Author's Note: This is a sequel to my Non-TG Novel, Missing Without A Trace: A Kelly Mitchell Mystery by Charles Schiman.
This is also a non-tg novel. However, I am a male writing the novel first-person as a female. And I created Kelly as the female person I thought I could have become--my alter ego, if you will--had I been born a girl.

The first novel, Missing Without A Trace: A Kelly Mitchell Mystery, is available for purchase online as a Nook Book at the Barnes and Noble Nook Store.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Kelly Mitchell.”

I smiled as I greeted the family as they entered the Cooper Air hangar. I was really feeling good that morning. I had, in fact, awakened that morning feeling wonderful, cheerful, wide awake even before my two cups of mandatory instant coffee before breakfast. I glanced across the half-empty floor of the hangar and felt the corners of my mouth quirk up into a happy grin as I pointed at the old boat-hulled amphibian—my old Grumman Goose—gleaming in the bright light pouring in through the hangar’s open main doors. I pointed to it and added, “And that’s the plane which will be taking you to the campsite of your vacation.”

The Olsens—the family in question—stood there for a split second, looking at the aircraft, taking in the arching expanse of the hangar, the gleaming white and blue-trimmed high-winged twin-engine aircraft with its boat hull fuselage and floats suspended downward a couple of feet inboard of the ends of each wing; and then they smiled, too. I was hoping that they felt that everything looked just the way they had pictured it in their imaginations when Jack Piper had suggested Cooper Air to them as the perfect outfit to handle their proposed one-week vacation on the shores of an isolated northern wilderness lake.

“That is a beautiful plane,” Mister Olsen commented, nodding his head. “I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“It was built back in the late nineteen-thirties by Grumman Aircraft,” I replied. “It was refurbished and modernized number of times before my father acquired it. Its present engines are more powerful than the ones Grumman originally used and the fuselage was beefed-up and strengthened and the passenger windows enlarged. It can carry eight passengers plus cargo.” I paused and then added, “It’s not as fast as modern floatplanes but is very easy to fly and is very stable when moving on the water. I love flying her.”

“Cool,” the daughter commented. She was a little shorter than I was, maybe ten or eleven years old, thin as a rail, full of energy, and cute. “Mister Piper told us that he taught you how to fly and that you can fly a plane better than he can!”

I felt my face turning red. “Well, I don’t know about that,” I said. I looked at her father, “I don’t know how well you know Jack Piper, but he’s a great pilot in his own right around here.”

“Did you really catch a gang of kidnappers and rescue everyone?” the girl asked, interrupting her father’s answer. I felt my face getting more red.

“Annie,” he said quietly, “You know Mister Piper said that Miss Mitchell would probably not want to talk to anybody about that.”

“But, he said—”

I raised my hand. “It’s okay.” I turned to her and said, “Jack was probably exaggerating when he told you about that.” I looked at her parents. “I was part of the group that was taken hostage by them. I managed to get loose and make it to one of the planes and call for help. It really wasn’t anything extraordinary.”

“What about the grenades and shooting at ‘em with machine guns?” Annie demanded.

“Um—what?” I said, startled and looked at her parents. “Jack told you about that?”

They nodded. The mother looked amused and said, “He made it all sound very impressive and very exciting.”

I ran a hand through my hair nervously. “Well, it wasn’t like I was running around with an M-16 in each hand—I was just trying to get them to stop shooting at me.” Then I added, “Jack’s always thought of himself as kind of an Indiana Jones type wilderness bush pilot, so I think he might have been projecting a little there when he was telling you about me. I’m really more of a quiet, by-the-book type who doesn’t like looking for trouble.”

“Can I look at the inside of the plane?” Annie asked.

I grinned at her. “Sure, why not! I’ll even let you sit in the pilot’s seat.” I looked at her father. “If that’s okay with you, Mister Olsen.”

“Call me Jim,” he replied and gestured toward the plane with an open hand. “Lead on, Miss Mitchell.”

“Call me Kelly.”

“Okay.”

“And you can call me Charlotte,” Mrs. Olsen said. She was taller than I was, with long hair, blonde, like her daughter. “Or ‘Charlie,’ for short.”

I nodded and led the way into the plane, showing them the handholds, so that they could easily climb in through the rear passenger door. The amphibian only has the one rear door for people to get in and out of the aircraft. The designers had forgone adding forward doors to the fuselage in order to make the boat hull as strong as possible—to withstand the shock and stress of water landings.

I showed them the aircraft, starting at the rear, pointing out the passenger seat accommodations and the various cargo and equipment compartments built into the interior walls inside the aircraft. We moved forward into the cockpit and I motioned for Annie to place herself in the pilot’s seat. I slid into the copilot’s seat next to her. As she wiggled into the seat, Annie noticed the twin sets of foot pedals in front of each seat.

