Chapter 6
Six
It is not from ourselves that we learn to be better than we are.
—Wendell Berry, poet
Frankie and Maisie stood just inside the coffee shop. The scent of freshly roasted coffee filled the air. Maisie’s eyes swept over the counter, but the barista wasn’t in sight. She slipped around the customers standing in line to ask the cashier, “Is the blue-haired barista here?”
The cashier glanced at her in a half-distracted way. “Oh, you mean Sophie? She’s out back taking a break with her boyfriend.”
“Thanks,” Maisie said, exchanging a quick glance with Frankie.
They headed out the back door and spotted Sophie leaning against the brick wall, chatting animatedly with a guy who was intently focused on his phone. Sophie looked up as they approached, her expression making it clear that she really didn’t want to be interrupted.
Maisie put on her best friendly, braces-free smile. “Pardon me. I was in earlier today. Do you remember me?”
Sophie looked her up and down. “Nope. If you’ve got a complaint, go see the manager.”
Maisie lifted her palms in the air. “No complaints. I just had a question. When I came in—and this was while you were working—I sat next to a guy at the window counter. He said he was a local.”
Sophie sized up Frankie once, then twice. “Shouldn’t you stick with one boyfriend at a time?”
“Oh no,” Frankie said, wagging a finger between him and Maisie. “We are not a thing.”
Not yet, but someday. Maisie just knew it in her bones. Frankie was her meant-to-be guy. But she turned her attention to Sophie. “I wondered if you might know who this guy was.”
Sophie sighed dramatically. “Look, kid—”
“I’m not a kid.”
Frankie snorted. Maisie shot him a look.
Sophie didn’t miss a beat. “I make hundreds of coffees every day. The cruise ship was in today, so, you know, the place was packed. Tons of rich tourists. And they don’t tip well. You’d think they’d be generous, right? But no. They’re the worst.”
“This guy said he was a local. That’s why I thought you might know him.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
“He has my envelope. A really important envelope.”
Frankie jutted his chin. “He stole it from her.”
“Oh yeah?” Sophie’s boyfriend looked up from his phone. He saw Maisie and did a double take, then smiled.
Maisie smiled back. It felt nice to be appreciated.
Sophie’s boyfriend put his phone away. “So what was in it? Money?”
“So much better than money! It had—”
Frankie jabbed Maisie in the ribs, hard. “Nothing important.”
Maisie’s eyes went round. This was how she’d gotten into trouble with the L.L.Bean model. She said too much!
The boyfriend cut a look at Frankie. “If it wasn’t important, then why do you want it back?”
Frankie glared at him. “Dude. She wants it back, okay?”
“So what does this local guy look like?” Sophie said. “What color hair? And how old?”
Yes! Let’s get back to him. Maisie’s eyes went to the sky, as if she could see him in the clouds. “How old? Maybe . . . he’s in college? He has a preppy look. Sandy brown hair. Cute. Like . . . he could be a model in a L.L.Bean catalog.”
“How cute?”
“Super cute.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know him. Chase Fletcher. Half the locals are in love with him.”
Frankie snorted. “Which half?”
Sophie’s boyfriend crossed his arms against his chest. “Yeah. Which half?”
Sophie’s expression shifted into a knowing grin. “You got nothing to worry about, Enzo. Chase Fletcher says he’s married to his work.”
Frankie grew instantly serious. “Where does he work?”
Smart! Maisie wouldn’t have thought to ask.
“He’s not in college, kid. He’s, like, the king of the Bar Harbor Gazette.” Sophie made a dismissive gesture, as if Maisie’s male radar wasn’t working. “And Chase Fletcher would never steal anything.”
Enzo the boyfriend snorted. “The original Boy Scout.”
Maisie exchanged a glance with Frankie. “Let’s go,” he said.
Maisie and Frankie dashed down the street, their footsteps quick and in sync.
They were working as a team, and it felt .
. . well, kind of awesome. Just the way she’d always imagined it could be between them.
They’d found out who took her envelope, and they’d just saved Frankie’s future career with the NPS.
“Pops! We found him!” Maisie burst into the office, practically out of breath. “His name is—” Then she stopped abruptly. There, sitting across from her grandfather, was the last person she expected to see.
“Chase Fletcher,” Pops said, looking up, totally unruffled. “Owner and publisher of the Bar Harbor Gazette.” He didn’t even blink.
The look of surprise, then disappointment, on that girl’s face when she recognized him made Chase squirm.
She wasn’t the type who could hide her thoughts or feelings, or keep information to herself, which he had already figured out at the coffee shop.
It was the very reason he had easily tracked down her grandfather to call him.
