Chapter 5 #2
He picked up the papers and squinted, straining to make out the fading ink. They seemed to be clues—poetic phrases, hinting at the locations of hidden gold coins.
So his reporter’s gut was right. There definitely was a story to be told here. The kind of story that could save the Bar Harbor Gazette. The kind of story that could save his family’s legacy.
Chase leaned back in his seat, staring at the envelope as his thoughts whirled. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. This wasn’t who he was. And he knew if Scout Johnson found out, the spark between them would be doused. Drenched. Done. She was a rule follower.
But if this story panned out the way he thought it would, it could change everything.
He’d actually have the time and spare cash to date Scout like he wanted to.
Like a girl deserved. Good restaurants, fun adventures.
“Please understand, God,” he whispered. “So many people are counting on me. I’ll make this right. Someday, somehow.”
Carefully, he slipped the papers back into the envelope, placed them on the seat next to him, and turned on the ignition.
The engine rumbled to life, and he put the car in gear.
The envelope stayed on the seat, its presence looming, its weight impossible to ignore.
Like alarm bells going off in his head. Like he’d just crossed a line he never meant to cross.
But sometimes the ends could justify the means . . . and this end could be a good one.
One moment, Tim Rivers was the patient grandfather, nudging the tissue box closer to fifteen-year-old Maisie as she sobbed into her hands. The next, he was back in the chief ranger role, questioning her carefully to gather as much information from her as possible. Pretty impressive.
Scout leaned against the wall, watching the whole thing unfold.
Maisie’s teenage hysterics might’ve been endearing if the situation wasn’t so precarious.
If word got out that there was gold to be found—and finding any gold was a big if—the park would be overrun with treasure seekers.
During high season! This was a potential crisis.
How the chief managed to keep his cool in such a crisis, she’d never know.
Maisie sat in a chair across from his desk, her face blotchy as she hiccupped into her tissue. “He was just so nice! Super cute. And . . . and he seemed genuinely interested in Acadia.”
Frankie, slouched in the corner with his arms crossed, wore a look of disgust. “Yeah, Maisie. Right. A real hero. Except for the part where he stole the envelope. After you stole it.”
Maisie shot him a glare but couldn’t muster much venom through her tears. “If you hadn’t talked it up, I wouldn’t have even been tempted to take the envelope from Pops’s office.”
There was some truth in that, Scout had to admit.
She could picture Frankie dangling the information in front of Maisie like a carrot—he had that streak in him, especially when he thought it gave him the upper hand.
She cut a look at him; he seemed genuinely appalled by Maisie’s blame-turning.
These two. Like peas in a pod. Blaming each other instead of owning their part of this mess.
Just as Frankie’s mouth opened wide to defend himself, Naki stepped in. “Let’s get back to the contents of the envelope.”
“Good idea,” the chief said. He fixed Scout with a steady look. “You’re the only one who’s looked through it. What do you remember? Any specific clues?”
Scout straightened, her fingers fiddling with the brim of her ranger hat.
“One. Maybe two. Bits and pieces of the others. Enough to give us a start, maybe, but not the whole thing.” As the chief waited for her to tell him what she remembered, she glanced first at Frankie and then at sobbing Maisie.
“Sir, uh, perhaps that information should be kept confidential.”
Frankie scoffed. “No kidding. Maisie, you should leave.” He flicked his wrist to brush her away.
Maisie’s jaw dropped, and she slapped a palm against her chest. “Me? You’re as much of a blabbermouth as I am.”
The chief ignored them. “One clue is better than none. Scout, there are a few hours of daylight left. You and Naki head out and go try to find it. Let’s see if there’s any gold to worry about.”
“Yes, sir.” Scout glanced toward Naki, who had been standing by the window with his arms crossed.
His dark eyes met hers, and for a second, her stomach did a little flip.
Good night! What was that about? He completely rattled her.
Scout liked to think of herself as unrattle-able.
Something her counselor, Elizabeth—whom she’d been seeing via Zoom ever since she knew she was coming to Acadia—told her was not really a quality she should be proud of.