“How come two sets?” she asked. “Is it so if one of you guys gets taken out, the other can take over and fly the plane?”

“Yep, pretty much,” I said and nodded my head. “If you look at the instrument panel, you’ll see that pretty much everything is duplicated on each half of the panel. Same idea with the control wheels—which are called ‘yokes.”

“Yokes?” she looked at me.

“Yes. The whole assembly is called a yoke. That’s because the control wheels are not for turning right or left, like in a car. The control wheels control the ailerons, which cause the plane to bank left or right. The yoke also slides forward and back, too, to control the plane’s upward and downward movement, through the horizontal wing on the tail which is called an elevator.” Then I pointed to the pedals below her feet. “And those pedals are not for the clutch and gas.”

“They’re not?” She looked at me for a moment. Then, when I didn’t say anything further, she asked, “Okay, what are they used for?”
“When you turn the control wheels, the plane banks to go into a turn. But the rudder is controlled by the pedals. The pedals are actually attached to a horizontal rod and the pilot uses his or her feet to turn the whole pedal assembly while he or she turns the control wheel and that is what makes the plane go into a controlled turn.”

Annie nodded her head and frowned, looking straight ahead through the windshield in concentration. She gripped the pilot’s control tightly with both hands and turned the wheel slowly, in a tentative turn. I glanced down and smiled. Her toes were straining to touch the pedals and she was activating the tail rudder carefully in time with the movement of her hands. Without breaking her concentration, she said, “You look different than in your pictures.”

My smile was replaced by an expression of confusion. Pictures? “What do you mean?”

She turned her head to look at me and smiled. “On the internet. When Dad first talked to Mister Piper about a wilderness vacation and he suggested hiring you, I Googled you on the computer. Your hair looks different. Your face, too, somehow.”

My hand went to my hair and then I touched my cheek. “I’m wearing my hair a little longer now.”

“How’s that working out? I find it a bother—it keeps getting in my face.”

I chuckled. “The jury’s still out about that. But you’re right,” I said and gave my head a little shake, “any kind of breeze and my hair wants to either get in my eyes or go in my mouth!”

She laughed with me and then her expression became serious. “Your head injury. It was serious, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yes, it was. I spent almost two months in the hospital before they let me go home. I’ve only been flying again for a couple of months.”

“But you’re okay now?”

I nodded my head emphatically. “As right as rain.”

“Good. I was worried.”

“Don’t be. Everything is just fine.” Then I slapped my hands against my thighs and said, “What do you say to getting out of the plane and I’ll show you and your parents the lake where you’ll be spending your vacation?”

We got up and headed out of the cockpit. I wasn’t really surprised to find that Jim and Charlie Olsen had taken the two passenger seats immediately aft of the cockpit and had been sitting there listening to us the whole time. I smiled and motioned for them to follow Annie and me as we headed toward the open rear door of the amphibian, saying, “If you two will just follow us, I’ll show you some maps and pictures of the lake that you’ll be camping at, and then we can go get some lunch and meet with the guide who will be running your camp, taking you on hikes, and generally looking after you.”

We went into my office and I got out my maps. I spread them out on a table while saying, “The lake where you’ll be staying is part of the state’s National Forest Park System. It’s a designated wilderness area. The public is allowed to camp in the National Forests, but they aren’t allowed to do anything which might cause permanent damage to the wilderness. This includes the felling of trees, the wanton killing of wildlife, and pollution of waterways or dumping of trash, garbage or sewage.” I paused and then added, “Generally, you are expected to leave your campsite as neat and clean as possible.”

“No problem, there,” Jim said quietly.

“Good.” I nodded my head. “Now, the man I hired to head-up your vacation is a guide who is well respected in the area among both hunters and recreational campers and hikers, as well as fishing enthusiasts.” I paused to brush my hair back, out of my eyes. “Since the lake is about ten miles from the nearest highway, Dean—the guide—will be equipping all of you with headset two-way radios, which will keep you in touch with a powerful transceiver at the main camp. That way, if there is any kind of emergency, you will be able to call Dean or the camp for help. He can also, through the radios, summon any of you back to camp if he needs to. I will also be on call—either here at Cooper Air, or through the Police Department—to provide emergency air service if anything happens where you would need to be evacuated from the campsite in the event of an accident or an emergency.”

Annie’s mom looked worried. “How dangerous is it out there?”

“Not that dangerous,” I replied. “But accidents do happen. Hatchets can miss while chopping firewood and kindling. There are bears out there.” I paused and looked at each of them. “One thing most people forget is that you should never leave snacks or food lying around at a campsite. It attracts animals—like bears. Racoons and skunks can also be attracted and can attack people who try to scare them away.” I nodded to Annie and added, “It might also be wise not to carry anything edible in your pockets, too.”

