huge, smoke-darkened slab of wood that stood above the inlaid stone fireplace. As soon as she drew close, she could see what Alana meant. There was a whole series of creatures carved in the edge of the mantel.
“My parents brought me here when I was just a child. They were visiting Uncle Clement, but all I remembered were those carvings. I loved them so much.”
“They’re exquisite,” Nancy murmured tracing one with the tip of her finger. “But I still
don’t understand why it was so important.” “When the Firebird Lodge was being used for tourists, the mantel was quite a celebrated piece,” Ben Qinggoq said, coming to stand beside Nancy. “My grandfather was an angry, stubborn man. He’d refused to show any more work after the villagers sold the Tundra, but his name and his talent were still known to collectors and this was the only example of it still available. People came here to see the mantel and to talk about the legend of the Tundra.” Alana nodded. “The owners of the lodge even had a brochure printed up showing the mantel and telling the legend about the man who’d carved it. I had the brochure, and when I came upon it recently, I had the whole story. That’s when I knew why the Tundra was stolen and by whom.”
Nancy stared at the quiet brunette in shock. “You know who stole the Tundra?” she gasped.
Alana’s gray eyes warmed and she smiled. “As soon as I knew why it was taken, it was easy to figure out who took it,” she explained.
“But why didn’t you call someone?” Nancy demanded. “The authorities suspect you or your uncle of stealing it, Alana. And your uncle is frantic with worry about you.” Then Nancy suddenly remembered the tape recording of her father’s voice and the warning she’d been given.
“It’s not quite that simple, Nancy,” Alana said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been hiding here ever since I escaped,” Alana answered. “And I can’t go home because I can’t go to the authorities.”
Nancy made a sputtering noise of frustration as all the questions tripped over her tongue. “Escaped from whom?” she finally managed.
“From Jasper Cole and Felix Borge,” Alana answered.
“Cole?” Nancy frowned.
“A nephew of the original purchaser of the Tundra,” Ben supplied.
Alana nodded. “They were also former partners of Franklin Cole,” she explained. “Junior partners, I’d guess, since they’re men in their late thirties, and Franklin Cole was in his seventies when he died. Anyway, they told me they’d worked with him on
Nancy nodded, allowing Alana to take her arm and lead her up the steps and into the large front room of the old log building. She said nothing until she was seated on an old, worn couch and holding a warm mug in her still-cold hands.
“How did you find me?” Alana asked.
“You mentioned the Firebird,” Nancy explained. “The last time you called, you said you’d found the secret of the Tundra here. I didn’t know where else to start.”
“I called to tell you to go back to Seattle,” Alana reminded her.
“I can’t,” Nancy said simply. She looked up at the man who’d returned from the rear of the lodge with a plate of brownies. He was a young man of Eskimo descent and his dark eyes and smile seemed quite friendly.
“This is Ben Qinggoq,” Alana said. “His grandfather was the master artist who created the Tundra.”
Nancy shook hands with the young man, but her frown stayed in place. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. “What’s the discovery you made at Firebird Lodge?”
“When I was cataloging the individual carvings in the Tundra, I kept feeling I’d seen some of them before,” Alana began. “It haunted me. Then the day you called me, I remembered where I’d seen such carvings. They were here.” She pointed to the mantel.
“Here?” Nancy got to her feet and crossed to the huge, smoke-darkened slab of wood that stood above the inlaid stone fireplace. As soon as she drew close, she could see what Alana meant. There was a whole series of creatures carved in the edge of the mantel.
“My parents brought me here when I was just a child. They were visiting Uncle Clement, but all I remembered were those carvings. I loved them so much.”
“They’re exquisite,” Nancy murmured tracing one with the tip of her finger. “But I still
don’t understand why it was so important.” “When the Firebird Lodge was being used for tourists, the mantel was quite a celebrated piece,” Ben Qinggoq said, coming to stand beside Nancy. “My grandfather was an angry, stubborn man. He’d refused to show any more work after the villagers sold the Tundra, but his name and his talent were still known to collectors and this was the only example of it still available. People came here to see the mantel and to talk about the legend of the Tundra.” Alana nodded. “The owners of the lodge even had a brochure printed up showing the mantel and telling the legend about the man who’d carved it. I had the brochure, and when I came upon it recently, I had the whole story. That’s when I knew why the Tundra was stolen and by whom.”
Nancy stared at the quiet brunette in shock. “You know who stole the Tundra?” she gasped.
Alana’s gray eyes warmed and she smiled. “As soon as I knew why it was taken, it was easy to figure out who took it,” she explained.
“But why didn’t you call someone?” Nancy demanded. “The authorities suspect you or your uncle of stealing it, Alana. And your uncle is frantic with worry about you.” Then Nancy suddenly remembered the tape recording of her father’s voice and the warning she’d been given.
“It’s not quite that simple, Nancy,” Alana said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been hiding here ever since I escaped,” Alana answered. “And I can’t go home because I can’t go to the authorities.”
Nancy made a sputtering noise of frustration as all the questions tripped over her tongue. “Escaped from whom?” she finally managed.
“From Jasper Cole and Felix Borge,” Alana answered.
“Cole?” Nancy frowned.
“A nephew of the original purchaser of the Tundra,” Ben supplied.
Alana nodded. “They were also former partners of Franklin Cole,” she explained. “Junior partners, I’d guess, since they’re men in their late thirties, and Franklin Cole was in his seventies when he died. Anyway, they told me they’d worked with him on
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