Elizabeth thought Scout’s persistent tamping down of emotions was a red flag, a warning. So, so wrong.
She could practically hear Elizabeth’s voice in her head: “If that’s so wrong, then why have you shut down every single romantic relationship that’s come your way?”
“No butterflies,” she would always say. “I just haven’t felt any butterflies.”
Honestly, sometimes Scout thought Elizabeth was in cahoots with her mother.
As if a romance was the main objective in life for all women.
Scout had only started counseling because, as excited as she was to come to Acadia, she also felt a little off-kilter coming back to a place that held a gut-wrenching memory.
Maybe she’d felt more than a little off-kilter.
But it hadn’t stopped her from coming, she reminded Elizabeth.
She was here, wasn’t she? She had been determined to come to Acadia. That counted, didn’t it?
Frankie broke through her musings by pushing off the wall, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Hey—what about me? I’m part of this too! What happened to the buddy system?”
The chief turned to him, impatience all over his face. “The system is still intact. Frankie, you and Maisie are going to find that envelope.”
“Why me? She’s the one who let it walk out of that coffee shop—”
“Frankie,” Chief barked. “Getting assigned to Ranger Johnson was your last chance this summer. If you don’t pull some weight, I will see to it that you are banned for life from every single national park. I don’t care who your father is.”
Frankie pivoted toward Scout. “Can he do that?”
Scout nodded. “Pretty sure he can.”
Scowling, Frankie muttered something under his breath but stepped back, arms crossed tighter than before.
The chief returned his attention to Scout and Naki. “Start wherever you think makes the most sense. Just keep it quiet. We don’t want a gold rush to start in Acadia.”
“Yes, sir.” Scout squared her shoulders and set her ranger hat firmly in place.
Her mind spun through the scattered fragments of clues, grasping for connections that slipped further away the harder she tried to hold on to them.
She should have written them down. Now, the details blurred like footprints vanishing under the tide, leaving only a nagging sense that she was missing something important.
Maisie, oblivious to the shift in the room’s tone, blew her nose loudly into another tissue. “He was just so cute,” she said in a wistful tone.
Frankie groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. “I’m doomed.”
With keys to an NP jeep and a yellow paper pad, Scout and Naki made their way to the parking lot. She adjusted her hat for the third time in as many minutes, trying to ignore how nervous she felt to be alone with Naki. He seemed utterly calm.
She slid into the driver’s seat, taking a deep breath as she buckled in, and Naki adjusted the passenger seat by pushing the seat as far back as it could go.
“So you came to the talk at the library.”
“You saw me?” She had tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. She hadn’t been in uniform, and she had stayed in a corner in the back of the room. She cleared her throat. “I did attend. It was very interesting.” Fascinating. She’d bought his book and had read far, far into the night.
He shifted in his seat to face her. “I make you nervous.”
Scout froze. “You do!” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and she winced. “I mean, yes, you do . . . a little.”
“Why?”
She hesitated, fidgeting with the steering wheel. “I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”
“Have you never been around a Native American before?”
“I have! Lots and lots,” she said quickly. “Well . . . some. Navajo. I was stationed in Arizona. It’s just—none of them were quite like you.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Like me? Are all Native Americans alike?”
No. No! Of course not. Her brain scrambled for an answer that wouldn’t make her sound completely unhinged.
Like you . . . as in having the kind of presence that makes it hard to think straight.
Like you . . . as in exuding a quiet intensity that makes me feel like I’m all noise and nerves.
Oh, and those dark eyes—seriously, stop it. Get a grip.
“It’s just that . . . you seem . . . like a very serious man,” she finally managed, forcing a steady tone.
He let the words hang for a moment, and then his mouth curved into a broad smile.
Dimples! Both cheeks. Good night.
“And you,” he said, his voice carrying just a hint of dry amusement, “seem like a Southern belle.”
Scout snapped her head up, caught off guard. “Me? A Southern belle?” For a second, she didn’t know how to respond. Then she gave a short laugh and turned the key in the ignition. “My mother would consider that to be a great compliment.”
“It was,” he said.
Cheeks burning, Scout kept her eyes on the windshield.