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independent research that we are determining just how accurate her assertions were. How she discovered these truths, buried so deep for so long, is inconceivable. With her death, we will probably never know.”
    The screen returned to a news reporter standing before the crumpled remains of a red Toyota. The camera followed the reporter’s hand as he pointed up the mountain. “Carla Simon lost control of her car on the top of this mountain when taking a sharp curve. The car rolled three hundred feet, twisted into a metal ball, finally bursting into flames on this valley road. The charred remains will be shipped back to the United States for official identification.”
    Chad felt ill as he studied the lovely face that once again filled the screen.
    “Carla Simon, age thirty-six, was one of the most popular fiction writers of our time. She wrote twenty-three bestselling novels. However, rumors suggested this record was coming to an end. According to friends, she was struggling with her current work. In fact, she had come to New Zealand to get away from the pressure. She planned to raft down the twenty-three-foot waterfall of the Kaituna River. Instead, she took a longer, deadlier fall. Fate, accident or intentional? We may never know.”
    Chad stared at the picture. It couldn’t be her! It couldn’t. Yet even as he denied the possibility, he knew it was true. It was Carla with makeup and her hair fixed. It was his country girl.
    Davis reentered the room. “That damn woman. I knew she was going to be a problem.”
    “What woman?” Chad asked, his mind still in a haze of disbelief.
    He slammed down the Star with a front-page picture of Chad and Carla on the plane. The title declared “Chad Likes Them Big and Ugly.” The article went on to quote passengers claiming the two had become quite affectionate during the twelve-hour trip, at first pretending they were strangers but soon giving way to their passion.
    “Were you seen talking to her?”
    “Yes.”
    “You see what happens? You say hello, and the next thing you know, the magazines are ringing wedding bells. The girl will probably sue for palimony.”
    “I wish she could,” he whispered.
    “Why would you want to be sued for palimony?”
    “Because it would mean she was alive.” He picked up the picture and gently touched the grainy shot of her face. “That’s Carla Simon.”
    “Are you sure?” Davis asked, staring again at the picture. “It doesn’t look like the picture on TV.”
    “She wore no makeup and dressed like a college student so she could leave the plane incognito. She was driving to Lake Taupo. I was thinking about joining her on the river raft. She would have been so surprised.”
    “My God, she looks so fat and ugly here.”
    “I thought her beautiful,” he replied. “So clean and fresh. No wonder she understood the problems of being famous.”
    ***
    Due to Davis’ persistence, Chad made it through his day’s events. That evening he shared every detail of his time with Carla.
    “So she never said she was Carla Simon?”
    “No, but it’s her. Same age, going rafting down a twenty-three-foot waterfall. It’s her.”
    “Tomorrow you’re scheduled to be a judge for the International Choral Competition at the Chateau Tongariro Hotel in Whakapapa.”
    “I can’t,” he said, remembering Carla’s sweet voice as she fell in line with the college students.
    “...and after the singing contest is over, you can drive up to Lake Taupo—it’s only an hour away—and see if the girl from the plane is at the YHA.”
    Chad nodded. He was certain she wouldn’t be, but going along with Davis was easier than resisting him.

Chapter Eight
     
    Luke Gallagher studied the wreckage and site photos as he walked the sharp turn in the road that Carla Simon’s car hadn’t made. Pointing to the tire marks on the road, he said to the police chief beside him, “Could you ask your photographer to get clear shots of these tracks and those about a