Chapter 6 #2
Scout’s gaze kept darting toward Naki, unsettled by his silence. His stillness was unnerving—like he was a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment. “The owl knows at dusk,” she repeated, breaking the quiet. “What else could it mean?”
Another long moment of silence. Then . . . “Of course!” Naki snapped to face her, his dark eyes flickering with sudden intensity. “Pull over.”
Scout blinked. “What?”
“Pull over,” he repeated, his voice low but commanding. “I’ll drive.”
Her hands instinctively gripped the wheel tighter. “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s a park vehicle. Regulations say I can’t let—”
“Then you drive,” he cut her off, his tone clipped. “But go fast. Time is running out.” His gaze softened, just slightly. “And call me Naki.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Naki, sir. I mean, Naki.” Startled but intrigued, she followed his directions down a narrow road toward the coast. Soon, they arrived at a windswept cliff overlooking the ocean, its jagged rocks jutting out into the surf.
“Pull over there.”
The moment the car came to a stop, Naki jumped from the jeep and strode toward the edge, scanning the formations below.
Scout hurried to join him, inhaling the tang of salt heavy in the air, watching the crash of waves against the jagged rocks send sprays of mist into the air.
As she reached Naki, she could tell from the satisfied look on his face that he’d found what he came for.
“There,” he said, pointing toward a boulder that jutted out over the sea.
Scout followed his gaze. “What?”
“If you were out on the water, looking back at the coastline, you’d see it clearly. The shadows cast by the sinking sun behind us transform that boulder into an uncanny image of an owl’s face.”
“How in the world,” she said softly, more to herself than him, “did you think of that?”
“I didn’t . . . not until you asked the question ‘What else could it mean?’ Then I remembered that boulder. My brother and I used to canoe out here.”
Before she could respond, Naki moved, jumping from rock to rock as if he were a sure-footed deer. Scout, not so much. “Hey!” she called, scrambling after him, her boots skidding on damp stone. “A little warnin’ would be nice!”
But he wasn’t listening. He reached the owl-shaped boulder, his hands already running along its surface. The sun was hitting the tree line, the light gilding his silhouette as he leaned over the boulder, his fingers disappearing into a narrow crevice.
“I think there’s something in that crevice,” he said, his voice steady. Then he pulled his hand out and sat on the boulder, knees bent. “My hand’s too large. Do you think you can try to reach it?”
Scout hesitated, glancing down at the water.
The temperature was dropping as the sun inched toward the horizon, a sharp chill creeping into the wind.
She swallowed her nerves and bent down to sit beside him.
Reaching over the boulder, she slipped her hand into the dark crevice.
To reach farther in, she had to lie down on her stomach and scooch as far over the boulder as she could.
Her fingers brushed against something hard and rectangular.
“There is something stuck inside.” Slowly, carefully, she worked it, pulling and tugging, pulling and tugging, until it finely loosened.
Out came a small brass box, about the size of her hand, tarnished to a dull green but still intact.
She scooched back and sat up to hand it to Naki, her fingers trembling slightly.
He opened the latch, revealing a small sack.
When he tipped the sack into his palm, tarnished gold coins spilled out, catching the dying light.
They exchanged a look of amazement. Scout’s breath came out in a rush. “Think they’re real gold?”
Naki studied the coins, his expression unreadable. “Looks like it.”
“To think it’s been here for . . . what . . . one hundred and fifty years?”
“Over one hundred and seventy.” He looked up at her. “If this was the first clue, then it means there might be other small caches like this hidden in the park.”
“Why would the lighthouse keeper have done this?”
“No idea.”
“Why didn’t he come back for the gold?”
“Perhaps he did.”
A wave crashed below, louder and closer than before. “The tide’s coming in. We need to go.” Naki rose to his feet and reached a hand out to help her up.
“Hold on. Let me just make sure there’s nothing else he left behind.
” She scooched closer to the edge of the boulder to slip her right hand into the crevice, probing the narrow space.
She pushed farther, twisting slightly—then froze.
Her hand was wedged tight. “I . . . I’m stuck.
” She yanked at her trapped wrist, feeling the scrape of sharp rock against her skin as her breath hitched in panic.
A wave slammed against the rocks, the icy spray stinging her face and soaking her sleeves.
Naki crouched close beside her, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Can you twist your wrist? Maybe turn it sideways?”
She gritted her teeth. “No, it’s wedged in too tight.” She couldn’t budge free.
Another wave exploded against the boulders, spraying them both. The force sent her ranger hat sailing into the churning sea below. “Noooo! My favorite hat!”
“Scout,” Naki said, “where are the car keys?”
“In my jacket pocket,” she said.
He reached into her pocket to retrieve the keys, then took off at a run, leaping from boulder to boulder, retracing their way from the jeep.
As she watched him disappear, a thought struck her cold: He had the gold, the keys, and a getaway car. He could leave her stranded here—helpless, pinned to the rocks as the tide swallowed the coastline. No one would ever know. She could die here.
Another wave crashed over her, this one colder, heavier, drenching her to the bone.
She gasped, sputtering as salt water dripped from her lashes.
The damp fabric of her uniform clung to her.
She shook her head, trying to regain her bearings, and felt the slip of her pink ribbon just before it vanished into the wind.
Her hair tumbled free, sticking to her face in wild, wet strands.
She wanted to cry. Not from the cold, not even from the relentless sea battering her, but from the sheer frustration of it all. She swiped at her face, shivering as another wave crashed against the rock. The tide was rising. She was trapped.
And Wabanaki Dana was nowhere in sight.
Text conversation between Scout’s mother and . . . herself:
Mother
I’ve narrowed it down to a love seat. Practical and chic for a small area.
No floral prints, don’t worry. I found an elegant beige. Very ranger-y.
It doesn’t show dirt, in case your coworkers tromp in with muddy boots.
Thinking I might get the matching ottoman. Or is that too much?
Honestly, Magnolia Pearl, what can be more important right now than answering your mother’s questions about decorating your cottage?
Fine. Silence speaks volumes. I’m ordering it.