He rubbed a hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his hair. What was he doing? He’d never done something likethis before. But then again, he’d never been this desperate before.
For the past seven years, he’d tried to run theBar Harbor Gazettethe way his father had taught him: clean books, honest reporting, treating employees like family. Some of themwerefamily. Lydia, his editor and favorite aunt, for one.
But his dad hadn’t faced this economy. He hadn’t tried to keep a paper alive through a global pandemic, inflation, skyrocketing costs, declining ad revenue, and a circulation that was vanishing as content moved online instead of in print. And yes, the paper was available online, but it wasn’t offsetting costs. His dad hadn’t had to sit across from the bank manager, begging for another extension on a loan, only to get turned down flat.
Chase swallowed hard. Even still, his father would never have taken that envelope without asking for it.
His eyes flicked to the passenger seat. The envelope’s presence felt accusing. He could turn around. He could give it back to the girl, admit what he’d done. She’d probably forgive him—she seemed like the type. Maybe she could even loop him into the story.
But what if there wasn’t a story? What if all this was just a dead end? Here was his chance to find out.
His hand moved on its own, untying the string with a slow, deliberate motion. He pulled out the papers, treating them like spun sugar. He picked up the newspaper clipping and held it up to the sunlight, his breath catching as he read the bold typeface:USS North Atlantic Wrecked... Below it, the date:October 12, 1852.
And on the top of the clipping, the scrawled handwritten words:I did it.
His pulse quickened.
He picked up the papers and squinted, straining to makeout the fading ink. They seemed to be clues—poetic phrases, hinting at the locations of hidden gold coins.
So his reporter’s gut was right. There definitelywasa story to be told here. The kind of story that could save theBar Harbor Gazette. The kind of story that could save his family’s legacy.
Chase leaned back in his seat, staring at the envelope as his thoughts whirled. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. This wasn’t who he was. And he knew if Scout Johnson found out, the spark between them would be doused. Drenched. Done. She was a rule follower.
But if this story panned out the way he thought it would, it could change everything. He’d actually have the time and spare cash to date Scout like he wanted to. Like a girl deserved. Good restaurants, fun adventures. “Please understand, God,” he whispered. “So many people are counting on me. I’ll make this right. Someday, somehow.”
Carefully, he slipped the papers back into the envelope, placed them on the seat next to him, and turned on the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, and he put the car in gear. The envelope stayed on the seat, its presence looming, its weight impossible to ignore. Like alarm bells going off in his head. Like he’d just crossed a line he never meant to cross.
But sometimes the ends could justify the means ... and this end could be a good one.
One moment, Tim Rivers was the patient grandfather, nudging the tissue box closer to fifteen-year-old Maisie as she sobbed into her hands. The next, he was back in the chief ranger role, questioning her carefully to gather as much information from her as possible. Pretty impressive.
Scout leaned against the wall, watching the whole thing unfold. Maisie’s teenage hysterics might’ve been endearing if the situation wasn’t so precarious. If word got out that there wasgold to be found—and finding any gold was a big if—the park would be overrun with treasure seekers. During high season! This was a potential crisis. How the chief managed to keep his cool in such a crisis, she’d never know.
Maisie sat in a chair across from his desk, her face blotchy as she hiccupped into her tissue. “He was just so nice! Super cute. And ... and he seemed genuinely interested in Acadia.”
Frankie, slouched in the corner with his arms crossed, wore a look of disgust. “Yeah, Maisie. Right. A real hero. Except for the part where he stole the envelope. Afteryoustole it.”
Maisie shot him a glare but couldn’t muster much venom through her tears. “If you hadn’t talked it up, I wouldn’t have even been tempted to take the envelope from Pops’s office.”
There was some truth in that, Scout had to admit. She could picture Frankie dangling the information in front of Maisie like a carrot—he had that streak in him, especially when he thought it gave him the upper hand. She cut a look at him; he seemed genuinely appalled by Maisie’s blame-turning.These two.Like peas in a pod. Blaming each other instead of owning their part of this mess.
Just as Frankie’s mouth opened wide to defend himself, Naki stepped in. “Let’s get back to the contents of the envelope.”
“Good idea,” the chief said. He fixed Scout with a steady look. “You’re the only one who’s looked through it. What do you remember? Any specific clues?”
Scout straightened, her fingers fiddling with the brim of her ranger hat. “One. Maybe two. Bits and pieces of the others. Enough to give us a start, maybe, but not the whole thing.” As the chief waited for her to tell him what she remembered, she glanced first at Frankie and then at sobbing Maisie. “Sir, uh, perhaps that information should be kept confidential.”
Frankie scoffed. “No kidding. Maisie, you should leave.” He flicked his wrist to brush her away.
Maisie’s jaw dropped, and she slapped a palm against her chest. “Me? You’re as much of a blabbermouth as I am.”
The chief ignored them. “One clue is better than none. Scout, there are a few hours of daylight left. You and Naki head out and go try to find it. Let’s see if there’s any gold to worry about.”
“Yes, sir.” Scout glanced toward Naki, who had been standing by the window with his arms crossed. His dark eyes met hers, and for a second, her stomach did a little flip.Good night!What wasthatabout? He completely rattled her. Scout liked to think of herself as unrattle-able. Something her counselor, Elizabeth—whom she’d been seeing via Zoom ever since she knew she was coming to Acadia—told her was not really a quality she should be proud of. Elizabeth thought Scout’s persistent tamping down of emotions was a red flag, a warning.So, so wrong.
She could practically hear Elizabeth’s voice in her head:“If that’s so wrong, then why have you shut down every single romantic relationship that’s come your way?”
“No butterflies,”she would always say.“I just haven’t felt any butterflies.”
