Maisie folded her arms, her glare fierce. “Mom always forgets me too.”
And there was the rub, there was the real sting. Tim’s stepdaughter, Thea, had been making some progress in her life, but ... well, Thea was still Thea. She treated Maisie like more of a friend than a daughter, sometimes to a frustrating degree. “I’m truly sorry, Maisie. It won’t happen again.”
Maisie softened—just slightly. “Okay. So ... how are you making it up to me?”
“How about if I take you out for a lobster dinner tonight?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m allergic to shellfish.”
“Right, right.” He did vaguely recall that now. “Um ... shopping money?”
Maisie gave him a wry look. “I’m not much of a shopper. Mom’s the one who likes to shop. And she has appalling taste. She calls it bohemian. I call it”—she shuddered—“style free.”
Tim’s phone rang, sparing him for a second. He picked it up. “Chief Ranger Rivers here. What?” He listened to Frankie’s lengthy plea for a long moment, frowning. “No, Frankie, you absolutely cannot borrow a park motorboat to go waterskiing. Not now. Not ever. Goodbye.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket and looked back at Maisie, thinking,What else might she like? An ice cream sundae?
But she was leaning her elbows on the open car window, looking at him with round eyes. “Was thatmyFrankie?”
“Your Frankie?” Tim raised an eyebrow.
“You know, Frankie. The hottie from Grand Teton?”
Tim blinked. He’d forgotten about Maisie’s schoolgirl crush on Frankie Franklin from that Grand Teton summer. Surely, that was over by now. Girls’ crushes came and went with alarming speed. Except, now that he looked at her, he realized she wasn’t a girl anymore. She’d shot up in height, had a more grown-up look to her face. She was turning into a young woman.
But Frankie ... he was pretty much the same now as he was then. Annoying, cynical, self-centered, immature. Boys took longer to mature than girls. And then there was Frankie. He probably needed double the time.
“Pops?”
Tim cleared his throat. “I don’t think of Frankie as a hottie.” He wasn’t entirely sure what it meant to be a hottie, but he knew he didn’t like to hear his granddaughter use the term to describe a boy. Any boy, but especially Frankie Franklin.
Maisie grinned. “So, Pops, here’s the plan: You can make it up to me if you take Frankie and me out for a hamburgerand fries tonight. That’s your penance for forgetting me.” She pointed to his phone. “But you need to ask him. Don’t make it sound like it was my idea.”
Before he could think of a way to respond, she grabbed her backpack off the bench and practically bounced into the passenger side of the jeep.
Tim let out a long sigh, running a hand over his face. Maisie had campaigned hard to come for a long visit this summer. It had never occurred to him that she wanted to be in Acadia because Frankie was here. How had he missed that? Of course she would’ve known Frankie would be here—probably spotted him posting about Acadia on Instagram or Facebook. That kid was glued to his phone. Maisie was in for heartbreak this summer, that Tim knew for sure. Frankie’s short attention span was always fixed on older girls. There was no way he’d look twice at fifteen-year-old Maisie.
At least, Tim sure hoped he wouldn’t.
Chase clicked out of the last tab on his laptop and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. Midnight. His brain was buzzing with fragments of shipwreck stories—dates, names, nautical miles—all jumbled into a storm-tossed mess. Frenchman Bay had no shortage of wrecks with its shoals and shallow waters, and any one of them could be the missing piece he was after. But so far, nothing solid enough to connect to the gold rumor. Not enough for tomorrow’s front page. Not yet, anyway.
He had told Lydia, his editor and favorite aunt, to prepare to give him space above the fold for the story he was working on. He just knew there was more to dig up in Scout’s shipwreck story. He could feel it in his gut, the same instinct his dad used to call a reporter’s edge. It was like chasing smoke, just visible enough to keep him moving but never quite close enough to grab hold of.
Chase yawned, reaching for his notebook and flippingthrough the scribbled chaos of his notes. Tomorrow, he’d find a way to catch Frankie alone and see what he knew. He shoved the notebook into his bag and powered down the laptop as exhaustion tugged at him. Time was running out for theGazette. About five days were left, he’d figured, before the money was gone and the presses went silent.
Tomorrow, he’d get his story. He had to.
To:[email protected] Subject:The mystery deepens...
Dad,
You should have seen the look on Chief RangerRivers’s face when I handed him the envelope. Shook!Next thing,we were off to meet a man whomight be able to help us decipher the keeper’sclues—someone who I think you’d find quite interesting.Wabanaki Dana is a Penobscot policymaker,and shipwrecks off thecoast of Maine are his hobby(naturally,I thought ofyou). We’re hoping he’ll shed light on thismystery.
Turns out that Wabanaki Dana is also an author.Tonight he gave a talk at the packed Bar Harborlibrary about the history of the Penobscot Nation. Standing roomonly! I was squeezed into a corner,taking notes. Didyou know that Wabanaki means “people of the dawn”?
Anyway,it’s late and I’d better hit the sack.Tomorrow we start on those clues and see if thistreasure hunt has any teeth. Stay tuned.
Love,Scout
And then she sent the email to her archive and closed her laptop.
