“You have a dead body on this island? And you’re just now telling me about it?”
Hunter outstretched his arms. “How would it sound if I told you there is a skeleton in the jungle?”
“I don’t know.” Chills ran down my spine. I would’ve died if I found it on the way to the bathroom or something. “How about why didn’t you tell the truth from the day we met?”
“Because I didn’t know who you were.”
I dropped my chin and pinned him with a look from under the brows. “And what makes you trust me now?”
He mimicked my stare. “I have no choice now, do I?”
Touché.
I wouldn’t have spilled the beans about the treasure the first day to an outsider, especially one who so conveniently washed up on his island.
“Is there someone else who is looking for it?”
Hunter’s gaze dropped to the notebook, and he ran a finger along the edge of the pages. “Many are looking for this treasure.”
“But you said everyone thinks Captain Cook hid it on Coconut Island.”
“It’s Cocos Island. And Captain William Thompson, not Cook.” Hunter let out a resigned sigh. “You are not taking me seriously.”
“I am.” I cupped the back of my neck, my fingers kneading a tensed muscle.
Everything Hunter said about his grandfather and Edward no doubt was true. Even Captain Thompson’s story could be true. I never was interested in sunken treasures, but I had lived my entire life in Miami and heard a lot of stories about a friend of a friend who found silver or gold coins, bejeweled daggers, or ship’s bronze bells while snorkeling or scuba diving in the Bahamas or even around the Florida coast. So it was all possible. I just didn’t expect to end up in the company of the treasure hunter in the middle of a hunt.
“Can I see this compass?” I asked. Hunter flattened his lips into a tight grimace. “Ah, Edward gambled that away, too?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that sucks.” I pulled the page with numbers closer.
7863221 1698 2232626311 1526231019 1698 18191518 2327231819
2126 2613674175 18146417559131617 212661 1617172 1417181417 1117 5171723
1021181 72118 21618141 152106 25210 227 1811326186 141621222525186191471425 19251410
194110 211117 223251 1611 223251 195164 26123164 211117 23141 510 1641 1453416 12823251
“This is exactly how they were written?” I glanced at Hunter. “It looks like a message, not coordinates.”
“Yes. Edward was sure they were cryptic nautical coordinates. But the more time I spent on this island alone, the more I thought, why would you hide something in the water when there are many islands between the two continents? And why not this place? Why leave a trap if you have nothing to hide? I stopped searching in the ocean and explored here. I’ve measured, sorted, jumbled, added, and subtracted numbers in every possible way and marked it on this map.”
“Why are two, three, six, and nine standing out more than the other digits?”
“I wish I knew.”
I studied Hunter’s handwritten notes, sketched maps, and his mathematical calculations. “You have been doing this for a year?”
“I don’t work on it every day. During the tourist season, I stay in Rarotonga and barely spend time here, just enough to check on the cats and chickens. I work on it nonstop in the off-season. When I grow frustrated with constant defeat, I stop. Then, when I have a new idea, I work on it, but then it leads nowhere, and I lose interest, again.”
Hunter picked up another journal and turned it toward me, showing a page with an itemized list. “This is presumably what we are looking for.”
I arched my eyebrow at him. “We are?” I must have misheard him.
“Don’t you want to help me?”