“How do we store our food supplies?” Jim asked. “I assume there’s a special way of doing things out in the woods?”

“Yes, there is,” I replied. “Dean will be providing bear-proof containers. They are all metal and are watertight and leak-proof, and the bears will not be able to smell whatever food is inside them.” I waved my hands and said, “Well, that about sums everything up. I’ll explain all the flight and aircraft loading instructions when we get ready to fly to the camp. That’ll be tomorrow morning, bright and early. Now, how about we all meet Dean at the restaurant and have lunch!”

I led the way to the restaurant, the Olsens following me in their car. Dean was waiting for us. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, so we were seated immediately. I introduced everyone to Dean.

Dean was a second-generation guide, having learned the business from his father and uncle. He was tall and lean, with rugged features that you would expect from someone who spent most of his time outdoors, in all kinds of weather. “The lake you will be staying at is beautiful. There’s good fishing—if you’re into that sort of thing—and the site I’ve chosen for the campsite is at the lake’s southern end. There’s a flat open area that requires minimal clearing to pitch your tents. We’ve used the site before, so there a stone-lined firepit for campfires and cooking meals.” He paused and then went on. “There won’t be any hunting of game this trip. From what Jack and Kelly have told me, you’re interested mainly in swimming, hiking, and exploring.”

The Olsens all nodded in agreement.

Dean smiled. “Good. It makes my job easier.” He pulled his chair forward and leaned forward a little. “Now the area of the National Forest where the lake’s located has not been “improved” in any way—other than keeping the campsite cleared of small trees and brush that grow up every spring. By that, I mean that there are no maintained or purpose-constructed hiking trails or rest areas. There are established deer paths that the deer maintain themselves. Those are fun to explore, but you have to keep in mind that—generally—the trails don’t really go anywhere. They just connect feeding areas that deer have sort mapped out and travel to regularly enough to wear-in the trail.”

He continued on, telling them of several beautiful spots he would take them to see, such as following the small river-stream which gave the lake its supply of fresh water. There was a small—like slightly more than a couple of feet—waterfall, where the stream poured down from a rocky ledge and made a little pool before continuing on to the lake. Stuff like that.

He wrapped up the talk with an explanation of the sanitation setup at the camp. That consisted of burying the garbage each night in a deep hole that he would dig every afternoon for that purpose. Restroom facilities consisted of another set of holes and a toilet seat built on a stand where human waste would be deposited and covered up and buried to become compost when they left to return to civilization.

That all done, we left. The Olsens went off to their motel to unpack a little and then do some sightseeing. Dean left to go and start ferrying his equipment over to the Cooper Air hangar, while I headed back to the hangar to wait for him and then load the amphibian with his gear, tents, and supplies.

Steve came by in the late afternoon and helped me lay out all the equipment and supplies Dean had brought over. We weighed each item—and I carefully noted each of them and their weight on my clipboard—and then placed each item on the hangar floor next to the amphibian. The amphibian could carry eight thousand pounds of cargo and people in flight. Dean’s equipment and food supplies didn’t come anywhere near that limit, but I liked to weigh everything and then figure out where each item should be stowed in the plane so that the aircraft would remain balanced. Some pilots just stowed stuff willy-nilly and just used their piloting skills to compensate if the plane ended up nose heavy or tail heavy, but I think it’s better to just get it right before you ever get the plane off the ground and into the air.

The next day dawn bright and sunny. The Olsens arrived and Dean and I loaded their suitcases into the back of the passenger area of the amphibian. There was enough room back there, because Steve and I had removed all of the passenger seats of the amphibian except for the four seats that Dean and the Olsens would be using when I took them to the lake.

The trip out was noneventful. The Olsens ooo’d and ahh’d over the sight of the forests below them and Annie squealed in excitement as we made our water landing and motored—"just like a boat!”—right up to the point where I beached the nose of the aircraft on the shore.
I helped unload the plane and then we all helped Dean as he laid out the camp and told us where to place the tents, all the food, and the camping equipment. After checking with Dean for the radio frequency he would be using and the time each afternoon when he would be checking in with me and updating me on how things were going at the camp, I climbed back into the amphibian. Dean and Jim pushed the plane free of the shoreline and I turned the tail rudder to full right and started the engines. Then I took off headed back to North Liberty.
The next two days were pretty uneventful. Dean checked in that afternoon and Annie got on the radio to tell me that they had gone exploring and she had found some beautiful crystals of rose-colored quartz. Dean had chipped them free of the granite shelf they’d found them on and she was going to keep them “forever.”

The second day they were going to have an evening bonfire and roast hotdogs and marshmallows.

The third day was the game changer when Dean failed to make his radio call and—for all intents and purposes—the camp went off the air.

End of Chapter One.