James Romson resisted the urge to slam down his telephone receiver. Thirty minutes had been wasted arguing with his insurance adjuster over the replacement of Romson Industries’ aircraft. Although it had been ninety plus days since Jed, Lizzie, and Pete had disappeared, along with his airplane, the insurance company dragged its feet. Their excuse was the possibility of his son being complicit in theft of the aircraft, with the implication that James himself was culpable in a conspiracy.
Although not nearly as nice as the former plane, James found another Beaver available for purchase, but without the insurance money, he didn’t have the funds. His banker wasn’t willing to loan enough to purchase the new plane outright, even on the proviso the insurance would eventually come through. The banker was very apologetic, of course, and blamed the loan committee for their refusal. What it all boiled down to was simple: Romson Industries was grounded.
Finding a qualified company pilot also proved difficult. Most qualified bush pilots wanted nothing to do with flying from town to town in civilized areas, and few who liked corporate type flying were interested in a propeller-driven aircraft or flying into wilderness areas. The annual goose hunting trip, scheduled for the first and second week in September, had to be cancelled. It was unfortunate because the hunting trip was always a good outreach to buyers from some of the larger sporting goods companies. James checked commercial airline rates, but tickets for two would be as expensive as flying six in the Beaver, plus he would have to lease a float plane and local pilot to ferry them from Presque Isle to the lodge. Flying them to the lodge in a smaller aircraft was just not feasible, and leasing a Beaver and pilot for the time necessary was too expensive.