Chapter 17 #2
“Come anyway,” Naki said, putting a hand on her shoulder to steer her. “We could really use your help.”
Reluctantly, Maisie went with him to the skiff.
Wait a second.
That left Scout alone with her parents. Naki knew that! He did this on purpose. Ambushed, once again.
And as if they’d read her thoughts, the bickering began.
“Why would you wear high heels on a boat outing, Lucille?” her father asked, his voice full of good humor.
“I didn’t expect to be on a boat, James Henry,” her mother snapped back. “I came here to rescue my little girl.”
“Actually,” Scout said, “I’m not a little girl.” She shouldn’t have bothered. They weren’t listening to her. This was a familiar scene, a replay of her entire childhood.
“Scout doesn’t need rescuing,” Dad said, “but she does need help. And that’s why I’m here.”
Scout stepped between them, hands raised like stop signs. “Dad’s right about that. I don’t need rescuing, Mother.” She turned to her father, her tone equally firm. “And I don’t need your help, either.”
Her father’s expression softened, but his voice was firm. “I think you do, Scout. Some shipwrecks are just history—forgotten wreckage on the ocean floor. But some change everything. This one . . . this one is going to matter.”
Scout opened her mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, she knew he was right.
Chase leaned back in his creaky chair, taking a breather from listening to voicemail to savor this moment.
The Bar Harbor Gazette office, which—just a few days ago had been quiet enough to hear the tick of the old wall clock—was buzzing with energy.
The newsroom staff was prepping for tomorrow’s edition, shouting over each other about ad placements and page layouts.
Lydia was editing updates to the story that had dropped into Chase’s lap this morning, unbidden, as he stopped by the coffee shop to pick up a to-go cup.
Sophie had just heard this news from Frankie: Scout and Naki had located another gold cache at Otter Cliff.
Chase had to give props to the two of them for cracking that clue they’d set aside early in the treasure hunt.
Ranger Rivers hadn’t returned Chase’s call to confirm the find, but he wasn’t overly concerned about that.
Original sources were always best, of course, but a solid secondary—or third—source was good.
Especially when it accompanied a picture of the latest cache, taken by Frankie in Ranger Rivers’s office and sent to Sophie, who AirDropped it to Chase. Too good to pass up.
He hit play on the next message.
“Mr. Fletcher, I’m a reporter for Time magazine. We’re running a story on the gold discovery at Acadia, and I’d like to interview you. Please call me back as soon as possible.”
Time magazine. Chase’s eyebrows shot up.
The next message clicked on.
“Mr. Fletcher, this is CBS—60 Minutes. We’re interested in covering the story about the gold found in Acadia. Please return this call immediately. Thank you.”
Chase felt a rush of disbelief. CBS, 60 Minutes? The Bar Harbor Gazette hadn’t gotten this much attention since . . . well, since ever.
He hit the button for the next voicemail, already bracing himself.
“I’m calling from the Boston Globe. We’re interested in syndicating your coverage of the gold discovery. Please call this number at your earliest convenience.”
Then another.
National Geographic. Interested in exclusive photo rights for the next issue. And they’d like to send a team of scuba divers to the actual wreck site.
And another.
The New York Times. Wanting quotes for a feature on the shipwreck and the gold.
The Gazette’s main phone line wasn’t faring any better. He could hear someone in the newsroom repeating the same message each time the phone rang. “No, I don’t have the gold. And no, I can’t transfer you to Chase Fletcher right now! He’s busy! Everyone’s busy!”
Chase rubbed a hand down his face, letting out a low exhale. This was the kind of story that came around once in a lifetime.
He needed to focus, to return these calls and other ones, but his thoughts kept bouncing to Scout.
He’d done what he had to do. He’d run the story to save the paper.
And it had worked. But it meant breaking a promise.
He still hadn’t talked to her—she wasn’t responding to his pleas.
Somehow, he needed to make Scout understand that saving the newspaper was worth breaking his promise.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Lydia’s head peering in around the doorjamb. “What’s up?”
“I was proofing the copy. Are you sure you want to admit that Otter Cliff was the last clue? Seems like we could stretch this story out for a while if we left that open.”
Tempting, but not truthful. He gave her a rueful smile. “It’s the last clue. Our paper stands on facts.” He lifted his hands in the air. “I’m trusting that this story has reminded everyone of the importance of supporting their local newspaper. Ours, especially.”
“I hope you’re right about that.” She pointed a red pencil at him. “You’re a good man, Chase Fletcher.”
Was he? He wanted to be. He tried to be.
When his phone rang, he picked up the receiver out of habit. “Chase Fletcher.”
“Chase, this is Doug at the bank. Congratulations on the story—everyone’s talking about it. Listen, we’ve reviewed your loan application. If you’re still interested, we’d be happy to extend the terms.”
Chase stilled. “Are you serious?”
“Never been more serious. Your father and grandfather would be proud of you.”
Chase froze, his hand gripping the phone tighter. His chest tightened too, but not with stress—for once, it was relief. Real, bone-deep relief.
He blinked a couple of times to clear his blurry vision, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.