“Hey! I know you,” Frankie said. “You were on the boat tour today.”
Chase nodded at him. “Frankie, right?”
Frankie looked at the girl. “So this is the guy who stole the envelope?” He scoffed. “He’s not super cute.”
“Lower your voice, Frankie.” The ranger got up and closed the door behind the girl and Frankie. “Mr. Fletcher was just explaining to me why he stole the envelope from you, Maisie.”
Maisie! So that’s the girl’s name. “Actually, what I was really trying to do was explain why I called you about it.”
“Go on,” the ranger said, his voice sharp.
Chase took a breath. “I think this story—and the gold—deserve to be handled the right way. And that’s why I’m here. I want in.”
Frankie let out a loud scoff. “Good luck with that. Scout and Naki have been given that privilege. They’ve probably already found half the gold.”
Chase doubted that. So did the ranger, from the look on his face. “Let me help. Let me be part of this.”
“There’s no way!” Frankie’s arms flew in the air. “Chief, you can’t let him butt in on this. He’s a newspaper guy. And where is the envelope, anyway?”
“It’s in a safe spot.” Fairly safe. In the back seat of Chase’s car. His locked car. He’d made sure of that.
“And what, exactly, do you want in return, Mr. Fletcher?” The ranger’s voice was cautious.
Chase swallowed hard. “I want exclusive rights to tell the story. Look, I care about Acadia too. The last thing I want is to turn the park into a circus.”
Frankie scoffed. “At least not until you break the story, you mean.”
Chase narrowed his eyes. Bull’s-eye.
Tim had a pretty good idea why Chase Fletcher came to him with the offer to return the envelope if he could have exclusive rights to the story: He had read the clues and couldn’t figure them out.
He’d grown up in Bar Harbor, the park was his backyard, and yet he had no idea what they meant. Too obscure.
“Let’s go get the envelope,” Tim said, his tone flat, giving nothing away. “Then we’ll talk about exclusivity.”
Chase hesitated but eventually nodded. “Fine.”
Tim didn’t break stride as they approached Chase’s car, parked at a distance from the door to the visitor center.
The scene hit him instantly: the shattered glass, the glint of sunlight catching on the shards scattered across the pavement.
Maisie, who’d been following along, practically bouncing with nervous energy, let out a small gasp, and Frankie cursed under his breath.
Chase stopped dead in his tracks, the color draining from his face.
“No. No!” Chase darted forward, leaning inside the broken window. “It’s gone. The envelope—it’s gone!”
Tim didn’t say anything at first. He studied the broken window and the area around the car. Whoever had done this had been in a hurry. “Who else knew you had it?”
Chase couldn’t believe it—his car window was broken, and the envelope was gone! “I didn’t tell a soul.”
Frankie jabbed his thumb in the direction of Maisie. “She told someone.”
“I did not!”
“Yeah, she did.”
“I didn’t!”
Tim ignored Maisie and focused on Frankie. “Who?”
“The barista from the coffee shop. Her boyfriend was listening. He picked up on it.”
Maisie’s face fell. “Oh, right.”
Tim couldn’t believe how this day had unfolded. He wondered where Naki and Scout were and if they’d found anything. If not, then maybe this was all fuss for nothing.
But if they did find something, this was going to be impossible to keep quiet. He looked at Chase. “You must’ve taken pictures of the clues, right?”
Chase lit up. “I sure did.” He pulled out his phone, tapping through the gallery.
Tim noticed it—a flicker of hesitation. A wince. Then a frown.
“Okay,” Chase said slowly. “Only one photo came out. Sort of. It’s blurry.” He squinted at the screen. “But I remember most of it. I think.”
Tim stared. One photo. Blurry. Unbelievable. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Well, you read the clues. You studied them. So, whether I like it or not, you’re in on this. No guarantee of anything exclusive.”
Frankie’s expression soured. “Wait, now we’re working with him?”
“Looks that way,” Tim said. He didn’t like it, but the damage was done. There was no other choice.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the windshield of the park jeep, casting long streaks of light over the dashboard. Scout gripped the steering wheel, her voice steady but edged with curiosity as she repeated a clue she clearly remembered: “The owl knows at dusk.”
Naki, sitting motionless in the passenger seat, didn’t respond.
He gazed out the window as they drove around the park.
They’d been driving for quite a while now, crossing off all obvious owl-related spots where the clue might lead.
The bog trail section near the Wild Gardens of Acadia with reported sightings of barred owls.
Known owl habitats—an old forest area, marshes, ponds, meadows.
Interesting sites, especially to Scout, who had yet to explore much of Acadia, but nothing seemed obvious to Naki as a place to stash gold coins.