He didn’t realize how much he’d been holding in until it hit him all at once.
“Yes. Yes, I’d like to accept that loan extension.
” He set the phone down slowly and let out a shaky breath.
His eyes flicked up toward the ceiling, and his lips moved before he even realized it.
“Thank you.”
The paper was safe.
Scout, he hoped, could forgive him for that.
Scout wrestled the second enormous suitcase through the door, letting it thud onto the floor beside the first. She leaned against the doorframe, catching her breath. “Mother, just how long do you plan to stay?”
“A woman never knows what she might need,” her mother said primly, straightening her dress and taking in the small cottage with a critical eye.
Scout gestured toward the bedroom. “You can take the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”
Her mother walked around the small living area, eyeing the sparse furnishings with a look on her face like she’d stumbled into a yard sale. “So this is where you live?”
“For as long as I’m in Acadia,” Scout said, taking two glasses out of the cupboard. She had only two clean ones.
“And just how long will this . . . outpost last?”
Scout tried not to roll her eyes. She knew Mother considered her stint as a ranger to be a phase to grow out of.
“I hope for a very long time. I like it here.” She loved it here.
“And honestly, I’m very fortunate to have a place all to myself.
It’s rare. Most rangers are in dorms. The seasonal workers are in campgrounds—RVs mostly, but some are in tents.
” She added some ice to the glasses and poured sweet tea from a bottle she found in the back of the refrigerator.
Her mother turned to her, aghast. “Tents? Magnolia Pearl, surely you would never live like that.”
Scout grinned. “Surely I would and surely I did. Durin’ every college summer when I worked as a seasonal ranger.”
“You never told me.” Her mother let out a sigh and ran her fingers along the edge of the empty bookshelf, shaking her head. “This is how I imagine that your father lives—like he’s ready for evacuation at any moment.”
Scout smirked and folded her arms. “Well, now I know where I get my adaptability.”
Her mother ignored that, continuing her tour with a critical eye. “No curtains? No rugs? And that couch is atrocious.”
“Exactly the right word for it.”
Mother sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Any place you live should feel like home. Not like . . . an unfinished dorm room.”
Scout shrugged. “It’s simple. Easy to take care of. I like it.” She handed her mother a glass of iced tea.
Her mother perched on the edge of the couch, as if it might be crawling with something awful. “So, have you met anyone interesting lately?”
Scout groaned inwardly. “Mother, I work long hours. My social circle is mostly hikers and the occasional lost tourist.”
Her mother waved that off. “I’m not talking about tourists. I mean . . . gentlemen?”
Scout walked over to the kitchen counter and opened a cupboard, busying herself with no clear purpose. “Ranger Rivers is nice. He’s a little old for me, though. Shall I introduce the two of you?”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. What about that giant on the tourist boat?”
“What about him?”
“When he thought no one was looking, he seemed to be watching you quite a bit today.”
Scout froze for half a second, then continued rummaging in the cabinet.
She didn’t want her mother’s opinion on Naki.
She knew her mother would pick him apart—too tall, too intimidating, too everything.
But deep down, Scout knew the real issue.
Her mother was prejudiced but would never admit it, preferring to cloak it with superficial critiques.
“He’s a shipwreck consultant who works for Dad . . . or maybe with Dad,” Scout said evenly, keeping her back turned. Normally any mention of her father would abruptly end the conversation.
Her mother made a noncommittal noise. “What nationality is he?”
“American.”
“Sweetheart, you know what I mean.”
Scout whipped around. “He’s Penobscot, Mother.
A Native American. More American than you and I ever will be.
His people have been here long before our ancestors ever set foot on these shores.
And he knows Acadia National Park like it’s his backyard.
Actually, it is his backyard.” She lifted the bottle. “More sweet tea?”
Her mother gave an exaggerated sigh, leaning back against the couch. “No need to snap. I was just curious.”
Right. Scout refilled her mother’s glass, flicking her eyes at her wristwatch to see the time. Naki had asked Scout to meet him at Ranger Rivers’s office after supper tonight. She wasn’t sure why, but she wasn’t about to let her mother in on it.
Her mother took a sip, watching Scout over the rim of her glass. “So, how well do you know this giant?”
Scout set the bottle down with a soft thud. “Well enough.”
Her mother arched a brow.
Scout met her gaze evenly. “Why?”
“I was just wonderin’ how you introduce a man like that.”
“As Wabanaki Dana, Harvard Law School graduate who is a policy advisor for the Penobscot Nation.”
Her mother tightened her lips.
“And as the business partner to your absentee husband.”
That ended the conversation.
Text between Maisie and her mother, Thea Mitchell:
Maisie
Have you figured out your flights yet?
Mom
Surprise! We’re in Portland and on our way to Bar Harbor!
Wait. You mean, now? Today? When are you due in?
Waze says we have a few hours to go. I’ll text as we get closer.
Might take a while to get into the park. Super crowded. Can’t wait to have you meet Scout and Chase and Naki and tell you what’s been happening around here!
What about Frankie?
What about him?
Have you seen much of him? Any word about when his father arrives in Acadia?
Gotta go. Text when you get closer.